In an age
littered with trash, and when recycling has become such a challenge
for the world, it seems timely to consider the art of repair and
reuse – the celebration of breakages: kintsugi – it means ‘golden
joinery’ or ‘golden repair’: see -
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kintsugi
Kintsugi
is the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery with
lacquer dusted or mixed with powdered gold, silver, or platinum, a
method similar to the maki-e technique. As a philosophy, it treats
breakage and repair as part of the history of an object, rather than
something to disguise. Its origin lies in the Japanese philosophy of wabi-sabi, a belief in the beauty of imperfections: see - https://www.architecturaldigest.com/story/kintsugi-japanese-art-ceramic-repair
This Japanese
concept makes disasters into precious expressions, incorporating love
into the idea of beautiful repair – improving the piece because of
this process,# broadening its references with a display of care that
not only creates a wonderful pattern, but also adds value because of
this – a moral value if not financial. It is an act of respect that
maintains a piece and its role in one’s life, embodying a shared
history in the fact of its markings that delineate an experience. Kintsugi has a Zen rigour about
it, a raw sensitivity that glows in a practical world with restraint,
the withholding of that desire to rudely, mindlessly discard the
broken item at the time of annoyance, frustration and disappointment,
and move on to a new item, another, the replacement.
Kintsugi offers
the chance for redemption; somewhat ironically, for improvement after
the despair of trauma. Not only does the mended item look beautiful
with its added dimension of pattern, but the emotions are quieted,
managed with the dismissal of dismay by the knowledge that the item
can be reassembled beautifully after the breakage; that it can be
cared for, remade. It holds something of the character of expression
that Antonio Gaudi sought when he broke the pottery for his
decoration at Parc Guell in Barcelona. As with kintgusi, everything
is astutely arranged and organised by a craftsman skilled in his
work, for the making of the renewed object.
Parc Guell tiling
The esoteric mind
is able to see quality and meaning in the process, in the salvation
of the piece and the wonder of the care and skill that has gone into
its putting together again, as well as being able to appreciate the
simple practicality of the act. Humpty Dumpty would be very pleased.
The golden lines take on a new relationship with the form and its
original patterning, layering lines of lightning across the surfaces
with the same wonder that the cracking of ancient glazes gives to
pieces, but on a different scale. There is something natural in the
lines of these forces of rupture that becalms the eye. Behind all of
the appearances lies the intent – the love for the piece in its
parts, and the love for the work and the workmanship that will give
the integrity back to the fractured item, and more.
Our era knows
little of any of this. Broken items are discarded thoughtlessly as
hopeless trash; and working with love and skill is something that we
only consider as being something that occurred in older times. Our
workmen have every gadget to allow them to work more carelessly, more
quickly, and with less effort, under the guise of efficiency. No one
encourages craft or craftsmanship; few appreciate it or are prepared
to pay for it. Love is something left for the cheap novels: it has
nothing to do with work which is the opposite of play, and is
squeezed aside in the search of entertainment, and the long weekends.
Work is just something that has to be tolerated and minimised, with
the count of the days to retirement being important pastime. The
idea of concentrating on one’s task to such an extent that one
might be ‘transported’ by the involvement in the challenge to
hand, is mere spiritual nonsense. Workmen toil away reluctantly, with
their day filled with the blare of the radio acting as the background
distraction, to fill the gaps in the mind as the body suffers.
Kintsugi involves
the opposite of these circumstances. Like the traditional craftsman,
the practitioner sets to work only after having concentrated,
knowing. Only after having envisaged the task in full, to its
completion, does work begin: the project is completed before it has
begun. Today we see tradesmen hop in, knock something out, install an
item, or drill a hole, only to then stand and wonder why or how.
Little wonder that those sensitive enough to care for craft and
beauty are so frustrated. Good work is something of other eras; but
kintsugi requires good work, as Schumacher knew it and spoke of it.
It holds something of a religious rigour, logic and commitment: here
is the Zen link. There is much for us to learn from kintsugi today.
It is truly a Zen
situation. We can learn not only the tolerance, perseverance and
frugality of Zen, but also how to see beauty as rigour; how to
understand and respect elegance, grace and refinement so that we
might seek out more artistry in our lives. Our built environment and
nearly everything in it is ugly, ill-considered or simply otherwise
shaped for random and varied interests and private expression, and we
do not care less. Our towns and cities are a shambles, but planners
do not care less. We fail to see how this can and does have a
critical impact on us all, on our well being – both physical and
mental: we just do not care.
Maybe we need to
start with Zen, and then we might get closer to understanding; but we
do need the faith and hope that kintsugi can bring – that knowledge
that the broken beauty can be improved, enriched, just as our lives
can be, by experience. We need to understand that our lives that are
bruised and battered in their living, can be infused with the golden
threads of redeeming experience that will change them – but faith,
hope and love are all needed as lived facts rather than any blind
creed or an emotional, cliché quote.
Let the mended
bowl sit in our homes, maybe on our mantelpieces, as a reminder of
this perception: that we can all play our part in mending, growing
the golden threads to knit communities and families, shattered lives
and dislocated places. There can be no better, more tangible symbol
for possibilities than kintsugi. Maybe we can just start with a
photograph pinned to the wall: but we must start. Repair is much
better than recycling, as it embodies the latter in greater things by
enriching the circumstance rather than merely indulging in reuse.
This approach to repair is something that grows only with an
understanding that can create the space for things like this to
happen.
There is an
emotional and practical connection with boro – the art of mending:
see - https://voussoirs.blogspot.com/2012/08/boro-art-of-mending.html
Boro
It is not as
though the west is ignorant of the aesthetics of wear and tear. My
pair of Church’s brogues came with a small card that told me to
polish the shoes with natural polish rather than the solid black
shine, even though the shoes were black. The reason was that, with
this subtle maintenance, each pair of shoes would generate its own
special character as they grew older with wear: see - https://voussoirs.blogspot.com/2013/05/on-wear-and-tear.html
It is a stance
that, if it now exists at all, has become an elitist’s position
rather than gaining any popular understanding. Our era seems more
interested in cheap products that can be thrown out and replaced
rather than having beautiful things that can be loved, respected and
cherished.
Perhaps we should
come to know kintsugi as the art of cherishing. It is needed more
than ever.
#
NOTE
For details of the process, see: https://www.kintugi.com/?page_id=80
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