What, to you, makes something Beautiful?
From the beginning of time beauty has been widely (albeit simply) defined as perfection. From Egyptian pharaohs to Ancient Greece through Da Vinci’s
Vitruvian Man, those considered most beautiful were of perfect proportion and symmetry in every feature. Even in the present we use collagen, creams, lifts and tucks to look younger, tighter and fitter so we might achieve this unattainable, God-like beauty status.But what if we went against these principles so seemingly set in stone. What if, instead of youth and perfection beauty was found in age and imperfection? This is exactly what is believed in the Japanese aesthetic of w
abi-sabi; that the beauty of an object comes with it’s age, it’s wear, the natural process of which it was created and how it was used throughout it’s life. Though not an easy translation, this ancient Japanese art can be loosely condensed to
Wabi: rustic, understated elegance and
Sabi: the beauty or serenity that comes with age and wear. wabi-sabi isn’t air-brushed, clone stamped transformed or liquified. Wabi-sabi is crow’s feet, laugh lines, birth marks and freckles. It’s rust on a metal door, the frayed edges of your favorite sweater and the cracks in your grandmother’s china.
In a world where newer is better it’s refreshing to look at things through different eyes; for in wabi-sabi nothing lasts, nothing is finished and nothing is perfect. I’m not ashamed about getting older, wearing jeans with holes or my favorite worn out sneakers. I wear those shoes with love, wear my wrinkles with prideful wisdom and know that I – along with everything else in this life – am still a work in progress.
In this feature I share simple images of things/people that I believe follow the wabi-sabi aesthetic. Sometimes it’s nice to step back and appreciate the small things in life
Here is a blanket hand-knit by my maternal great, great grandmother Elin over fifty years ago. A blanket my mom used with her dolls and my grandmother uses to this day. In this image it hangs on my grandparent’s clothesline that has stood in her yard since the day their grandparents moved in in 1905!
My grandmother’s cookbook. I find it astounding that this little gem and I only met a year ago. How, in all of the time I have spend with my grandmother in her kitchen, have I never noticed this book? Perhaps the wisdom of my thirties is starting to kick in and I’m appreciating things in a different way; I look at this book and it tells a thousand stories of cooking and family from my grandmother’s perspective. I see Christmases and birthdays, backyard barb-e-ques and impromptu dinners with fresh veggies from the garden. Each torn page represents sustenance, bounty, togetherness and the simple pleasures of food and good company. Grammy keeps saying how she needs to get a new one, yet this one still holds steady in her cupboard. Somehow she can’t seem to part with the familiar pages of this lovingly used gift where the voices of those who have passed still sound, loud and clear.
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