Simple, slow, and uncluttered, revering authenticity above all.

Pared down to its barest essence, wabi-sabi is the Japanese art of finding beauty in imperfection and profundity in nature, of accepting the natural cycle of growth, decay, and death. It’s simple, slow, and uncluttered-and it reveres authenticity above all. Wabi-sabi is flea markets, not warehouse stores; aged wood, not Pergo; rice paper, not glass. It celebrates cracks and crevices and all the other marks that time, weather, and loving use leave behind. It reminds us that we are all but transient beings on this planet-that our bodies as well as the material world around us are in the process of returning to the dust from which we came. Through wabi-sabi, we learn to embrace liver spots, rust, and frayed edges, and the march of time they represent.

Wabi-sabi is underplayed and modest, the kind of quiet, undeclared beauty that waits patiently to be discovered. It’s a fragmentary glimpse: the branch representing the entire tree, shoji screens filtering the sun, the moon 90 percent obscured behind a ribbon of cloud. It’s a richly mellow beauty that’s striking but not obvious, that you can imagine having around you for a long, long time. It’s the peace found in a moss garden, the musty smell of geraniums, the astringent taste of powdered green tea.

Daisetz T. Suzuki, who was one of Japan’s foremost English-speaking authorities on Zen Buddhism and one of the first scholars to interpret Japanese culture for Westerners, described wabi-sabi as “an active aesthetical appreciation of poverty.” He was referring to poverty not as we in the West interpret (and fear) it but in the more romantic sense of removing the huge weight of material concerns from our lives. “Wabi is to be satisfied with a little hut, a room of two or three tatami mats, like the log cabin of Thoreau,” he wrote, “and with a dish of vegetables picked in the neighboring fields, and perhaps to be listening to the pattering of a gentle spring rainfall.”

In Japan, there is a marked difference between a Thoreau-like wabibito (wabi person), who is free in his heart, and a makoto no hinjin, a more Dickensian character whose poor circumstances make him desperate and pitiful. The ability to make do with less is revered; I heard someone refer to a wabibito as a person who could make something complete out of eight parts when most of us would use ten. For us in the West, this might mean choosing a smaller house or a smaller car, or-just as a means of getting started-refusing to supersize our fries.

*Robyn Griggs Lawrence

2 Responses to Simple, slow, and uncluttered, revering authenticity above all.

  1. […] of imperfection’, but there’s more to it. Earlier today I came across this blog post about Wabi-sabi (that includes the photo above). I feel the author does a great job summing-up the […]

  2. Aleja says:

    Thank you for your input about Wabi-Sabi, Toiko! Your last line, it is the art to be loved and appreciated drbecises how I view it quite well. I don’t use it, nor do I know others who use it as an excuse to be lazy or abandon. I use it as a way to appreciate time-worn furniture and embrace the things around my home that are not polished and shiny and new. It isn’t an excuse to pile up junk, I haven’t used it that way in my life or described it that way here. I think embracing imperfection, letting the little things go and relishing the beauty of nature and life around us is the best way to reach wabi-sabi. Of course, as all things are, it’s personal. I am glad you’ve described it well here and how it works for you in your life![]

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