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Looking back, I wrote an English article titled "Philosophy of Kintsugi" in May 2023.
It covered the history of Kintsugi, its connection to Wabi-Sabi, the characteristics of Urushi (lacquer), and the differences in perception toward Kintsugi between Japanese and international audiences. Rereading my thoughts from that time, I realize it was a starting point for my journey.
Several years have passed since then. In the interim, Tsugu Tsugu has repaired thousands of pieces of pottery, taught Kintsugi to hundreds of people, and in November 2025, we held our first 16-day event in Kyoto. Through countless encounters and much learning, my perspectives have been continuously updated.
I now feel strongly that the previous article alone can no longer convey the entirety of my current thinking. One of the most significant environmental changes in recent years is the rapid spread of AI. It seems many people are seriously contemplating: "What should we leave to AI, and what should remain the work of human hands?"
In such a world, what meaning does Kintsugi hold? Will it continue to be needed?
Starting from an event that occurred during our 16 days in a Kyoto traditional townhouse, I felt compelled to organize my current thoughts on what Kintsugi is being asked to provide, the philosophy it embodies, and its relationship with AI.
1. Why Are We Drawn to Kintsugi?
In the Kyoto pop-up event, we rented a room, a registered tangible cultural property in Kyoto—a townhouse renovated after more than a hundred years since its construction. Every day during the event, we held traditional Kintsugi workshops using urushi. The concept was born from a shared desire to "repair and preserve," uniting a centuries-old townhouse with the Kintsugi technique, which has endured for over 500 years since the Muromachi period.
While some Japanese residents of Kyoto visited, the majority of our customers were international travelers or those on short-term stays in the city. Since this was a precious opportunity to meet and speak with customers directly, I asked everyone who signed up for the workshop the same question:
"Why did you choose to participate in this Kintsugi workshop?"
With Kyoto offering so many activities and ways to experience tradition, why was Kintsugi chosen? As I repeated this question every single day for 16 days, a new discovery emerged.
They were seeking "something meaningful to do," not just a superficial "Japanese cultural experience." They wanted to "spend a memorable time," rather than just consuming. They wished to "face themselves in a quiet place," away from the bustling tourist spots.
Since launching Tsugu Tsugu in 2020, I have listened to the needs of many people. This time, I felt that "what people seek from Kintsugi is changing," or perhaps, "this kind of latent need existed, and I had simply failed to fully recognize it." It was a powerful reminder of the importance of listening directly to the voice of each customer, no matter how busy we get, instead of solely learning from data aggregation.
2. AI Suggested “Something Meaningful” — It Turned Out to Be Kintsugi
One customer who left a particularly strong impression during the Kyoto event was an American couple. They told me:
"Actually, I didn’t know about kintsugi at all. I just asked AI for something meaningful to do in Japan. Then I found kintsugi, and I found you."
They had never heard the word Kintsugi. They simply asked AI for "something meaningful to do in Japan," and the AI returned "Kintsugi" as the answer. From there, they searched further, found us, and booked the workshop.
I was genuinely astonished when I heard this. It wasn't a specific keyword like "best Kyoto activities" or "Japanese traditional culture." The AI proposed Kintsugi in response to the abstract query, "Something Meaningful." And out of all the Kintsugi options, they chose us.
As a side note, we’ve never run any ads for our one-day Kintsugi workshops. So how did they find us in the flood of online information? Maybe someone appreciated what we’ve built over the years. Maybe it was word of mouth. Whatever it was, that recognition must have made its way into the AI’s response — and when they saw it, something clicked. They felt, “This is it,” and booked the workshop.
Furthermore, our workshops require full prepayment. This is because we want to prepare thoroughly for each person and offer a heartfelt experience. However, since the experience is not cheap, it’s not an easy booking to make on a whim. This means that, despite knowing little about Kintsugi, they trusted the AI's answer and trusted Tsugu Tsugu enough to come.
An AI suggested Kintsugi as a "meaningful experience," guiding a couple to an unfamiliar culture. Reflecting on the accumulation of coincidences and choices that led to this encounter, I couldn't help but feel compelled to explore the theme of "AI and Kintsugi."
