BROKEN BEAUTY
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During a recent coaching session, a client reminded me of the centuries old Japanese art of repairing broken pottery, called Kintsugi. This ancient technique, also known as ‘Golden Joinery,’ involves rejoining broken pieces of pottery with a tree sap lacquer mixed with powdered gold, enhancing the break instead of hiding it. The repair elevates the beauty of the piece, transforming it into something more than it was before. The cracks are filled with radiant gold, taking what some might perceive as a flaw and declaring its brokenness as valuable, even precious.
I loved this idea when I first heard about it years ago, and was grateful for the reminder offered through my client’s sharing. Instead of burying our brokenness away, it feels like a way of honouring it. I think it also has something to teach us about self-compassion and the value of building on the ruins of what has come before. This not only helps us in our lives, but can support our art-making as well. When we understand the value of failures, loss, and struggle, and how that builds depth and meaning, we can let go of resistance and stop hiding. We can reveal ourselves, to ourselves, and let that show up in our creative work. We can be vulnerable and trust that the mistakes we make are teaching us, and becoming the veins of gold that acknowledge our broken beauty.
I remember feeling broken from a very early age, simply because I was sensitive and different. Many artists arrive in this world with heightened sensitivity. It’s part of what allows us to experience the world in the way we do and create our art. But it’s not always understood by others, and we may have been encouraged to be more normal, to fit in, and not attract unwanted attention. These well-meaning messages inherently tell us that there is something wrong with the way we are, and we might imagine that we’re flawed in some way – broken, not like the others.
As a young teenager I experienced a literal break in my world when I was in a serious car accident that left my face badly injured. At the tender age of 14, all-consumed with appearances and being accepted, I was undergoing plastic surgery to put my face back together. More than 200 stitches and years of procedures to repair the injuries to my face left me with lifelong scars that I still feel self-conscious about at times. I know that many never see these scars on my face, and many times I don’t either, but they are part of my brokenness. And I now know just how much they have brought into my life as a result. Like the art of Kintsugi, I have been filling the brokenness with gold, offering myself compassion and acceptance, even when I feel myself wanting to hide those scars with better lighting and make-up. When I can see the scars in pictures and on video, I am reminded of that flawed beauty and I get to practice again – not judging, not rejecting, not hiding. I am grateful for the opportunity each and every time...and, at times, I don’t always meet that opportunity as well as I could have and catch myself wishing they were not there.
One of the ways that I was able to move more easily into acceptance was through art-making. In art school I created several pieces that helped me to process some of that early experience of trauma. I didn’t choose to do it consciously, but as I was opening up a space within myself to make art, there was a lot more there that was getting in the way than I was aware of. Being so self-conscious was preventing me from risking and from allowing myself to be seen. I was hiding in the work.
When I finally allowed what wanted to be expressed to come through, I was both startled and intrigued. It felt as though all the unprocessed stuff around my accident, and how I viewed myself, was coming forward in the work. Stitches, sutures, flesh, blood, and brokenness was all there for me to see. The work I created at that time was for me, and while some of it was shown in my graduation exhibition, it remained with me as a part of my private collection. This was art saving my life and showing me where I was locked down. This relationship with my art – revealing myself to myself through what I create – has always been with me.
When I first heard of the art of Kintsugi I felt a connection to it, not only on a personal level, but for what it represents. The essence of Kintsugi is that instead of hiding flaws, we can fill them with gold and transform something into even greater beauty. Our failures, our mistakes, our flaws are what make us beautiful. This is where we experience our imperfect humanness. And this is where we can use compassion as the gold.
In art-making we are always challenged to risk, fail, and make mistakes. It’s what we do in response to those failures that makes all the difference in our work. Kintsugi can remind us to meet each failed attempt and fill it with gold – our devotion to curiosity, acceptance of failure’s role in learning and growth, and our compassion for the hard work we’re putting in.
In my work with clients I am often reminded of how each of us brings our entire selves to our creative work. The relationship we have with ourselves will arrive in the creative process and become another aspect of our work. If we’re highly self-critical, we’ll be highly critical of everything we produce, making it very difficult for us to reap the benefits of exploration and failure. If we always expect ourselves to be perfect and produce amazing work, we may feel immense pressure and find ourselves procrastinating, and avoiding working all together. If we have little tolerance for our own needs, the struggle and discomfort that comes with art-making may cause us to move too quickly out of discomfort and unable to stay focussed. This may mean we’re constantly moving elsewhere and never finding a position with our work, a distinct style or area of interest to expand into.
Art-making can help us to witness ourselves in ways that we may not have before. This means we can discover our strengths, skills and abilities. And some of what we discover there might be our brokenness. This is when we can remember the Japanese art of Kintsugi and consciously choose to put ourselves back together with the golden light of our self-compassion. We acknowledge our struggle in the moment, we allow it to be with us, without judging it, just noticing, and we get curious about how it is operating in us. There is such valuable information there for us to work with when we’re willing to accept and be curious. And because it is hard work to look at ourselves and our art openly and honestly, we extend the deepest compassion towards the part of ourselves that is trying and willing. We nurture our tender selves and create a safe inner space for our brokenness to become our true beauty.
A similar sentiment and understanding of brokenness can be found in the beloved children’s book ‘The Velveteen Rabbit’ by Margery Williams:
"You become. It takes a long time. That’s why it doesn’t happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in your joints and very shabby.
But these things don’t matter at all, because once you are Real you can’t be ugly, except to people who don’t understand."
It is our commitment to finding strength in our brokenness that allows us to endure and become real – hair loved off, eyes dropping out, and all the cracks beautifully filled with gold.
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