In the West, when we break a cup or a plate we throw it away – in Japan, you might practise a technique called kintsugi. Kintsugi is a method of mending ceramics using a paste made with gold, silver or platinum. The idea is to incorporate the history of the breakage and its repair into the object, resulting in something more beautiful and meaningful than the original – you can see some pictures here. I love this idea and this week has brought some blog posts and articles to me that all link into it as a theme.
First off, I came across this post on Improvised Life, about Yoko Ono’s book Acorn. Here’s a little extract from the book:
Mend an object.
When you go through the process of mending, you mend something inside your soul as well.
Think of a ‘crack’ in your own life or the world. Ask for it to be healed as you mend the object.
Our tendency when we ‘break’ is to look for a return to how we were before, which can never happen as we’re irredeemably changed by these things. Instead of seeing ourselves as damaged, how much better to celebrate our breakages by mending them with the gold of wisdom and experience, so that our cracks add something valuable to us.
But quite apart from the parallels with mending your life, kintsugi is very much in line with the current trend for upcycling and turning old and broken things into useful and beautiful ones. It also overlaps considerably with another Japanese concept, wabisabi, which sees value and beauty in the old and the decayed, sadness and impermanence. Unlike our throwaway here-today-gone-tomorrow culture, it places value on the history of a simple piece, and evidence of wear and tear and the patina of time are valued far more than shiny new-ness.
Many photographers are naturally drawn to these things, loving to photograph the rich colours of rust, crumbling facades, dying flowers, or worn stone steps. Nina Katchadourian has taken this one step further. She mends broken spider’s webs with red thread, and split mushrooms with bicycle tire repair kits. The spiders don’t like it much, removing the repairs overnight and leaving a pile of red thread on the ground underneath by morning. The mushrooms are less able to comment, and to me the multi-coloured circular patches give them a whimsical air of fairy-tale toadstools that I rather like. (Incidentally, Katchadourian creates some of the most playful art I’ve ever come across – you might like it, you might hate it, but she obviously has a lot of fun making it.)
Not quite meeting the criteria for kintsugi, but containing something of the essence of it, Bing Wright used broken mirror glass to reflect sunsets, then photographed the results. These photos are so gorgeous I felt like smashing up some mirrors and going out to do the same, but this really isn’t in the spirit of kintsugi. Kintsugi arose out of necessity – as in our own not-so-distant past, Japanese folk had to reuse and recycle as it was outside most people’s means to throw away and buy new.
While photographing broken things doesn’t make them usable again, as kintsugi would, it can recognise and make something good out of brokenness. Some years ago I broke a glass bowl I was very fond of, and at first was upset. But then I looked at the pieces and thought how lovely they were in their own right. I placed transparent coloured sweet wrappers between the pieces of glass, shone a bright light on it, and took these photos. If I’d known about kintsugi then, I might have made my bowl whole again afterwards.
If you want to try Kintsugi yourself, you can buy a kintsugi mending kit from Humade.
Here is the Improvised Life article featuring Yoko Ono’s book.