wabi sabi

 

Over breakfast, the café proprietor asked me how my renovations were going, as if that’s what you do automatically when moving house. Despite our acquaintance of some years, I was lost for a reply while regaled with the minutiae of skirting boards, plaster boards and their half of the drainpipe. Shelves too, but that’s another story. I confess to doing the bare minimum, but dared not say so, out of respect, and for fear of subverting his raison d’etre. To each his own imperfections. 

Partially improving an old kitchen, all I wanted was to remove a grotesque fitted cupboard which had overpowered the space, and whose floppy vinyl-wrapped doors resonated through the house each time they were closed. Removal of the offending item made way for an oak larder/pantry/dresser [delete according to preference]. Having exposed the wall adjacent to the kitchen door, I saw immediately that one side of the architrave was missing [as shown], presumably to allow the standard size units to be shoehorned into position. 

What was I to do about the asymmetric door frame? I could have scribed a fresh piece of moulding, or meticulously built up the right hand side. While pondering the options, I learned of the Japanese concept of “Wabi Sabi”; new to me but known to the rest of the west for a century. It’s a reminder of the aesthetic and spiritual value of imperfection, impermanence and simplicity. At the same time I recalled what I had been taught decades ago in the mental health arena. Helping relationships developed more effectively when relaxed, exemplified in using an asymmetrical body language. Symmetry was equated with uptightness. I remembered several colleagues in the field moonlighting as kitchen designers. A deeper significance maybe.

While living in the English Home Counties, some towns were noted for the large number of inhabitants who were asset rich but cash poor. Mental health problems often ensued from an internal imperative to “keep up with the Joneses”. The real Joneses on this side of the border seem less affected on the whole by that sort of thing.  

I’ve been reminiscing about a lifetime of imperfections: some with affection, others, such as teenage acne, less so. Living in a damp caravan, when first married, there was a holiday feel despite the cockroaches. Much later, I foolishly wasted too much money unnecessarily trying to straighten a crooked wall with render to facilitate a house sale. Around the world, my most memorable times were had in scruffy inns with barrels for chairs. And in the many hospitals I’ve known through work or visiting, the warmest care was often to be found in the less pristine premises. Maybe Ivor Cutler was more profound than I realised when, cycling around London, he would stick shops’ labels on passers-by. They were printed with various slogans, including “Slightly Imperfect”.

It’s a fine line indeed between finding fulfillment in the mundane, the eccentric or the just plain dull. En route to “unfitted” bliss, I’ll leave the unbalanced architrave untouched, as a reminder and as an aesthetic feature. Back to the café, I’ll make an exception to the rule. For its spotlessness, and the perfect breakfasts. 

LINKS

Ivor Cutler - Wikipedia
Dull Men's Club - is it actually... interesting? - BBC News
5 Teachings From The Japanese Wabi-Sabi Philosophy That Can Drastically Improve Your Life — OMAR ITANI
Psychogeography of the Great Indoors
Ikigai - Wikipedia