Wabi-sabi entails the appreciation of the imperfection of things, touched by time

and subject to the whims of nature. Old pottery, for example, tells us a story.
There might be signs of wear and tear that indicate its history. When the method of
Kintsugi is applied, the cracks accentuated by gold lacquer highlight the fact that
it had been broken and repaired. The same goes for my yellow suitcase, which was
spotless when I bought it but now shows damage, which indicates that it has visited
nine countries and boarded many airplanes. And isn’t the same true for people’s
faces, whose wrinkles and scars speak to us as if they try to tell us many life
stories, experiences, and pearls of wisdom that make them so remarkable? There’s
something to what’s broken, decayed, imperfect. The idea that it stood the test of
time, endured the forces of nature, and was a quiet observer of an everchanging
environment and that probably many people touched, used, and possibly even
cherished it makes the thing in question ever so more captivating. In a previous
video about wabi-sabi, I quoted the Stoic philosopher Marcus Aurelius, who
described the beauty of decay in his meditations: We should remember that even
Nature’s inadvertence has its own charm, its own attractiveness. The way loaves of
bread split open on top in the oven; the ridges are just by- products of the
baking, and yet pleasing, somehow: they rouse our appetite without our knowing why.
Or how ripe figs begin to burst. And olives on the point of falling: the shadow of
decay gives them a peculiar beauty. Another Japanese concept that touches on the
practice of Kintsugi is mono no aware. Mono no aware can be loosely translated as
an “empathy for things,” specifically the transience of these things. “Hey, even
the Mona Lisa is falling apart,” said Tyler Durden after the narrator lost a tooth.
Such a simple statement is pretty profound, reminding us that even things we
consider timeless and everlasting will eventually disappear. The art of Kintsugi,
therefore, serves as another reminder of the impermanence of things; that pottery,
like everything else, is subjected as much to the creative as the destructive
forces of fate. Things come and go. The tide never stops coming in. All that came
to be will be destroyed. In the case of Kintsugi, pottery gets created and breaks,
which serves as a metaphor for all things existing. A certain visceral beauty
arises in things or situations when we realize they’ll eventually come to an end.
The awareness of transience, the uniqueness of that very thing at that very moment,
increases our appreciation for it. After all, it’s fleeting, and the time to be in
its presence is short. Aside from appreciating what’s fleeting, mono no aware
indicates the gentle sadness evoked by the passing of things. I experienced this
very lucidly years ago when I transitioned from one life phase to another, lying in
the woods at the edge of the city on a late summer afternoon in September,
imagining all the summers of festivities and drunken, merry nights in the town
center, the many fleeting social connections and heartbreak; events dissolved
mainly at the hands of time, but still echoing in the far distant sky above the
trees. There’s something beautiful about events (both good and bad) turning into
memories, slowly fading into the obscurity of our minds. Something like a song or
smell evokes such memories, many of which are painful yet forming an irreplaceable
part of one’s life symphony. These painful recollections, these bouts of nostalgia,
these longings for what has been, are the a-minors, the polyrhythms, and the raw,
unintended emotion of the vocalist’s voice. So, when we think of it, what
constitutes beauty? Is it the good or the bad? Or is it both? Isn’t tragedy what
eventually creates genuine beauty? Just imagine being a broken vase that still has
a life to live. How would you go about this? Would you spend the rest of your life
trying to be ‘whole’ by disguising the cracks and bruises? Would you just lay there
in pieces, waiting for someone to wipe you up and throw you in the bin? Or would
you embrace your cracks and other imperfections and wear them with dignity as they
show an authentic you, telling a story not of someone perfect but of someone who
has lived? After the terrorist attacks on 9/11, a significant debate regarding the
future of ground zero occurred. Developer Larry Silverstein, who had a lease for
the World Trade Center complex, emphasized rebuilding the destroyed commercial
office space. He even considered rebuilding the Twin Towers as exact replicas,
which would restore the wound without scars as if nothing ever occurred. But over
time, parties agreed that a memorial and rebuilding should be combined, resulting
in the 9/11 Memorial and Museum along with new skyscrapers, including One World
Trade Center, also known as the Freedom Tower. I traveled to New York City quite
recently. After visiting the 9/11 Memorial, I realized that it quite echoes the
philosophy of Kintsugi. These shots I took show the voids left by the Twin Towers.
They’re represented by two pools with water pouring into a seemingly bottomless
pit. Around these voids, the names of every person who died in the attacks are
inscribed. So, the scars weren’t erased but embraced and turned into a powerful
landmark. This memorial, along with the One World Trade Center (which reaches even
higher than the original towers), we can see as the gold lacquer that signals
renewal and resilience while accentuating and even embellishing the scars. Once a
vibrant commercial center, the scars of its destruction became a site for
remembrance, solidarity, strength, and the city’s enduring spirit. The site has a
story to tell, a highly significant part of the nation’s history, an event that
changed the world forever. Visiting this site caused me goosebumps. We can find
beauty in scars.