Beauty in brokenness by Sue Irving 14th February 2016
I have
recently found out about the Japanese art of Kintsugi (“golden joinery”) or
Kintsukuroi (“golden repair”), which is employed when valuable ceramic or china
breaks. When the shards are put back together, lacquer, bonding glue or epoxy
is mixed with powdered metals like gold, silver, bronze or platinum.
Everybody who looks at the restored object will therefore notice the
repairs - there is no pretense of perfect wholeness.
The ceramic’s
history is not only accepted, but celebrated, creating a remodeled piece of
pottery with a new kind of beauty and strength. There are even services which
offer to BREAK your pot so that it can be put back together in this distinctive
style!
I did not know about Kintsugi or
Kintsukuroi when a plumber broke the glass panel I had recently created. When
something breaks, my natural instinct is to buy a new item or at least aim for
an invisible repair. In this instance I faced a dilemma: The panel was a
one-off, so I could not simply go into a shop and replace it. An invisible
repair was also impossible. Some parts of the panel had shattered into tiny
fragments, so there was some damage that could never be undone.
I did not have the heart to throw away
something that had taken a lot of time and effort to create. To rescue this
panel I had to let go of my idea of perfection. I would have to accept from the
outset that the original panel could not be resurrected.
After some trial and error, I put the larger pieces together with Sugru,
a mouldable silicon glue. I then glued on sand and shells to cover holes and
hairline cracks. Accepting what had happened stretched me as an artist. I also
think that the new panel is now more interesting than its undamaged
counterpart...
I am also learning that making use of the broken pieces in my
life strengthens my writing. I am very competitive so when my Kilimanjaro
adventure went wrong, I was tempted not to write about it. I knew that there
was no way to invisibly mend the broken pieces and conceal the scars and
disappointment. My story would have holes in it and look messy and incomplete,
especially when compared with my husband John’s story.
However, reader feedback has reminded me that when I tell the truth
about my life with all its ups and downs it can encourage and inspire others.
None of us goes through life unscathed – we may have been broken in different
places, but we are all broken.
Community can flourish when we dare to be real with each other and share
not only our victories, but also our burdens. Hiding pain prevents intimacy and
true connection. Maybe we do not become heroes despite our weaknesses, but
because of our weaknesses…
About the author:
Sue Irving is the co-ordinator for the Creative Communicators in Petersfield. She has co-written a book with her husband John about their experiences when climbing Kilimanjaro. How to conquer a mountain: Kilimanjaro lessons is available as a paperback and an e-book on Amazon, with all proceeds going to charity.
Sue Irving is the co-ordinator for the Creative Communicators in Petersfield. She has co-written a book with her husband John about their experiences when climbing Kilimanjaro. How to conquer a mountain: Kilimanjaro lessons is available as a paperback and an e-book on Amazon, with all proceeds going to charity.
Thanks for this very honest post. Something I needed to hear this morning
ReplyDeleteBrilliant post. I discovered Kintsugi a year or two ago and have never attempted to actually do it but the lessons it gives about beauty in brokenness is wonderful. Thank you for this much needed reminder today. Bless you
ReplyDeleteI think this is a really important message. So often we attempt to paper over the cracks in our lives, instead of allowing God to use our vulnerabilities to help others. Thanks, Sue.
ReplyDeleteIt's a challenge to be honest about our struggles because we believe the lie that people will look down on us. As you say, conversely. honesty breeds trust and openness. A lovely analogy. Thank you.
ReplyDeleteThis really helped me. Thank you, Sue
ReplyDeleteI recently wrote a poem about this. Willing to share it here, but please don't reproduce it anywhere else without my permission.
ReplyDeleteKintsukuroi*
Your fingers lover-tender
and yet untrembling,
I feel you lift each splintered shard,
turn it over and round, thinking;
now into your furnace hotter than shame
you feed the metal, ready to lose
all its dark flaws, to be refined;
then let it cool to human touch.
careful and slow, you paint the liquid gold
between each fragment, till the whole is re-made
- scarred, yet much more beautiful
than it ever aspired to be.
I knew you were a potter
but not this
VZ/11/15
That's beautiful, Veronica! Would you mind if I copied it into my journal?
Delete