I first came to Kintsugi not through perfection, but through fracture.
In Kyoto, I learned that the true work is slow and unseen: sanding, layering, curing. Urushi — the natural lacquer at the heart of this craft — cannot be rushed. In its pace, I found a teacher.

Kintsugi asks us to attend, not to erase. Each repair begins with careful study of the vessel, continues with patient layers of lacquer, and ends — if chosen — with a finishing in gold, silver, or other metals. What most people recognize as Kintsugi is only the final shimmer. The deeper beauty lies in the quiet work beneath.

At Ma Kōbō, this philosophy guides everything I do. Whether restoring a cherished ceramic, teaching traditional Kintsugi repair, or leading workshops in Colorado and Costa Rica, my work begins with listening — to the object, to the process, and to the time it needs to heal.

For me, Kintsugi is not only a craft but a discipline of attention. It teaches me to stay with what is fragile, to let time and care do their work. In this way, every vessel becomes a reflection of our own lives — shaped by time, marked by fracture, and made luminous by the care we choose to give and receive.