Curiosity 18: Imperfection

I met my friend Nina today for some work and a kaffeeklatsch. We both do editing, proofreading, and the like, and we were remarking on how even with three proofreaders, a book can still end up with errors (the horror!). I've gotten used to it, and have adopted a philosophy of welcoming imperfection. Not that we don't try to make it as good as possible, but if it's not—might as well embrace our fallibility.

I knew the Japanese have an aesthetic concept known as wabi-sabi, or flawed beauty. It conveys a sense of impermanence and abundance, both at once; humble simplicity and beauty beneath the surface. The term is often applied to a rustic style of pottery, such as Hagi ware, which has a rough, unrefined look—deliberately. The example here is from the late 17th century, and is housed in the National Museum of Asian Art (the Smithsonian), but you can find Hagi ware for sale on Amazon right now.

There's also kintsugi, the practice of repairing broken pieces of pottery with gold, which is beautiful but also draws attention to the damage. (I have a longer discussion, with more examples, here. It's a beautiful artform.)

A little searching brought me a few other examples of the art of deliberate imperfection. Right here at home, Navajo weavers leave a small flaw along the border of their rugs, called ch'ihónít'i, or "spirit line" or "spirit pathway." The Navajo believe that when creating a rug, the weaver entwines part of her being into the fabric; the spirit line allows the entrapped part to safely exit.

In the Punjab region of northwestern India and eastern Pakistan, one finds a style of embroidery known as pulkhari, or flower work, used to make shawls and headscarves. Here, women may introduce a small color change or ornamentation into the otherwise very regular pattern—to protect the wearer from the evil eye, perhaps, or to mark a significant life event that occurred during the textile's creation.

In my search, I also came across the use of the correction of errors in Japanese calligraphy to create a new, reframed if you will, take on the artform. In this example, the orange-red marks indicate the proper placement and balance of elements in the work of a student just learning. The artist found the result worthy of display in its own right. I rather agree. (Here is a full discussion of the process, with more examples.)

I'm happy that such deliberate imperfection exists in the world. But I'll continue to do my best to achieve perfection in my wordcraft. It's my job, after all.