The shadows move lazily across the wall.
I watch them change, slowly.
They are grey.
A small cup waits on the table.
I take it into my hands.
Silence accompanies familiar gestures.
So does sound.
The sound of footsteps.
A voice in the next room.
The house filling and emptying.
There is no perfect moment to wait for.
There is this moment.
Earthy colours.
Uneven surfaces.
This is not where wabi sabi begins.
It begins much earlier.
In the way I inhabit a gesture.
In the time I give it.
In the presence with which I choose to move through it.
Seeing or looking?
WABI SABI LIVING
Wabi sabi is a daily, embodied practice.
It is about the way we live with time, objects, spaces and relationships.
I live and work in Milan.
In a city that is bright, fast-moving, layered.
Not in Japan.
Not within a traditional context.
Not in a space suspended outside of time.
And it is precisely from here that the question arises:
how can wabi sabi be lived today, concretely, in real life?
Living Wabi Sabi outside Japan
Wabi sabi originates in a very specific cultural context.
But it was never a set of rules to apply or forms to imitate.
It is a way of looking, a practice of attention.
To live it today, outside Japan, means to translate, to embody, not to copy.
To translate it into the body.
Into our space.
Into our time.
For me, this translation moves through:
artistic practice
meditation
working with material
an everyday life that is inhabited, not idealised
Wabi sabi is not something to “add” to life.
It is a way of being with what is already here.
Light and shadow: a living polarity
In Praise of Shadows by Junichiro Tanizaki is often mentioned.
It is a fundamental text, and its exploration of the relationship between light and shadow is something I deeply love.
But to reduce Japanese thought to a celebration of half-light is an oversimplification.
In Japan, the relationship between light and shadow is dynamic, not ideological.
It is a living polarity.
My studio is bright.
White.
Filled with natural light that changes throughout the hours and the seasons.
Not because I reject shadow, but because light is what allows material to reveal itself.
The ceramics take shape in the light.
Gestures become visible in the light.
Time leaves its traces in the light.
For me, Wabi Sabi Living is also this:
not turning away from clarity, but inhabiting what reveals itself.
Objects in use, not objects on display
And yet wabi sabi objects are not “beautiful” objects in a decorative sense.
They are lived objects.
A coffee-stained cup.
A worn rim.
A surface that changes over time.
They are not flaws to be corrected, but signs of relationship.
Traces of presence.
This is why I make cups, small cups and bowls: containers for presence.
Because they accompany everyday life.
Because they are made to be used, not displayed.
Coffee, for me, is a central ritual.
A simple, repeated, real gesture.
A moment of presence.
Not an idealised ceremony, but a daily practice.
A small space of awareness that marks a beginning, a pause, a threshold.
In this sense, coffee becomes a form of informal meditation.
A gesture that asks not for perfection, but for attention.
Wabi Sabi Living and the practice of presence
I have practised meditation for many years.
I am a mindfulness teacher and work as an art therapist.
In my experience, wabi sabi cannot be separated from the practice of presence.
It is not an aesthetic to observe, but a way of being.
Wabi Sabi Living does not mean “doing less”.
It means being more present.
In the gesture.
In the time it takes.
In the limit.
It is a training of the eye, even before the hand.
A way of recognising when to stop, when to let go, when and how to welcome what emerges.
Kintsugi: integrate, don’t erase
Kintsugi is often misunderstood as a decorative technique.
In reality, it is a philosophy of repair.
In kintsugi, the fracture is not hidden.
It is integrated.
This applies to objects, but also to relationships.
To personal journeys.
To our biographies.
Wabi Sabi Living also means this:
not seeking a perfect continuity, but an honest one.
Accepting that something may break.
And deciding how to care for it.
Spaces that breathe
In the Japanese tradition, space is not rigid.
It is fluid, adaptable, temporary.
This too can be translated into the present, without literal imitation.
A wabi sabi space is not a set.
It is a place that changes over time, adapting to the people who inhabit it.
My studio is a space for work, practice and encounter: fluid, everything can be moved.
Not a place to visit, but a space to inhabit.
An individual practice, not a format
Wabi Sabi Living is not an experience to be consumed.
It is not an event.
It is not a format.
It is a journey.
And every journey is different.
It takes time.
This is why my work today takes different forms:
mentoring
artistic practice
Wabi Sabi Academy
I do not offer standardised paths.
I accompany people through processes that unfold over time, starting from the person.
The Wabi Sabi Culture Club grew from this:
not as immediate access, but as a space of continuity for those who have already begun to practise.
Living wabi sabi today
So living wabi sabi today:
choosing what remains
inhabiting what is here
accepting what changes
Not renunciation.
A connection with the present.
Wabi Sabi Living is a practice that extends into the home, work, relationships and everyday gestures.
Into the way we drink coffee in the morning.
Into the way we inhabit time.
A possible, concrete, everyday path.
Living wabi sabi today.
Choosing what remains.
Inhabiting what is here.
Accepting what changes.
Presence.
Wabi sabi moves through the home, work, relationships and everyday gestures.
The way we take a cup into our hands.
Hands that work.
Hands that chop vegetables.
Hands that create, hands that weave.
Threads and written stories.
Of ordinary patterns, and therefore unique ones.
Ordinary.
The way we move through a room.
The way we allow time to leave its traces.
It does not seek a life without imperfections.
It remains within what exists.
A daily practice.
In the light.
In the gestures
