In All Uncertain Terms

I remember the first time I saw a picture of kintsugi, the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery by joining the pieces with a lacquer mixed with gold dust. It seemed such a simple, easy idea, but I was a bit in awe of the beauty.

While browsing Pinterest, the same place that exposed me to kintsugi, I saw a post about someone’s mother who, when bedsheets wore thin enough to acquire holes, would embroider small flowers over the gaps. My love for whimsy and the natural world, or at least imagery of it, had me sold on the practice.

I’ve since been exposed to the r/VisibleMending subreddit, which, in an internet so full of vitriol and despair, has been an unusual source of joy and inspiration. Perhaps my favorite piece I’ve seen there was a couch not unlike my own that had been scratched to shreds by a cat or two, thoroughly woven over again in bright, colorful splotches by the owner. It was a big job, but the couch was more eye-catching and beautiful afterward than it ever was brand new.

I’ve heard speakers draw a comparison between kintsugi and the biblical story of Joseph, or God’s habit of turning bad things good. As Joseph says to his brothers who had tormented and betrayed him, “You meant evil against me, but God meant it for good.”

I was initially only drawn to visible mending because of its beauty and merits in the realms of frugality and waste reduction, but I have since come to think of it as a way of participating in the divine tendency to create, restore, and renew. I’m still a novice, but wanted to share the visible mending projects I have done thus far.

The first was a mock-kintsugi with super glue and gold nail polish. It’s not amazing, but helps to cover the small crack in this cup, whose duty it is to hold the accessories of my espresso machine.

The second is still a work in progress. One of my favorite dresses has a large tear, and I plan to stitch it together with embroidered flowers similar to those of the fabric’s pattern.

The third and fourth are, respectively, a pair of pants belonging to my son and a pair belonging to my friend’s daughter. Both had holes in the knees, and I patched both with pieces from some of my old pairs of socks that had become holey.

The fifth and sixth are both places in our bedroom where the top layer of the cheap vinyl floor has chipped or worn through. I don’t expect the paint to hold up to the stress of daily being walked upon, but that’s okay. The nice thing about visible mending is that there is virtually no limit to how many times it can be done, so when these flowers get demolished, I’ll just make new ones. These places in my home that once irked me have become features that make it undeniably mine. No one has the same pants as my son or my friend’s daughter. What things have you visibly mended, or do you plan to mend?

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