KINTSUGI IS the ancient Japanese art of taking something that's been broken and lacquering it with an invaluable replacement. In the picture above, a cracked tea bowl has been filled with gold. There's a philosophical motivation to Kintsugi; it symbolizes second chances, it symbolizes creative contingencies, and most importantly, it tangibly personifies the age-old believe in redemption.
Imagine what would've happened if the bowl hadn't cracked? It would've been less beautiful, unoriginal, and would have significantly less monetary value. It would've been destined to being normal.
It's clear, however, that it wasn't normal. It was broken early on, and its story would have ended very differently if the process weren't completed. It really would be a story of failure, if the Kintsugi artist hadn't slowly, meticulously filled all the voids and removed all the dirt seeping into the cracks, replacing them with priceless gold.
Okay, we can stop speaking in metaphors now.
Often, in our own lives, we're found in a similar situation to the tea bowl. We try hard and work hard to have a stable, secure lifestyle, but it seems like too often we're rudely disrupted by life's inherent unfairness. Sometimes, even, our lot is worse than the bowl's was in the first place; maybe we were born cracked, raised in an uncomfortably unpredictable home or just didn't really get a chance to succeed.
Far too frequently, these types of people are cast off as inoperable. And that's the problem.
The idea of redemptive lift isn't like winning the lottery; it isn't landing the 1% chance of having the right connections and getting free education to have an inspiring comeback story. Redemptive lift, in theory, is a daily practice.
IN MY OPINION, the definition of redemptive lift is: An empowering process of patience and trust, of nurture and not nature, of hope and not doubt, and confidence in the value of remembering what was, while embracing the atoning power of what is to come.
As fanciful as it may sound, the power of redemptive lift is the wheels that keep our society moving forward. We've seen the influence of great minds that reached enormous success, all while having been raised in unfortunate situations. Benjamin Franklin, for example--one of the greatest inventors of all time--was forced to drop out of secondary school at age ten because of financial issues at home.
Regardless of his circumstances, Franklin continued to develop himself with voracious reading and investigation of the world around him. He went on to invent the lightning rod, invent bifocals, found a university, and become a founding father of the United States of America.
And now he's on the $100 bill. It doesn't get much better than that.
I know, I know. That's way easier said than done. But history has shown that it'll give people second chances, if they try hard enough.
ANOTHER FACTOR strongly valued in traditional Japanese art and culture is the appearance of asymmetry. Where the left side of a shape is perfectly aligned in a 90-degree angle, the other side surprises us with slight little misshapes.
Sure, we may have a few uneven scars. We may have experienced some terrible things; we may have even caused them. It's assured that we aren't perfect. But that's the thing.
Beauty is still beauty, even if it's fragmented.
Imagine what would've happened if the bowl hadn't cracked? It would've been less beautiful, unoriginal, and would have significantly less monetary value. It would've been destined to being normal.
It's clear, however, that it wasn't normal. It was broken early on, and its story would have ended very differently if the process weren't completed. It really would be a story of failure, if the Kintsugi artist hadn't slowly, meticulously filled all the voids and removed all the dirt seeping into the cracks, replacing them with priceless gold.
Okay, we can stop speaking in metaphors now.
Often, in our own lives, we're found in a similar situation to the tea bowl. We try hard and work hard to have a stable, secure lifestyle, but it seems like too often we're rudely disrupted by life's inherent unfairness. Sometimes, even, our lot is worse than the bowl's was in the first place; maybe we were born cracked, raised in an uncomfortably unpredictable home or just didn't really get a chance to succeed.
Far too frequently, these types of people are cast off as inoperable. And that's the problem.
The idea of redemptive lift isn't like winning the lottery; it isn't landing the 1% chance of having the right connections and getting free education to have an inspiring comeback story. Redemptive lift, in theory, is a daily practice.
IN MY OPINION, the definition of redemptive lift is: An empowering process of patience and trust, of nurture and not nature, of hope and not doubt, and confidence in the value of remembering what was, while embracing the atoning power of what is to come.
As fanciful as it may sound, the power of redemptive lift is the wheels that keep our society moving forward. We've seen the influence of great minds that reached enormous success, all while having been raised in unfortunate situations. Benjamin Franklin, for example--one of the greatest inventors of all time--was forced to drop out of secondary school at age ten because of financial issues at home.
Regardless of his circumstances, Franklin continued to develop himself with voracious reading and investigation of the world around him. He went on to invent the lightning rod, invent bifocals, found a university, and become a founding father of the United States of America.
And now he's on the $100 bill. It doesn't get much better than that.
I know, I know. That's way easier said than done. But history has shown that it'll give people second chances, if they try hard enough.
ANOTHER FACTOR strongly valued in traditional Japanese art and culture is the appearance of asymmetry. Where the left side of a shape is perfectly aligned in a 90-degree angle, the other side surprises us with slight little misshapes.
Sure, we may have a few uneven scars. We may have experienced some terrible things; we may have even caused them. It's assured that we aren't perfect. But that's the thing.
Beauty is still beauty, even if it's fragmented.