To Mend is to Make
Makoto Fujimura’s newest book is both an artistic manifesto and an invitation to making and healing.
Review by Zachary Lee
Opening up Makoto Fujimura’s Art + Faith: A Theology of Making, I initially felt displaced. Unless you have been a longtime reader and follower of the renowned painter and author’s writings and can recognize his work here as the ultimate culmination of ideas explored in his earlier books (in particular, Silence and Beauty: Hidden Faith Born of Suffering and Culture Care: Reconnecting with Beauty for Our Common Life), Fujimura’s use of phrases like “Lazarus culture” and “Kintsugi method” can feel like feel like catching the tail end of a long conversation. But Fujimura writes with such confidence, coupled with such sincere earnestness and conviction, that any sense of displacement the new reader may feel is quickly replaced with a deep sense of being known—and a compelling call to action.
Art + Faith serves as Fujimura’s manifesto—or perhaps the first full penned account of the worldview that has guided him throughout his artistic career. At its core, it is also an invitation to us all to remember, reflect, and reclaim humanity’s first (and often forgotten) vocation of being co-creators with the ultimate Creator. All human beings, Fujimura writes, are artists who are called and enabled to speak into and holistically mend areas of the world that are broken. While in Fujimura’s case, his calling is in the visual arts, in Art + Faith he invites his readers to consider these questions for themselves: What marvelous and fierce beauty may come from even the most desolate ashes? And how can I be a part of creating it?
Fujimura clearly draws parallels between this theology of making and his personal work as a visual artist. Describing Japanese kintsugi, the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery by mending the areas of breakage with lacquer dusted or mixed with powdered gold, silver, or platinum, Fujimura recounts how the practice came out of the elaborate Japanese tea ceremonies of the late 16th century. The teacups would often break due to the earthquakes that struck Japan, but rather than fix the broken cups as though they had never been shattered, kintsugi masters accented the cracks with gold to make something even more beautiful than the original unbroken piece. Fujimura draws parallels to the same way Jesus still bore His wounds even in His resurrected body. Rather than hide the imperfections, Fujimura invites readers to think instead of amplifying the cracks and not seeing them as antithetical to the ushering in of the New Creation.
The beauty of art is that God invites His people to be co-creators in helping to mend brokenness.
Perhaps one of the most poignant and refreshing aspects of Art + Faith is Fujimura’s humble vindication of the isolated and detached artist. Fujimura is aware that artists are frequently seen as having their heads and work in the clouds, never fully concerning themselves with the realities of the world. But true artists’ work, Fujimura argues, is never disconnected from the raw and real. He himself works with raw and precious materials, pulverizing them to make his paintings (the stunning painting on the cover of the book, Walking on Water–Azurite II, is a prime example of this). Fujimura demonstrates that what may be confused for detachment or disengagement is, in reality, a bold hope that God is able to transform even the most broken of people and circumstances into beautiful signposts of His glory. Truly, by seeing imperfection as an entry point to the new, artists can be the ones reminding the world of what God has done and is continuing to do through broken people.
Moreover, Fujimura expands the call to healing beyond professional artists. The beauty of art is that God invites His people to be co-creators in helping to mend brokenness. To be co-creators, Fujimura writes, “means to be invited to a dance, invited by God’s grace to be on the stage, to step into a journey of new Creation that we do not yet fully understand… For mysterious reasons, God chooses to depend on fallen creatures to steward God’s gifts.” While this is something that the artist may find easier to grasp, Fujimura makes it clear that this calling is not limited to those who make their careers being artists but is there for each of us to respond to.
While seeking efficient solutions to problems is not inherently wrong, Fujimura contends that when the scope of the Christian life is limited to this, there is so much that is lost.
However, reading the first seven pages of Art + Faith made me realize that to think of my primary vocation as that of a creator is far from my first reflex. Challenging us to reconsider the Creation narrative, Fujimura writes, “The Word of God is active, and alive. God the artist communicates to us first before God the lecturer.” He asks the reader then to think about how we envisioned God creating the world. Was the command of “Let there be light” or “Let the earth bring forth living creatures…” spoken offhandedly or in a rush, as though God were hurried in his process of creating, rushing to finish so he could move on to the next task on His list?
Drawing from Hebraic scholars, Fujimura imagines God instead singing creation to existence, taking His time to delight in the formless and empty Earth beginning to teem with life. Indeed, for a post-industrial world that prioritizes usefulness above all else, Fujimura writes how when looking at the Creation story, “it is more about poetic utterances of love rather than about industrial efficiency.” While seeking efficient solutions to problems is not inherently wrong, Fujimura contends that when the scope of the Christian life is limited to this, there is so much that is lost. God creates purely out of love, not self-need, and artists, he claims, perhaps best understand this form of divine self-expression.
Earlier this month, I was invited to interview Fujimura for the Veritas Forum about Art + Faith, specifically exploring the question of what art can teach people about spirituality. During our conversation, he shared a fascinating anecdote that perhaps best summarizes the ministry and message of his book (I have transcribed and slightly edited his remarks for clarity). Adding more context to the oft-quoted Sermon on the Mount, Fujimura told me, “Jesus came from Nazareth, which was literally called the Armageddon Valley. This was a place of scarcity. When He spoke words like ‘Blessed are the poor in spirit,’ this was Jesus acknowledging and recognizing the realities of scarcity. And yet in the midst of this, He turns and says, ‘Look at the birds of the air!’ Based on the region, He is talking about millions of birds flying over his audience. He’s evoking the abundance of God in the land. Might we be a people that says, ‘Look, these birds are still flying,’ even when faced with scarcity and tragedy.” As we live through the anniversary of a national shutdown and a pandemic that shows no signs of slowing down, it can seem like the world is a broken piece of pottery—and that it would be easier to just throw away the pieces and start again. Fujimura’s philosophy instead reminds us to be a people of kintsugi, for through our acts of making and re-making (these works of co-creation with our Creator) we can instead offer a true and tangible hope in place of despair. Truly, the birds are still flying.
Zachary Lee is the Content and Communications Ministry Fellow for Chesterton House, a residential living-learning center focused on the integration of the Christian faith and academic study. He graduated from Cornell in 2020, and when he’s not critically analyzing summer blockbusters or listening to and reporting on Christian hip-hop, find him hopelessly attempting to catch up on his continuously expanding reading list (on book #20 of 89+!).
Art + Faith: A Theology of Making was released by Yale University Press on January 5, 2021. We appreciate their provision of advanced reader copies, and you can purchase a copy on their website here.
