Kintsugi containing
Kintsugi could show the way of mending, perhaps – of filling the spaces between, of sealing the missing spaces, or holding close what I left behind so long ago.
Shodo
When I meditate I face my tall, wide white IKEA cabinet in my studio. I’m not sure why, it just always felt good in that direction, with that clean uncluttered view and energy perhaps. The cabinet has all my art supplies, and some finished work, and artwork from decades ago, too.
A few months ago while I was meditating, my imagination traveled to the inside of the cabinet. I could see everything and know where and what everything was. My eyes settled on something from 30 years ago – a box containing practice sheets when I first learned Japanese calligraphy, in 1992 when I lived in Kyoto, Japan for a year. I taught English to children, learned the language and culture, and studied shodo, “the way of beautiful writing”.
A few days later I pulled the box from the cabinet shelf, set it on my desk, took a deep breath, and opened it up. A stack of thin white washi paper with inklings of what lay inside greeted me. The kanji character “forever” appeared.
Immediately a faint memory from the past was brought forward to the present. A memory of sitting in the little one-room studio of my calligraphy teacher in the outskirts of Kyoto. She taught private lessons to children, and the occasional gaijin, or foreigner, who wanted to learn shodo, too. I only knew how to speak a little Japanese then. I was a beginner in everything living there.
Slowly turning page after page, I felt as if I was returning to that young woman again, in another memory.
She would spend hours in the evenings practicing shodo, often by candlelight. It was so unlike her own Latin alphabet and the design typography she was trained in. This script fascinated her; it spoke to her. It allowed her to express through it, beyond words with ink, brush, paper, and marks. The script allowed her to connect with the artist she had always known herself to be.
There were so many pages. It was almost too much. I looked up. Breathed. And closed the box.
Uncontained
The idea of creating vessels was reemerging and I wanted to return to the wire and paper vessels I had started exploring last fall. I figured something out then, written in the post, “The way of vessels” – of making vessels for containing and not containing anything, or for whatever is needed, maybe even “uncontain” what is needed...
I suppose I was curious to see where the next creative process might take me. And so I began with constructing the wire frame. For a few long studio days, I made them. First one, then two, then three and four.
Working with bronze wire, by fastening and connecting lines, the forms revealed themselves. There were outlines and between the lines, and an inside space open to the outside. Something was there, and also missing. I held it in my hands to contain what was becoming uncontained.
The grief of the young woman who left Japan 30 years ago, who left abruptly and became fragmented. Her return to the US was wretched and deeply painful. No one understood her, and she couldn’t remember why she had left Japan after a while. It was for many years her one regret in life. A part of her was still there, becoming uncontained.
Lanterns
“Would you like to go to IKEA with me tonight to pick up frames?” Sush asked. John was away in Geneva and she knew I was a bit out of sorts with him gone. “I’d love to.”
Sush is a pro at IKEA. She’s focused and clear about what she needs. I get over-stimulated and buy things I don’t need. But then I bought something that I wanted – a globe-shaped, washi paper lantern to cover a hanging bulb. Not that I have a hanging bulb to cover. They are containers I saw, kind of like the ones I was starting to make. They are containers of light.
Written on the back of the original photo: “5/92 kyoto, japan. my room, my artwork - shodo on the table”
She practiced shodo in the evenings by candlelight because she didn’t have a desk lamp. She couldn’t afford one. And the overhead light was dull and buzzy.
I bought eight lanterns. Maybe I can do expressive mark making on them, or tear one apart and see how they’re made with that spiral construction, or glue some of my shodo practice sheets on them in some way, I thought.
One of these globe lanterns would have been really lovely over my desk in Kyoto way back when, as I practiced shodo in the evenings.
Kintsugi
It was on our way out to the checkout that I noticed the IKEA floor. “Look, kintsugi !” I pointed and then we laughed.
Kintsugi is the Japanese way of repairing broken pottery with gold lacquer, translated as “golden joinery” yet it means so much more.
It’s a philosophy of life, of embracing the cracks and imperfections of our lives rather than hiding or pushing them away. “The fissures of our experiences are disruptive, painful, but generative. We can’t forget them; we can illuminate the gold they give us.” -Carol Burbank
The uncontained bronze wire vessels were showing me something – the place where fragments come together, sealing what was once shattered.
Then
The more I looked at the box containing my shodo practice sheets, the more I remembered that time in my life. It was a time when I was seeking something deeper, perhaps another way to live and be. Living and working in NYC in the early 90s, I was disenchanted with so much, and became enchanted with Japan in my searching. So I moved there.
Written on the back of the original photo: “5/92 kyoto, japan. my bike, entrance to home.”
I rented a private room in a house for women. My room was too big. It felt too big. There was a tatami mat floor, two deep closets with sliding screen doors to hide my futon and few belongings, and a wide window on one side overlooking the city.
Written on the back of the original photo: “5/92 kyoto, japan. outside my window. laundry hangs.”
I watched the clouds pass, the rain pour, and the moon rise. I had a low square table where I sat cross legged on a cushion and wrote handwritten letters, drank cheap green tea, and practiced shodo.
Written on the back of the original photo: “5/92 kyoto, japan. my room, my sitting place. can you imagine me here?”
Her mood was often melancholic, quiet, and reflective. She would go running in the early morning to Honen-in temple to sit alone and meditate near the moss gardens and temple steps. It was her secret place, where the energy of nature spirits were felt, where she cried and cried, and where she listened and began to understand some things.
Me, revisiting Honen-in temple in 1994, Kyoto, Japan
Now
I had the idea to incorporate my shodo practice sheets within the wire vessels, containing then and now, in some way to symbolically show the fragments of my past coming together. Kintsugi could show the way of mending, perhaps – of filling the spaces between, of sealing the missing spaces, or holding close what I left behind so long ago.
To watch my creative process, and to see more of the shodo practice sheets, please click below!
I held it in my hands to uncontain what was becoming contained.
John and I sat outside on our back deck one early morning, taking in the spring flowers and bird song. The back garden felt expansive, wide open to the skies through blossoming trees. I watched the clouds pass, branches wave in the pleasant chill breeze, and the sun rise. I sat cross legged on a cushion in my wicker chair, drank the last of my black coffee, and we both settled into meditating.
Her mood is no longer melancholic, she’s not always quiet, although she’s still contemplative. She doesn’t cry much but that’s because she thinks she forgot how to. She listens deeply to energies and intuition to understand some things.
After a long while, there was a faint insight. That I am living the life that I had searched for 30 years ago. I have a studio and a studio practice. I’m an artist and writer. Life is enchanting and I’ve found another way. My sweetie John is beside me, and I am beside him, and we have a tender love for each other. Our life is delightfully simple and beautiful.
That young woman in Kyoto then, I realize, is also with me here, now.
✻
LouLou
“Kintsugi containing” was originally published as an exclusive post to my Ko-fi supporters in April 2023. Now it is public to you, too!
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