The image is of Shisen-do in Kyoto.
Let me start with a story about our company name.
When we first launched the business, our company name was WASAVY. (Pronounced “Wasa-bee.”) The origin, of course, was wabi-sabi.
But every time I called someone, we were often mistaken for “Sazaby,” a company that was already gaining momentum back then. I’d think, “It’s wa, not sa—how does that happen?” Still, it was confusing, so we eventually changed the name.
Even so, I really liked that name.
That’s how close the word wabi-sabi feels to me. Even after we began working with art posters, it’s remained a sensibility I keep somewhere in the back of my mind. This time, I’d like to write a little about it.
So what is wabi-sabi, really?
It’s a concept that’s hard to pin down in words, but it may be easier to imagine a brand-new ceramic vessel.
A perfectly smooth, spotless new piece is wonderful in its own way. But if you use it every day, something starts to happen: a soft sheen appears; the glaze—(that thin, glassy layer coating the surface of ceramics)—begins to show subtle unevenness; fine scratches accumulate. And at a certain point you might think, “Ah—this is starting to have a good face.” It’s close to that feeling.
“Wabi” leans toward a quiet act of subtracting rather than adding extravagantly—toward restraint over splendor. “Sabi,” like the rust that settles on metal, is what time leaves on a surface: the mellow sheen that comes from use, the subdued colors that deepen with age, the patina you begin to find beautiful. When those two sensibilities overlap, you get wabi-sabi.
Even English dictionaries tend to explain wabi-sabi in terms like simplicity, imperfection, nature, and understatement—less a “style,” and more a way of seeing. The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy (SEP), for instance, describes wabi as “simple, austere beauty,” and sabi as a “rustic patina,” a texture made by time.
To add one more layer: wabi and sabi each carry three strata of meaning. One is the literal meaning of the words—the feelings or states of being “wretched” or “lonely.” Another is the aesthetic sensibility—seeing restraint and simplicity, or aged character, as beautiful. And the third is a set of lived forms: how that sensibility shows up in daily life and expression—how a tea room is arranged, how a bowl is chosen, how flowers are placed. What the SEP mainly discusses is the second layer: wabi-sabi as an aesthetic way of seeing.
Is it Japanese in origin? And how is it seen overseas?
“Wabi” appears as early as the Man’yōshū, and it shows up again in classical works from the Heian period such as the Kokin Wakashū and The Pillow Book. “Sabi,” too, appears in waka first with the nuance of “loneliness.” In other words, wabi-sabi is an aesthetic sensibility that has been cultivated inside the Japanese language over a long stretch of time—something that can reasonably be called Japanese in origin.
At the same time, “wabi-sabi” has become a word that works in English as it is, and you can find it as a dictionary headword in major references such as Cambridge and the OED. Outside Japan, it’s often discussed—especially in interiors and design—in the sense of “stepping down from perfectionism” or “not hiding the marks of age.”
Japan’s Cabinet Office surveys on foreign attitudes also show that people cite “Japan’s distinctive spirituality” (Zen, bushidō, wabi-sabi, and so on) as part of Japan’s appeal. Along with the broader rise in inbound tourism, it does seem clear that interest in Japanese culture as a whole has expanded.
What kind of art feels like wabi-sabi?
To me, it’s less about the subject matter and more about the work’s presence.
Negative space settles your gaze. Lines that aren’t too perfectly controlled retain the warmth of the hand. Color doesn’t speak loudly, and your own sense of time loosens as you look. The surface of the material—its grain, its unevenness—isn’t hidden, but shown plainly.
In other words, it’s not the kind of work that makes you go, “Whoa!” at first glance. It’s the kind you realize you’ve been looking at for a long time.
Of course, this is deeply personal, and people will feel it differently. This is only my own interpretation, but whether a work carries wabi-sabi seems less related to what it depicts, and more related to the kind of time it holds.
[Source] (link)
Cambridge Dictionary “wabi-sabi”
https://dictionary.cambridge.org/dictionary/english/wabi-sabi
Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy “Japanese Aesthetics”
https://plato.stanford.edu/entries/japanese-aesthetics/
Oxford English Dictionary “wabi-sabi”
https://www.oed.com/dictionary/wabi-sabi_adj
Manyoshu (Nara Prefecture Manyoshu 100 Poems Database) Poem 644
https://manyo-hyakka.pref.nara.jp/db/detail?cls=db_manyo&pkey=644
National Institute of Japanese Literature ( NIJL ) Kokin Wakashu (including an explanation of the period of its creation)
https://www.nijl.ac.jp/etenji/bungakushi/contents/detail/detail02-02_003.html
Kokin Wakashu (example of "loneliness")
https://manapedia.jp/text/2133
The Pillow Book (example of "lonely")
https://manapedia.jp/text/3524
Cabinet Office "Survey on Foreigners' Attitudes for the Reproduction of Cool Japan" PDF
https://www.cao.go.jp/cool_japan/report/pdf/vision_1.pdf
JNTO Press Release (Announcement of Number of Foreign Visitors to Japan)
https://www.jnto.go.jp/news/press/20250115_monthly.html
