Notes on Wabi-Sabi

Sometimes, the most beautiful moment
is just before something is finished.

A book, left open on a bench.
A sketch, lines trailing off.
A thought, half-formed, but honest.
The Mona Lisa – unfinished, yet timeless.

This is Wabi-Sabi.
And maybe, this is us.

Unfinished things feel more human.
There is a quiet honesty
in something not yet complete.

You can see the intention.
The effort.
The soul.

A work in progress doesn’t try to impress.
It invites you in.

The uneven stroke.
The visible glue.
The part that didn’t go as planned –
that’s where the story begins. When we show the process,
we show trust.

We say:
I don’t have all the answers.
I’m still learning.
And that’s enough.

There is quiet courage
in letting someone see you
before you’re ready.

In architecture,
a surface with texture
offers more area to connect.

A smooth wall repels.
A rough one holds.
People are the same.

Perfection slips through fingers.
But imperfection – 
you can hold onto that.

Wabi-Sabi is presence.

It teaches us to notice
what we were too busy to see.

The chip in the plate
reminds you how often it’s been used.
The silence between two notes
makes the music breathe.
The hesitation in a voice
means someone cares.

Beauty doesn’t need a spotlight.
It waits quietly in the corner
until you pause long enough
to feel it.

Wabi-Sabi isn’t about giving up on perfection.
It’s about letting go of the need to appear perfect.

It’s about showing up anyway – 
with the crack,
the pause,
the unfinished sentence.

Because in the end,
we are all
a little unfinished.

And that’s
what makes us
real.