BEAUTY IN THE BROKEN

The ancient art of kintsugi can teach us the importance of accepting change, reconciling with our scars and flaws, and embracing the qualities that make us unique.

The ancient art of kintsugi can teach us the importance of accepting change.

From an early age, we are led to believe that mistakes equate to weakness. In youth, we do our best to hide faults for fear of being reprimanded by parents or criticised by peers, striving for perfection in all areas as we enter adulthood – jobs, relationships, material possessions. It is little wonder this relentless pursuit of excellence can induce feelings of stress, anxiety and inadequacy. But what if, instead of despairing over shortcomings, we saw opportunity in adversity?

Kintsugi, the centuries-old Japanese art of repairing pottery, is built on the idea that embracing imperfection can lead to a stronger, more beautiful outcome. Translating to gold (kin) joinery (tsugi), this practice sees the fragmented pieces of a broken item carefully collected and glued together with urushi, a tree sap lacquer sourced from the Rhus verniciflua plant. Rather than attempting to disguise the cracks, they are emphasised by dusting the adhesive with gold or silver to create beautiful, glimmering seams. This transformative repair deliberately alters the appearance of an object, a clear contrast to the traditional method of concealing blemishes.

The origins of kintsugi are believed to date back to the Muromachi period (1338-1573), when the Japanese shogun, or military chief, Ashikaga Yoshimitsu broke his favourite chawan, or tea bowl. Distraught, he sent the cracked bowl to be repaired in China. However, on its return, he was dismayed by the unsightly metal staples that had been used to join the broken pieces. Yoshimitsu charged his craftsmen with creating a more aesthetically pleasing solution and, upon finding an artful way to display the break lines rather than hide them, kintsugi was born.

VALUING IMPERFECTION

Kintsugi draws from the idea of wabi-sabi, which loosely translates to ‘taking pleasure in the imperfect’. Kintsugi is also linked to the Japanese feeling of mottainai, which is an expression of regret when something is wasted, as well as mushin, the acceptance of change. Practising wabi-sabi is to value the simple and unpretentious, understanding that with age, comes wisdom and resilience. The break lines in kintsugi are called keshiki, translating in English to ‘landscape’ or ‘scenery’, and with each repair a new journey is written.

A story has long been told about one of the great proponents of wabi-sabi, Sen No Rikyu (1522- 1599), who was invited to an extravagant dinner by a host who adorned his table with an expensive antique tea jar he had bought in China. Rikyu, however, barely noticed the piece and was instead more enchanted by the sight of a mere branch swaying in the breeze outside. Feeling angry and dejected that the philosopher had not been impressed by the display, the host smashed the jar to the ground. Other guests at the dinner decided to collect the fragmented pieces and use kintsugi to glue them back together. At Rikyu’s next visit, he looked at the same jar and with a smile, he said, “Now it is magnificent.”

The art of kintsugi can be a soothing antidote to a world that worships newness and convenience. Consider the last time you visited a house that was neat as a pin, so spotlessly clean that you could see your own reflection in the countertop. How did it make you feel? Maybe you were a little uneasy, afraid to touch anything for fear of ruining the sparkling veneer. Conversely, a house showing signs of age feels lived in, welcoming, loved. The same feeling applies to kintsugi, its approach to aesthetics leaning more towards the weathered than the picture-perfect.

“I find kintsugi to be a nice visual metaphor about why we shouldn’t fear change or failure, as even when things

shatter and seem to be at their worst, it’s still possible to rebuild but with a beauty and in-built story that comes with the scars of experience,” says Dr Brad Elphinstone, a lecturer in psychology at Melbourne’s Swinburne University of Technology. “We might cling to wanting ourselves or our life to be a certain way out of fear or concern that other ways would be unacceptable or intolerable, but in some ways this is as absurd as a vase demanding that its original appearance should stay the same way forever when it could arguably become more aesthetically pleasing by being broken apart and re-made.”

