I’m a little laid up right now, so have some time to contemplate the things around me that I find “artistic”, really attractive or just plain cool. Most of it is what I consider “wabi sabi”. I’ve been tossing the idea of writing about wabi sabi in my head for quite some time but as I contemplate an old steamer trunk in our office (more about that later), I am moved to finally put key stokes to screen. I considered keeping those of you who aren’t familiar with the term “wabi sabi” in suspense by hinting at various tidbits line after line, but I think I will forego the drama.
Wabi Sabi is a Japanese aesthetic referring to finding beauty in things imperfect, incomplete or impermanent. Often asymmetry and simplicity are part of the package. It’s about things that are modest and humble and often things that are unconventional. A dandelion gone to seed is at the same time exquisite, symmetrical, yet very impermanent. Perhaps the impermanence puts the whole thing in perspective. So, you see, there is no simple explanation.
It’s good to understand at this point that wabi sabi refers not to just artistic objects but everything that surrounds us.
Not long ago, I got a book about Wabi Sabi so that I could truly understand its meaning. As sometimes happens, you must be careful what you wish for. For something that seemingly is all about “Simple”, it’s unbelievably complex and deep. In seeking the essence of the thing, I found lots of subjective substance but zero quantitative, in the end I came out more confused than I went in. I decided that I liked the fact that it is also something that is easily “felt”, so that works for me. It brought to mind a time when I decided I was going to learn the meaning of First Nation abstract symbols representing all the creatures in their world including themselves. I came away being able to identify many of them but also found that one must grow up in the culture to truly understand the meaning of the interactions between them all.
But I digress…
As a kid I was surrounded by many things from the early twentieth century, assembled by my grandparents. They were well-healed and well-travelled, so some pieces are exquisite art, some are merely decorative pieces but very attractive, and some are well-made utilitarian pieces, but with character. Together, the lot represents many types of skilled craftspeople and artists. I have always – as are many people – been attracted by exquisite forms, beautiful carving and vibrant colours. But many of the pieces that I recalled and kept close were the things that had some flaw, asymmetry or patina that made them unique. That steamer trunk, hand-built like a tank, has at the same time screws symmetrically aligned, wood joints visible but spot-on and rugged iron straps that show the blacksmith’s deftly irregular blows. The dings and scars from rough handling are evident. The package as a whole tells a story that was never intended at its inception but speaks volumes now. Time played a big role in that.
Interestingly, even though all these pieces that I find attractive may be somehow flawed, asymmetrical, or “not beautiful” in some way – none are poorly made. Usually, the craftsmanship is beyond reproach. So, in my opinion, poor craftsmanship doesn’t give a piece an automatic “wabi sabi” buy in. Telling a story does, however.
I was first drawn to consciously creating something with a “wabi sabi” aesthetic when I decided to repair cracks or inclusions in bowl blanks that had cracked during the drying process (I have plenty). It is such a shame – neigh, immoral – to toss out a perfectly good piece of wood that can do the job but has a flaw. I have made repairs out of necessity in the past when I repaired a crack after the fact that seemed attractive at the time, but this was the first time I set out to create a piece from the outset with the idea of including the repair as part of the story. At about the same time I stumbled upon a video about the Japanese art of Kintsugi, which is the art of repairing cracked or broken pottery with lacquers. Kintsugi is a perfect example of the core meaning of wabi sabi: a perhaps utilitarian piece that is broken and no longer useful, reborn as a beautifully restored and revered piece of art. As a result, I “borrowed” (stole?) the term as the title of my series of bowls repaired with dovetail patches. The idea of repairing turned items with dovetail patches (referred to as “pewa” by Hawaiian turners) is definitely not new to woodturning at large but is new to my process. Hence, my Kintsugi series.
The very first piece I repaired with dovetails came to me cracked almost into two pieces. I repaired it successfully (Whew!) and the owner now displays it upside down to show off the repair. Thinking back, this was the inspiration that caused me to start my Kintsugi series.
So, wabi sabi is new to me, but also not new to me. While doing my homework I learned some nuanced things about wabi sabi and have a reasonable understanding of the concept, but it seems that all my life, not conscious of any of that, I have been drawn to and instinctively found things “wabi sabi” appealing. I’ve loved my little hand-carved ivory Oriental gymnasts for as long as I can remember. The symmetrical, and expertly hand-woven, earthy First Nation baskets that my grandmother traded with her fine silk embroidery, are very special. The aforementioned steamer trunk always seems to offer up another new little surprise whenever I look closely. I built and live in a log house: There is a never-ending story told by the bug tracks, corked boot marks, huge randomly shaped logs tightly fitted to other huge randomly shaped logs, the startling cracks and snaps late at night (even after almost fifty years) and the cat face (large scar) intentionally placed in the front wall for all to see as they approach. The fact that it is the only log house alongside square and true framed houses speaks to both my wife’s and my individuality.
So now you know everything about wabi sabi. And hardly anything at all about wabi sabi. What I feel is important is to understand that a piece does not necessarily have to be flawlessly executed in form and finish to be artistic to convey a story. Just like a Teddy bear with an eye missing, something can be appealing and perhaps tell a greater story if it is imperfect or incomplete. Like a half blind Teddy bear, that piece can often be closer to you than you can adequately express.
For more information on Kintsugi, check out this video.
Photo credits: Small Japanese Kintsugi teacup: https://www.istockphoto.com
All others: Ed Pretty
