In a prior missive, I talked about my collection of cast iron cooking implements. It's gotten out of hand with over 200 pieces from at least 8 countries and 3 continents. Most of America's major foundries are represented plus a few pieces that predate them. I've even got an order in with a new outfit for their take on a waffle iron.
Andrea is a collector as well, but the subject of her flea market and antique store quests are decidedly more delicate. While the preponderance of her finds is ceramics from Wedgwood, local artisan guilds are also represented. One of my favorites is a deep cobalt blue vase with an interesting glaze technique that gives the appearance of blooming flowers.
Cast iron is admittedly kludgy and heavy, but it can handle a fair amount of abuse. Not so for Andrea's ceramics. The blue vase I mentioned was accidentally knocked over and it fractured into three major pieces. Now, Andrea was doing "Marie Kondo" before Marie Kondo, so I was surprised when she kept the broken fragments. Apparently, she had a plan.
In ancient Japan, there was a master of the tea ceremony, Yusai Hosokawa, who was in service to a local warlord. One day Hosokawa's apprentice fumbled the serving tray and a priceless teapot, the warlord's favorite, fell and broke into five pieces. The warlord stood and was about to go postal on the apprentice, but Hosokawa stepped in and talked him down, sparing his young assistant. Hosokawa collected the teapot fragments, had them reassembled with resin, and filled in the cracks with gold. He presented this to the warlord who was moved beyond measure at this restoration. This became the basis for Kintsugi, a Japanese art form from the Japanese kin (gold) and tsugi (to reconnect).
The idea is to create beauty from brokenness, and as I contemplated this art form, I've noticed a few things.
From a materials point of view, fracture patterns are the result of internal weaknesses distinctive to each and every piece and the nature of the fracturing blow. No two pieces will react the exact same way to a given external impact.
The repairs aren't hidden - they're accentuated. More than just mended fractures, these slender lines of gold have become unmistakenly pronounced and impossible to miss. Rather than detracting from an object's beauty as a remnant of some past trauma, these repairs enhance its uniqueness.
Although they were once broken, kintsugi pieces are held in higher regard than the original piece. They denote a sophistication absent in the original.
If you replace all references to ceramics and pottery with "I" or "me" and all mentions of fractures with any and all storms life has thrown at you, you now have a few reasons to hold your head high. Regardless of past maelstroms you've endured or are currently weathering, you're still standing.
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