3. The Meaning of Kintsugi in the Age of AI
AI excels at generating "plausible" text and images from massive amounts of data. However, in the domains of "meaning-making" and "philosophy," I believe it cannot yet truly understand and move the human heart.
The vessels repaired with Kintsugi hold a unique story for their owner:
- Where did they acquire it, and who gifted it?
- In what moments of daily life was it used?
- At what moment did it break?
- What emotions were present at that time?
At Tsugu Tsugu, our activities have always gone beyond mere technical repair. We operate in alignment with these stories and the feelings of our customers.
Rereading my "Philosophy of Kintsugi" article from a few years ago, I felt a little embarrassed by its immaturity. However, now, after years of meeting many people and experiencing numerous failures, I want to add five key points to that original piece—my current thoughts and messages on Kintsugi.
1. Kintsugi Passes Down the Human Heart and Story, Not Just the Vessel
I believe Kintsugi professionals at Tsugu Tsugu are not just a technician who fixes a crack.
Kintsugi is deeply connected to the Japanese aesthetic of Wabi-Sabi —a way of thinking that affirms imperfection and the beauty of age. Applied to ourselves, it means leveraging aging, scars, and flaws as strengths, rather than hiding them. Kintsugi doesn't just overcome a past wound; it utilizes the trace of that wound, elevating a "defect" into "beauty."
It goes beyond simply returning a broken object from a minus to zero, as with shoe or watch repair; it transforms it into a plus. It is not just a simple repair, but a technique that assigns meaning to a negative history and turns it into hope.
While AI can propose a "plausible meaning" based on similar patterns from the past, I believe it cannot interpret the unique sentiment invested by the owner in that specific vessel, nor the value created after its restoration. It is only when a vessel is repaired by a Kintsugi professional capable of contemplating these uniquely human elements that the vessel truly seems to revive beautifully.
At Tsugu Tsugu, we rigorously instill in our Kintsugi professionals the ethical imperative to empathize with the customer's feelings. I believe Kintsugi is an act of repairing the owner's heart and memories through the act of fixing the vessel.
Beyond technique, the ability to make the customer smile when the repaired piece is returned is crucial. A craftsman's attitude of looking down on the customer—as in, "It's fixed, so that's enough, right?"—is unacceptable. We have a strong commitment to the smallest details, starting from the conversation when we receive the broken vessel to the moment we return it, ensuring we are attuned to the customer's heart and why they brought that specific piece for repair.
We are still not perfect, but all Kintsugi professionals at Tsugu Tsugu are committed to relentless effort and continuous growth to ensure we can move our customers.
2. The Decision to Keep is Not Just for SDGs
Often, the vessels entrusted to us for repair are not "very expensive." Furthermore, the cost of Kintsugi repair frequently exceeds the original purchase price. While many people give up on Kintsugi when comparing the original cost to the repair cost, those who proceed often have irreplaceable memories attached to the piece, even if the vessel itself was inexpensive.
They bring them for reasons like, "It's a memento from my mother," "It was a wedding gift," or "My boyfriend and I chose this together on a trip, and I can never get another one." When an owner breaks a vessel, they must decide: "discard or keep?" Choosing a Kintsugi repair that is more expensive than the purchase price demonstrates the significant meaning and emotion invested in it.
Currently in Japan, Kintsugi is receiving renewed attention from the perspective of SDGs and ecology. However, to be honest, I do not believe the total volume of national waste will dramatically decrease just because Kintsugi becomes more widespread. That is because mending a single vessel with traditional Kintsugi requires so much effort and time.
Therefore, I do not believe that "all broken vessels should be mended with Kintsugi." Saying "thank you" and letting go of a broken vessel to welcome a new one is a perfectly fine choice. I simply want people to know that if there is even one piece in their life that they absolutely do not want to discard, Kintsugi is an option.
The decision to "preserve" that vessel—the willingness to spend money and time to revive it—clearly reveals that person's values.
And I believe the Kintsugi professionals performing the repair bears a significant responsibility that AI cannot shoulder. In the world of AI, simulations can be redone countless times: if it doesn't work, you can undo it. However, in Kintsugi, there are steps that, once executed, cannot be undone.
