After dropping another plate, Marc West explores the Japanese art of taking broken crockery and making it whole again

There’ll be many left shattered to hear that the ancient tradition of plate smashing seems to have finally gone to the wall and sadly succumbed to so-called health and safety measures as compensation culture reaches new lows.

However, no one in my shared house seems to have received that memo – as the current rate of attrition for our collective crockery is dangerously high.

Over the centuries, breaking eating and drinking vessels has become linked with the concept of kefi – celebrating high spirits to ward off evil – or, just through being wealthy enough to continually replace them after every feast.

However, none of us have Grecian heritage or the deep pockets of a medieval lord, and won’t be ditching the marigolds or washing-up liquid any time soon.

My previous (botched) attempts at repair using super-strength glue have usually resulted in anything but a satisfactory result. I once ended up in the JR’s A&E department with my fingers stuck firmly together.

In the West, we’ve historically tried to save face with the family china by aiming to (often fruitlessly) smooth out the cracks – in more ways than one.

However, Eastern culture has a much more favourable ideology: accepting the item will never be the same again and simply embracing, even enhancing, it’s imperfections.

Much more than just a modern day make-do-and-mend Kintsugi is the antithesis of today’s throwaway culture and a riveting art form in itself.

The 500-year-old Japanese practice of “golden joinery” is deeply interwoven with the philosophy of wabi-sabi – an aesthetic centred on the acceptance of transience.

So, when yet another dish slipped from my hands and smashed on the kitchen floor recently, I saw the situation not as a disappointment, but an opportunity to give those broken shards new life – to reincarnate an object that would otherwise be binned.

We begin with a warming cup of soba tea to focus the mind on this (bleary-eyed) Monday morning. You have to really know your material and trust your tools – mainly your hands.

Once pieced back together using epoxy resin the steadiness of a surgeon is required to apply a smooth layer of urushi lacquer to which the precious powder will adhere. With the tip of a soft brush the gold is gently dusted onto the breaks and its beauty once again begins to shine through – quite literally.

This would be a very expensive time to sneeze.

I won’t lie, it’s all rather time-consuming, with the true skill coming in the refinement of the repair rather than my somewhat heavy-handed bull-in-a-china-shop first attempt. But, the process is incredibly therapeutic and spiritually rewarding.

The healed cracks become a testament to the plate’s history – a moment in time permanently captured by the painstaking labour of this ancient craft.

Oxford Mail:

  • Iku Nishikawa

Oxford Mail:

  • James Thirlwall, Nathalie Moisy, Iku Nishikawa and Kieko Kitamura

Oxford Mail:

  • Kieko Kitamura

Iku Nishikawa from Kintsugi Oxford hosts regular repair workshops for beginners at her homely studio in Old Headington. A three-hour taster session teaches all the basic techniques and costs from £42 per person. See kintsugioxford.com