Taylor Jean Stephan
Later that afternoon, we split into small groups for a kintsugi workshop at POJ Studio, a tucked-away ceramic studio on a quiet Kyoto street. Inside, it felt like a minimalist gallery—intentional, warm, quietly luxurious.Kintsugi, we learned, is the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery with urushi lacquer and gold. The lacquer itself is toxic when wet, which meant everything had to be handled slowly and carefully. The full process takes months. We were only doing one step.
I found myself getting annoyed with how slow it all was. Some of the women were incredibly precise, painting thin, delicate lines of gold. I kept overdoing it, changing my gloves, getting lacquer everywhere. It was the moment I realized I’m a messy creative and a little bit chaotic. I’m less refined than I imagine myself to be. But kintsugi didn’t ask me to be more meticulous. It asked me to slow down and meet myself where I was.
That night, we went to dinner at Toki, a quiet, elegant restaurant known for its omakase-style experience. As a vegan, I was grateful they had plenty of options for me. It was thoughtful and just as considered as everything else we’d encountered on the trip. I was seated with women I’d just met: a comedian from New York, a cooking creator from L.A., a yoga instructor. Somehow, every conversation I had in Kyoto with people who had been strangers hours earlier went deep quickly. We talked about what we were hoping for in the new year, what we were ready to let go of. Our table kept getting shushed for being too loud. We laughed, apologized, tried again.
Some of the girls went out afterward to Matcho Bar, which I’d seen all over social media, full of shirtless, very buff men. I was a little sad to miss it, but mostly relieved. I wasn’t in the mood to rip through town. I went to sleep instead. Before leaving Kyoto, I booked myself a deep-tissue massage at the Four Seasons and it was heavenly; I could have cried from joy. Then I was off to the airport.
AloJapan.com