Owners can’t fully imagine what the gold scars will look like until the process is complete. And honestly, the responsibility can feel heavy. Still, we work with the belief that the vessel will become beautiful when revived in gold. We want the owner to feel, “I’m glad I chose not to discard it.” That’s why we mend each piece with care, confident that they’ll be moved by the result.
3. Buy What You Love — Even If It Might Break
Even if Kintsugi does not directly contribute to reducing waste for ecological/SDGs purposes, I have a different perspective. It relates to the decision-making process when buying. It is the liberation from the idea, "I won't buy or use it because I'm afraid it will break."
I often hear the following from customers:
My children are small, so I'm afraid to use expensive dishes.
It's a hassle if it breaks, so I end up using plastic.
Even when I find a beautiful piece, I give up on buying it, thinking, 'I'll just break it anyway.'
I believe it is a great waste to buy a favorite piece and keep it tucked away in the back of a cupboard because of the "fear of breaking." Knowing that a vessel can be revived through Kintsugi allows you to boldly purchase quality items and use them in your daily life.
Kintsugi might be what encourages us to shift from the mindset of choosing "unbreakable" or "cheap" dishes to the path of "buying what we truly love and using it properly." In this sense, it becomes an opportunity to reclaim the richness of "spending a long time with a cherished vessel," moving away from a mindset of buying cheap things in bulk and easily discarding them.
AI can certainly propose the "optimal vessel" with the best cost-performance ratio based on conditions. However, the answer to the question, "Which vessel do I want to spend my life with?" can only be given by a human.
4. The Value of Being Slow
AI and the internet compete on "speed." Information appears instantly when searched, and images are generated in seconds.
In contrast, traditional Kintsugi using urushi is a slow and painstaking process. The same steps are repeated over months. After one step, you wait days or even weeks for the lacquer to dry. Furthermore, it is common to "go back" to a previous step for a beautiful finish. Superglue, on the other hand, can bond in seconds and finish a repair in a day.
I initially saw the time required for Kintsugi as a disadvantage. But now, I feel the following:
- The slow drying allows one to focus and work calmly on the painting and maki-e (gold powder application).
- After bonding a crack, if it shifts slightly after a few hours or a day, it can often be gently repositioned.
We often receive requests from people who tried to fix a broken vessel with synthetic adhesive, but bring it to Tsugu Tsugu asking us to "redo it with real Kintsugi." When asked why, the reasons are often: "I fixed it myself, but the synthetic adhesive hardened so quickly that the pieces were left misaligned," or "It's fixed, but it looks ugly."
I have come to realize that the slowness of traditional Kintsugi is, in fact, a major advantage. While I am often drawn to efficiency and productivity, in Kintsugi, the urushi becomes stronger when allowed to dry slowly and for a long time at each stage. This is because, unlike synthetic adhesives, urushi possesses the mysterious property of growing stronger over months, years, decades, and even a century.
The value of Kintsugi may be an antithesis to an age obsessed with speed.
5. The Quiet Power of Kintsugi
To conclude, I want to share what I feel most deeply: the power inherent in the act of doing Kintsugi itself.
Kintsugi as a Moment to Realign the Mind — Totono-u
When we listen to the feedback from our workshop participants, we often hear the same kinds of responses:
- “My mind went completely blank — in a good way.”
- “I forgot all about work.”
- “As I moved my hands, my mind slowly became quiet.”
On the surface, Kintsugi is about repairing a broken vessel. But internally, the process feels like a small ritual — a moment to step away from the noise of everyday life, face a crack, and simply focus on your hands. As time passes, there is a quiet sense that your inner self is slowly falling into place.
In Japan, we call this feeling “Totono-u.”
It refers to a peaceful state of mental, emotional, and physical alignment — when the mind clears, the body relaxes, and everything inside you feels balanced. It’s a sensation many people now associate with the afterglow of a sauna or meditation. But it can also arise through the slow, mindful act of Kintsugi.
Setting aside time for Kintsugi isn't always easy. But once you immerse yourself in the process, it becomes a precious opportunity — a rare moment in which your inner world gently realigns.
Kintsugi and Self-Efficacy — The Confidence of Doing It Yourself
I was once told something by a man in his sixties who had worked for a major corporation for a long time and successfully completed many projects:
"In a company with advanced division of labor, I rarely had the chance to finish something from start to finish entirely by myself. But doing Kintsugi taught me how challenging it is to mend a single broken vessel with my own hands. And when I succeeded, I felt a great joy and a sense of 'I did that.'"
