Cracked, But Not Broken
An old art form is new again.
Kintsugi fascinates me. It is the ancient and current Japanese art of filling in pottery or statue cracks with a resin and metallic-powder mixture containing gold. The result is an aesthetically pleasing piece of work. This process takes the “ugliness” of a broken object and, with gold to repair it, beautifies it. Therefore, a broken piece of pottery, for example, becomes its own art form.
This art form, which is in the Zeitgeist of many writers lately, has become a metaphor to those who have physical and/or emotional “cracks.” Which is everyone. The philosophy behind kintsugi is that a shattered being is still valuable – despite the cracks or, with the gold applied, because of its cracks.
Years ago, as many of you know, I was diagnosed with and treated for breast cancer. Like so many in the cancerverse, I have my lion’s share of surgical scars, which have faded over time but will never disappear. Lover of all things bling, I wish I could infuse my scars with gold. But the kintsugi equivalent for today’s breast cancer thrivers seems to be perhaps the decorative tattoos over the chest, flat or not, and over the abdominal region.
I sometimes picture myself with a tattoo of a lioness or a tropical scene on my chest and abdomen. Maybe one day I’ll go there. Nah. Who am I kidding? I cannot endure having yet another procedure on my front torso – although this procedure most likely would create a unique aesthetic.
My other scars are less visible but more menacing than the torso scars. For example, chemotherapy has helped cause osteopenia, and radiation treatment has led to significant lung issues. There’s no glossing over these conditions. I take my calcium supplements, daily inhalers, and I exercise regularly, but my pre-cancer health still eludes me.
And then there are the psychological scars. Regulating anxiety and depression is an endeavor, made worse this year, the panic increasing a multitude of notches by the exodus of my entire medical team (it wasn’t my fault, I swear). My oncologist retired and other physicians followed suit or followed their hearts to other practices. For now, I’m without an oncologist, and a lot of other “ologists.”
Yes, eventually I will have a spanking-new cadre of doctors. But for now, in my new medical group, an appointment with a primary healthcare provider revealed that she was just “meh.” It’s going to take a lot to match the medical team I was lucky to have for so many years, the medical team who valued my life and fought diligently to save it.
I might be cracked, metaphorically speaking, but I am not broken. Luckily, I have an extraordinary toolbox. My psychologist and psychiatrist have used their expertise and knowledge to restore my broken fragments to a sound state. For me, exercise is powerfully restorative, as is reading, writing, taking in museums, and spending time with loved ones.
And then there is art.
The act of creating art is the harbinger of a full experience and helps repair and rebuild the shattered me. Every week I show up to the canvas, unprepared by what is to unfold and thrilled to be on this joyride of being an artist. I may not have physical decorations on my body, but turning my soul outward toward art is a type of kintsugi at its best.
Below is my latest draft of Castle in the Sky. I added layers to the greenery so they show rolling hills and grasses; such scenery will soon serve as the background of other plantings in the foreground. I added spires to the building, which I left somewhat crooked, per my readers’ requests. I took Alene’s advice and made the castle’s distance windows smaller than those closer to the viewer’s eye. Check out Alene’s Substack, where she discusses her artistic experience. It’s inspirational.
What restores you?
What heals your physical and/or emotional wounds?
Hello Beth!
Without the need for a tattoo to represent it on the outside, you are already a true lioness, brave and strong, and you have shown it with the years that you have been fighting this terrible disease.
I am sure that all the people around you who know of your struggle see you adorned with the best glitter of gold and precious stones, which cover the scars of your wounds, both physical and emotional.
I recently watched a documentary about this technique, and I was amazed by the beauty of the restored objects, but above all by the philosophy that this art contains, reconstructing a precious piece from something broken, transforming something that could be useless into a precious object, and not hiding the damage or camouflaging the wounds, but making them visible, perhaps also so as not to lose a reference of what it was and what it has become.
Surely the most difficult scars to treat are the emotional ones, they can be much deeper and more painful, they require more time, that is why I hope and wish that you get a good medical team again, that takes care of you as the one that has been with you for so many years has done, and that they help you heal your scars, that they cover them with gold material as well.
By the way, I loved the new layers that you added to the canvas, you also have the art and the ability to beautify things, congratulations.
THIS: "I may not have physical decorations on my body, but turning my soul outward toward art is a type of kintsugi at its best." The healing image of brokenness being filled with the gold of creativity, speaks to my heart.
I love the way the castle in the sky is turning out -- its imperfect slant and the reaching spirals you've added. The painting is a beautiful metaphor to compliment your essay. You've made me pause and muse ... that the beauty we seek is not in some polished perfection, but found in our scars and broken pieces. I continue to be moved and inspired by your words and images. Your post made me think of this Mary Oliver poem:
Someone I loved once gave me
a box full of darkness.
It took me years to understand
that this, too, was a gift.
“The Uses of Sorrow” by Mary Oliver