Frequently we hold tightly to relationships, careers and objects in the hope that they remain unchanged and always exciting. Inevitably, cracks begin to appear and what was once shiny and new, loses its lustre. “To avoid any signs of wear or damage is to try and avoid change at all costs, which limits opportunities for new experiences and growth,” says Elphinstone. Instead of feeling anger and disillusion about plans gone awry, we would be better served to mindfully collect and repair all the ‘broken’ parts around us, respecting our own vulnerability and that of others.

ATTACHMENT VS ACCEPTANCE

Elphinstone notes that, according to Buddhist philosophy, it is our attachments – mental fixations on how we or any aspect of life need to be – that are the source of our suffering. “This is at least in part because of the ever-changing and often uncontrollable nature of life,” he says. “Nonattachment, which is a reduced tendency to ‘cling’ to experiences we find desirable or to ‘push away’ those that are undesirable, can help to remedy this through approaching life in a flexible and balanced way.”

For instance, someone who places a heightened level of importance on a particular object or possession may find it especially hard to deal with it being stolen, lost or damaged, says Elphinstone. “To be non-attached isn’t to give up, to not care about anything, or become detached; you can still love and cherish important people in your life, for example, but with the inherent awareness that all relationships will at some point end, whether through growing apart or passing away.”

Similarly, says Elphinstone, an object or youthful appearance can be appreciated – perhaps even more so – because of the awareness that they won’t remain the same way forever, but without making them a pillar on which one’s life or wellbeing is based. “If we cling to youthful appearance as an all-important aspect of our sense of self it may be especially hard to deal with the inevitable signs of ageing,” he says.

Earlier this year, a study published by the National Bureau of Economic Research, on the relationship between wellbeing and age, found that people often become increasingly unhappy as they head into their forties. Using data from over 132 countries, the statistics show that this ‘mid-life crisis’ as it’s commonly known, peaks about age 48, after which it takes a U-shaped trajectory towards contentment. While economists can’t be sure exactly why things appear to improve after this age, one theory suggests it is because we learn to live with our mistakes.

When we are young, we might imagine ourselves in a blissful marriage, owning a home, being constantly engaged in deeply fulfilling work. However, when things don’t go according to plan, regrets and ruminations begin to set in – what if I had done things differently? How would my life have turned out had I taken another path? It is the kintsugi technique that conveys the important message of compassion and acceptance of what is, rather than trying to undo or redo the past.

The wisdom pertaining to kintsugi is as relevant to our daily lives as it is to a broken tea cup. Accepting flaws and mistakes as an inescapable part of being human, and seeing the worth and possibility in unfinished things, can help to cultivate resilience and contentedness. When life doesn’t unfold exactly as we had hoped, this powerful metaphor serves as a reminder that hardships do not mean failure, and it is possible to express both frailty and strength at once.

THE AUTHENTIC SELF

Elphinstone explains that by not needing any part of life – including one’s own sense of self – to be a particular way, we can remain more open to experiences in any given moment without feeling a need to control them or feel defensive. This could contribute, he says, to differences in feelings of stress and anxiety associated with being willing to admit that you don’t know something compared with feeling the need to uphold the facade of having all the answers. “The former involves openness and authenticity stemming from having a non-contingent sense of self,” he says. “Whereas the other involves the threat of shame or embarrassment from being unable to maintain the ‘clung to’ sense of self projected out to the world.”

Instead of seeking out the shiny and new, we could take better care of our own wellbeing by appreciating and finding beauty in the old and familiar – the gentle fray of a muchloved piece of clothing, or the soft gleam of a timeworn utensil. Taking the kintsugi approach means embracing our own lines, a patina that tells the story of a passage of time and a precious life lived. Much like carefully collecting and gluing together broken pieces of pottery, the process of repairing and healing things within ourselves can lead to something stronger, lovelier and more unique than the original.

RATHER THAN SEEKING OUT THE SHINY AND NEW, FIND BEAUTY IN THE OLD AND KNOWN.