Wabi sabi begins as a love
of something old or broken.
The evolution of wabi sabi can
be found in the story of tea.
May 2005
On the Path to Wabi Sabi
Sonoma artist Mario Uribe brings a traditional Japanese aesthetic and spiritual practice to life in his garden, home, and tearoom.
by Suzanne Saucy
Guests pause to unlatch a hinged, wooden block mounted on a Japanese-style gate, push the plank and bamboo barrier open, and then carefully close the door on a busy world. Small pebbles crunch underfoot down a gravel path that leads to a carved Buddha sheltered in a rough wooden shrine at the base of a redwood tree. The sound of trickling water beckons from the miniature pond set in the hillside at the end of the path with water lilies, azaleas, Japanese maple and brightly colored koi fish. Just a few minutes in artist Mario Uribe’s tranquil Santa Rosa garden offers a chance to slow down and let go of the modern rush to capture “more and better, faster.” There is a wabi sabi feeling of discovery, simplicity and harmony with nature.
Uribe has been searching for the essence of wabi sabi for many years. Used together, these two Japanese words define an aesthetic that resonates with Zen Buddhism. Wabi originally meant poor, but in the 16th century the word changed to reflect the Japanese spiritual ideal of cultivating peace against a backdrop of war. Sabi means old, worn, and reworked, something lost and found.
Wabi sabi begins as a love of something old or broken. It can be seen in the patina produced over time on the surface of metal sculpture; or in the dark burnished tone of the wooden arm of an old rocking chair. The wabi sabi experience is not contrived or artificial: it arises from the natural qualities of the materials at hand. It is based on the perception that, with age, things acquire beauty and elegance, much as some people age wondrously into their own wisdom. Wabi sabi requires an artist’s eye that allows the natural beauty of objects to shine through.
Tempo is another essential component to its understanding. As Richard Powell suggests in his book, Wabi Sabi Simple (Adams Media, 2005): “Do not be in a rush to see everything there is to see. Let it unfold naturally. Eventually what you see will change what you are. And then you will be seeing straight from your heart.”
In its highest expression, wabi sabi fosters humility, observation and appreciation — all of which arise when we slow the pace of our lives. With this attitude, we learn to see beyond the hard edges of rational thought and find clarity.
From Geishas to Green Gulch
As a practicing artist, Uribe has worked in cartoon animation, sculpture, silkscreen, and Japanese brush-stroke painting. He has also built his own tearoom and designed large-scale public murals in Sonoma County. He finds pleasure in the unpretentious practice of adorning daily life with beauty. Uribe continues to be inspired by contemporary practitioners of traditional Japanese arts: calligrapher Kaz Tanahashi, and master of tea ceremony and calligraphy, Minoru Sawada. His own work over the last several years has focused on Zen brush painting and the motif of the circle, capturing this symbol of harmony in a single brush stroke.
The product of a traditional western art education at California Institute of the Arts, Uribe was trained to create end results that look exceptional and impress viewers. But through his studies of Zen brushwork and calligraphy, he learned that the result is less important than the process, particularly the integrity and focus with which you approach it.
“You always see the process as collaboration between you, the paper, the brush, the ink and the moment,” says Uribe. “For centuries, Japanese calligraphy has been regarded as a form of self-portraiture, because it always expresses you at that moment. You learn to have self-compassion, because you accept whatever you do. You don’t go back and touch up or paint over like you do with western art.”
As a child growing up in Mexico, Uribe drew geishas with parasols and bridges with Mt. Fuji in the background. This was not surprising since he was surrounded by Japanese furniture, art and ceramics from his parents’ import business. For much of the first half of his artistic career, he focused on creating fine images. It wasn’t until his mid-40s that his work took on a spiritual quality. In 1991, he attended a seminar on the Japanese arts of calligraphy, flower arranging, tea ceremony, and theater at the Zen Center at Green Gulch in Marin County, and it changed his life. There, he met his future wife, Liz, who was the director of the program, and that same year she introduced Mario to the residential retreat at the Oomoto School of Traditional Arts in Ayabe, Japan.
The Oomoto Shinto sect was co-founded by Onisaburo Deguchi (1871-1948), a pacifist, visionary, artist and prophet who was scorned by Japan’s militaristic leadership, bent on reinstating the emperor in the 20th century as a divine ruler. Oomoto became the center of a spiritual movement that believed art was the mother of religion. Practice of the arts was part of spiritual practice. Uribe returned from his stay at Oomoto with a greater appreciation of Japanese aesthetics and began a 15-year practice of the ceremonial art of tea.
Shoguns and Tea Masters
The evolution of wabi sabi can be found in the story of tea. Zen Buddhist monks brought Chinese tea to Japan in the 9th century and used it to stay awake during meditation. By the 15th century, Japanese nobles, the Shoguns, adopted tea ritual as part of court custom and as a means for showing off their collections of Chinese and Korean silver and gold tea utensils. A Zen priest named Murata Shuko (1422-1503) was encouraged to create a tea ceremony for the Shogun Yoshimasa (1435-1490). It was Shuko who saw the preparation and drinking of tea as a deep expression of the Zen belief that every act of daily life could lead to enlightenment.
But the Japanese revere Sen no Rikyu (1522-1591), the chief tea master in the court of Shogun Hideyoshi (1536-1598), was the father of tea. He introduced the use of bamboo, clay, reed, and wood into the ceremony — a practice that added appreciation of simple natural beauty or sabi.
Rikyu developed a tea ceremony with no wasted movement or superfluous objects, one that met the Shogun’s aim for the ritual: to reconcile differences between the warring provinces he had united. As Richard Powell notes, he found a way to foster peace of mind, which allowed participants to see and face the disharmony in the rest of their lives — the essence of wabi.
“Once I studied tea, I wanted to have a tea room,” says Uribe. “Tea ceremony is such an opportunity to sit and focus on just making tea; practicing is wonderfully meditative.” Uribe has designed a traditional tearoom in a 9’ x 12’ space at his home. Hand-woven tatami mats cover the floor. A smoothly hewn Douglas fir tree trunk (removed from the backyard) forms the central vertical beam and divides one end of the room into two floor-to-ceiling rectangular alcoves. Known as the tokonoma, the right-hand alcove serves as the focal point for viewing a seasonal flower arrangement and a hanging calligraphy scroll that sets the theme and mood for a gathering. Visitors begin the ceremony by taking time to appreciate the scroll, flowers, hearth and kettle before they settle in front of their host in an otherwise stark room.
Everything about the ceremony is meant to give the honored guests a pleasurable, refined, and peaceful experience amidst life’s turmoil and trouble. Early tearooms were lit by candles. Light from one low window was the only daylight in the room. In Uribe’s tearoom there are two windows, a skylight, and sliding shoji panels that illuminate the soothing, avocado walls. Natural textures and patterns give the senses plenty to absorb. The host serves a light snack as he heats water for green tea, performing a highly choreographed set of motions with grace, balance, and care. The intimacy of the small space enhances the wabi sabi effect of the ritual.
Tea ceremony embodies the essence of wabi sabi and its higher aim of spiritual tranquility. Verbal descriptions merely point to the experience, much like the Japanese word furyu suggests the sensation of water running through your fingers or wind blowing on your face. But the description is not the experience. Wabi sabi speaks to the impermanence of life’s existence; artists strive to reflect it in simple forms made of natural materials. It must be felt to be understood.
Suzanne Saucy spent three years teaching English in Japan in the late 1970s. She currently seeks wabi sabi consciousness while herding wild cats at Common Ground.
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