'Every Piece Of Art I Have Is the Best'

Photo by Riho Kitagawa on Unsplash

There's an old Zen about a conversation between an old butcher and his customer, which was overheard by a passerby. The customer asked the butcher, "Give me the best piece of meat you have", to which the butcher replied, "Every piece of meat I have is the best. There is no piece of meat here that is not the best." After overhearing this exchange, the passerby, afterward known as the Japanese Zen philosopher Banzan, became enlightened.

"Every piece of meat I have is the best." Photo by Eiliv-Sonas Aceron on Unsplash

So what exactly was supposedly so enlightening about what the butcher said? I'm not a philosopher but I will take a stab at explaining it. Basically, what it comes down to is that everything has it's place. When you accept what is, there are no 'good' or 'bad' things. Everything is perfect in its own way. When you accept this, you will have peace and enlightenment.

I've long had a fascination with Asian cultures, particularly the languages( I've been teaching myself some Mandarin. Nǐ hǎo!), early philosophies, and yes, the art. One art form that particularly comes to mind right now is something called kintsugi. Collins Online Dictionary defines kintsugi as the Japanese method of repairing broken ceramics with lacquer usually mixed with powered gold, silver, or platinum. The repaired item then becomes a work of art in its own right, rather than be viewed as a merely a repaired object.

Tea Bowl fixed in the Kintsuji method, public domain

And since I started this post off mentioning cuts of meat, I just find it incredibly ironic how the marbling on some cuts of meat are reminiscent of the golden veins on pieces of kintsugi.

Marbled meat-or Kintsugi? You decide... Image by tomwieden from Pixabay

But really, though, I don't think there's anyone here that would disagree that kintsugi should be considered actual art and not be viewed merely as broken pottery. The pieces of kintsugi pictured above are just so beautiful there's no way anyone could ever view them as anything but legitimate art. And yet, that is how they all started off-broken pieces of pottery, imperfect.

It's an interesting philosophy, both for art and for human well-being.

Is it art gone wrong, or done very right? I think I'll call it 'Blue'.

For instance, on the art side of things, I recently had an idea for a composition after watching my wife (she's something of a creative herself) refinish our small, well-worn kitchen table using an epoxy 'dirty pour' coating.

Our quaint little kitchen table after its makeover.

I had this grandiose idea about how the finished product would look. However when I did this dirty pour on my canvas, it looked nothing like how I had envisioned. But would I call it a fail? At first I did, but then I took a step back and viewed it from a Banzan/kintsugi perspective: Even a 'failed' piece can be a thing of beauty itself. So I went from beating myself up about, took a breath, and told myself, "Every piece of art I have is the best; there is no piece of art here that is not the best."

And here's where kintsugi as a philosophy has application for our mental and emotional wellbeing. When we view ourselves under lens of kintsugi, we stop beating ourselves up over our flaws and imperfections and learn to accept ourselves, warts and all. Not to excuse us from making improvements were we can should make them, but rather to accept the fact that we are human, and will never not make mistakes. The average, well-meaning person is harder on themselves than they should be. Growing up as a socially awkward, insecure young man, I was well aware of my personal failings. But recently, during my morning meditation sessions I stumbled upon the philosophy of kintsugi and learned to embrace my flaws to the extent that I'm far more comfortable now in my own skin.

In fact, the philosophy of kintsugi has been credited in helping individuals cope with loss endured during the height of the COVID-19 pandemic.

So there you have it, friends. I invite you to find your own enlightenment. Find your own version of kintsugi, whatever that looks like for you. And remember to tell yourself: "Every piece of art I have is the best."

See you next time.

P.S. - Alexa, (yes that Alexa), told me a joke recently:

Q :"What kind of gift does a Zen Master like?"

A: "A house-because he likes to live in the present."