This is precisely what is known as "self-efficacy." I believe Kintsugi has a psychological power to give people a small boost of confidence.
Bringing Kintsugi Home
Recently, we have received emails and photos from people who came to Japan for a short stay, attended Tsugu Tsugu's Kintsugi class, and then returned home to tell us: "I built a dedicated Kintsugi desk at home!"
They have replicated the arrangement of the tools in the Tsugu Tsugu classroom and incorporated Kintsugi time into their daily routine!
Kintsugi, in fact, doesn’t require much space. Just a small desk — about 2 feet wide and 2 feet deep — is all you need. The tools are minimal, too, since only a small amount of material is needed to fill the cracks and breaks.
Kintsugi and Minimalism: Finding the Beauty in Less Is More
I hear that in post-war Showa-era Japan, having many possessions was a symbol of wealth. However, today, the value that "minimalism"—living with fewer things—is true luxury is spreading.
I myself am an extreme minimalist. Despite this, when I became hooked on Kintsugi, I found myself wanting to buy various tools that "might be useful." So, I understand everyone's feelings well.
Previously, driven by the desire for people to "enjoy Kintsugi freely," I did not focus much on tidiness at the Kintsugi classes. However, recently, I have come to feel that organizing the workspace itself is crucial for Kintsugi. If tools pile up and clutter the desk, it can lead to unnecessary mistakes, such as accidentally smearing urushi on the vessel or knocking over a cup of water.
I strongly convey this principle to all Kintsugi professionals at Tsugu Tsugu. A tidy workspace helps clear the mind and reduces mistakes. If we place only what’s needed on the desk, put away tools as we go, patiently wait for the lacquer to dry after each step, and proceed calmly, I believe even the most severely broken vessel can be beautifully revived.
When Kintsugi Becomes a Way
Japan has long had "Do" (Ways) such as Sado (Tea Ceremony) and Kado (Flower Arranging). Kintsugi, in contrast, has historically been a free world with no established schools or factions.
However, the deeper I delve into Kintsugi, the more I feel lately that Kintsugi may be approaching a "Way" (Do) itself.
- The manners of respecting the vessel
- The posture of tidying the workspace
- Concentrating the mind on the fingertips
- The time spent in quiet contemplation
- The philosophy of confronting wounds
These all feel closely related to the "culture of aligning mind and body" common to Sado and Kado. I feel that Kintsugi has the power to do more than simply repair a technique; it can align the human heart, harmonize daily life, and sometimes even influence one's way of living. That is why I want more people to know about the profound benefits of Kintsugi.
I would like to continue delving deeper into this theme as I gain more experience.
Conclusion: The Value of "Meaningful Inefficiency" in the Age of AI
During our limited-time event in Kyoto, several international customers made comments like:
"I walked all over Kyoto, but everywhere was full of foreigners, and I got tired." "I want to go to places others don't and do what the locals here truly do."
If you search the internet, the "right answers"—the "best spots" or "recommended Kyoto activities"—appear instantly. As a result, tourists go to the same places, have the same experiences, and create crowds.
Choosing to spend quiet time with a single broken vessel — in a world overflowing with information and efficiency — is not something many people do.
And yet, there’s something deeply valuable about this kind of “meaningful inefficiency.”
A value that no AI can create.
Touching a vessel with your hands, taking your time, and quietly facing your own thoughts — this is something only humans can experience.
In a world that keeps pushing for more speed and efficiency, Kintsugi is the opposite — it’s about slowing down, getting your hands dirty, and taking your time. It means spending money and energy on something that can’t be measured by cost-performance. It means choosing, on purpose, to do something most people would simply avoid.
Perhaps it’s precisely because we live in the age of AI that “meaningful inefficiencies” like Kintsugi are gaining new value. As I continue to live alongside AI, I hope to keep sharing the quiet, human time of Kintsugi — something no machine can replicate — with the world.
(The two black jars shown at the beginning of this article are not generated by AI. The image is a composite made by placing two photographs side by side—the jar on the right before kintsugi, and the same jar on the left after it was repaired using traditional kintsugi techniques.)