Video: A Practice of Mindful Mending with Yarrow Koontz

My mother would exclaim, “You are so boroboro!” This term, spoken with a blend of dismay and amusement, still accurately describes my habitual state of unkemptness.

In Japanese, boro refers to something worn-out, frayed, or threadbare. I’ve embraced this ragged identity throughout my life. As a teenager, I would wear my Levi jeans until they barely held together—patched knees, patched butt, and pockets with gaping holes. I once had a sweater so holey that my so-called friends waited for me to take it off, and then tossed it in the garbage, embarrassed by its condition and me.

Even if this cost me some peer respect, I have always felt a deep empathy for discarded things. This focus is not just about the physical object. It’s about the time, energy, and resources that went into making it—a sentiment aligning with the Japanese principle of mottainai, a philosophy of waste avoidance and respect for resources. This ethos—recognizing and honouring the value of what we have—has shaped my worldview and creative practice as a textile artist.

My family frequently visited friends who crafted puppets from cloth, feathers, and bone. I would spend hours rummaging through their scrap piles—ragtag pieces set aside for future use. The ethos of mottainai was palpable in these artists’ studios. Nothing was wasted.

In Buddhist and Shinto traditions, the rebirth of the soul extends to the realm of textiles. This means natural fibres have a soul of their own and thus experience reincarnation. Boroboro cloth has undergone a transformation, either through patching or being torn into scraps and rewoven into new fabric. This process imbues the material with renewed energy.

Reverence for what some may consider “mere” inanimate objects is found throughout Japanese culture and philosophy. Hari Kuyo, for example, is a traditional festival that honours broken or worn-out sewing needles. The festival has its roots in the belief that needles have a spirit and should be treated with respect. This event reminds us of the value of craftsmanship and invites us to appreciate the tools and materials that contribute to our work. The ceremony includes prayers and expressions of gratitude for the needles’ service, acknowledging the hard work they have contributed over time and promising that they won’t be treated like garbage.

In my own creative practice, the principle of mottainai compels me to consider whether the act of creation is necessary—whether the world truly needs more “stuff.”

Instead of making new “stuff,” I can channel my creative energy into mending my clothing and repurposing textile waste into something new and functional. Japanese textile traditions, such as sakiori (rag weaving) and boro patch mending with decorative sashiko stitching, offer profound inspiration. Sashiko transforms garments into artworks, each stitch a testament to respect and mindfulness.