Monday, 25 March 2019

KINTSUGI - THE ART OF REPAIR



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.




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NOTE
For details of the process, see: https://www.kintugi.com/?page_id=80

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