Minimalism has long been seen as a design philosophy, but at its core, it is something far deeper—something that speaks to the way I experience the world. It is about learning to live with less, not out of deprivation, but out of an understanding that excess does not equate to meaning. It is about embracing imperfection, stripping away distractions, and focusing on what truly matters.
My own journey with minimalism has been mostly shaped by two seemingly opposing yet deeply connected philosophies: Japanese wabi-sabi and Bauhaus modernism. One embraces the organic, the worn, the deeply personal. The other celebrates structure, precision, and functionality. And yet, they converge on a singular truth—less is more, but only if what remains is meaningful.
Both concepts have uniquely defined minimalism as we know it today, each in its own authentic way. Beyond architecture and furniture, their influence extends across various art forms and practices. A Bauhaus poster, with its bold typography and geometric composition, serves as a striking example of how minimalism can be distilled into form and function, reflecting the movement’s enduring principles.
I want this essay to focus more on personal experiences rather than a history lesson. While I lean more toward Bauhaus, my goal was to reflect on how both philosophies have shaped my journey and continue to influence the way I see and interact with the world—as I’m still discovering who I am.
The quiet beauty of wabi-sabi
There was a time when I feared imperfection. I thought that beauty lay in symmetry, in flawlessness, in things that looked untouched and could not be more perfect. But wabi-sabi taught me that life is made meaningful by the scars it carries. I remember the first time I truly understood this philosophy—not by reading about it, but by experiencing it, with no prior knowledge of wabi-sabi.
It was an old ceramic bowl in a small Japanese tea house installation in Seattle Art Museum where a team from Japan demonstrated the entire tea ritual with macha. The glaze had cracked in fine, delicate veins, and yet, instead of being discarded, the bowl had been repaired with gold lacquer, an ancient technique called kintsugi, we were told. The cracks made the bowl unique and cherished. In that moment, I realized: imperfection is not something to hide. It is something to celebrate.
“Put simply, wabi-sabi gives you permission to be yourself. It encourages you to do your best but not make yourself ill in pursuit of an unattainable goal of perfection. It gently motions you to relax, slow down and enjoy your life. And it shows you that beauty can be found in the most unlikely of places, making every day a doorway to delight.” ― Beth Kempton, Wabi-Sabi: Japanese Wisdom for a Perfectly Imperfect Life
Wabi-sabi is a Japanese aesthetic and worldview that celebrates the ephemeral and imperfect nature of life. Rooted in Zen Buddhism, it values asymmetry, roughness, and the passage of time. The term itself combines two ideas: “wabi”, which originally referred to the beauty of humble simplicity, and “sabi”, which denotes the patina of age, and the beauty found in impermanence. It simply defines itself as “the beauty of the imperfect, the impermanent, and the incomplete.”
This philosophy of wabi-sabi exists beyond objects—it extends into the way we live. Wabi-sabi teaches that emptiness is not lack—it is space. Space to breathe, to reflect, to appreciate what is there instead of constantly longing for more. This aspect of space resonates deeply with me in my journey and lifestyle, as having more space creates a greater sense of freedom.
In an age of curated perfection on social media, wabi-sabi stands as a quiet act of rebellion. It tells us that it is okay to slow down, that beauty is in the worn edges of a favorite book, in the soft wrinkles of a well-loved linen curtain, in the moments that pass without fanfare but leave an imprint on the soul. Wabi-sabi finds beauty in nature’s imperfections, whereas Bauhaus pursues clarity through structure. Despite their differences, both reject excess, proving that minimalism is not just about style but about essence.
Bauhaus: A precision in purpose
While wabi-sabi embraces imperfection, Bauhaus strips everything down to function.Its guiding principle—form follows function—was a radical departure from the excessive ornamentation of the past. And in a world that often values appearance over utility, Bauhaus remains a stark reminder that true beauty is found in usefulness.
There is something deeply liberating about walking into a space that adheres to these principles. A chair that is designed to be sat in—not just admired. A home where every object serves a purpose. A sense of order that does not feel cold but instead feels intentional.
Our guiding principle was that design is neither an intellectual nor a material affair, but simply an integral part of the stuff of life, necessary for everyone in a civilized society. ― Walter Gropius
Bauhaus minimalism has shaped so much of the modern world—our architecture, our furniture, even the way we interact with technology. Bauhaus designers were pioneers in ergonomic furniture, crafting pieces that were both visually striking and practical. Marcel Breuer’s Wassily Chair (author’s favorite), for example, was a radical rethinking of traditional seating, utilizing tubular steel to create a lightweight yet sturdy structure. Similarly, the Barcelona Chair by Mies van der Rohe is still considered a masterpiece of functional elegance.
The Wassily chair first caught my attention in Frasier Crane’s rather eclectic living room. While I admired the aesthetics, I thought it probably wasn’t comfortable and was just another accent piece (like Eames lounge chair, go ahead, shoot me). Years later, I saw it in person in DWR. Although larger than I thought, I still loved the look. Then I sat on it. Simply put, I had never sat on a more sturdy, balanced chair before. To me, it was one of those furniture pieces where I could sit for hours whether to read, to watch or to relax and reflect. The extraordinary yet simple dynamic between the two pieces of leather on the back with the third on the seat created a timeless piece that is not only beautiful but utterly functional.
What I also admire about Bauhaus minimalism is that it is not about restriction. It is not about stripping things away for the sake of aesthetic purity. It is about clarity—a way of ensuring that what surrounds us is only what we truly need. Wabi-sabi embraces natural, organic flow of time, use and function, whereas Bauhaus strives to create order in life. And in a world full of noise, this order can be a form of peace.
We want to create the purely organic building, boldly emanating its inner laws, free of untruths or ornamentation. ― Walter Gropius
Where these two worlds meet
There seems to be a contradiction between wabi-sabi’s organic, imperfect beauty and Bauhaus’ precise functionality. One seemed to celebrate disorder, while the other sought to eliminate it. But then I realized: they are not contradictions at all. They are complements.
Both philosophies understand the value of space, the importance of simplicity. Both reject the need for excess. Wabi-sabi asks, “Does this object hold meaning?” Bauhaus asks, “Does this object serve a purpose?” And in truth, a life well lived is one that finds a balance between these two questions.
I have found this balance in the way I curate my space. The old wooden side table with its scratches and worn edges—wabi-sabi. The lounge chair next to it, sleek and functional—Bauhaus. The quiet empty space that exists between and around them—necessary.
Finding meaning in what remains
In the end, both wabi-sabi and Bauhaus offer not rigid doctrines, but pathways to discovering a personal interpretation of minimalism. They create a framework that allows for balance, intention, and authenticity. Neither philosophy dictates a singular way of living; instead, they invite reflection on what truly matters. By embracing elements of both, we can shape our own version of minimalism—one that is not just about aesthetics, but about how we move through the world with greater awareness, gratitude, and purpose.
Minimalism, when truly understood, is about intention. It is about choosing what to keep, not based on trends, but on what brings value to our lives. It is about embracing both the imperfect and the efficient. It is about living with less, and in doing so, finding more—more space, more clarity, more appreciation for what remains.
It is a way of thinking, of seeing the world. It is the understanding that life is fleeting, and that what I surround myself with should reflect what I truly care about. It is in the way I no longer feel the need to buy things just to fill a space. It is in the way I have let go of the pressure to make everything look perfect. It is in the way I now find beauty in the marks that time leaves behind.
Minimalism is about being fully present in the life I build. Whether through the lens of wabi-sabi or Bauhaus or any other concept, the message remains the same: focus on what matters. Let go of the rest.
And in that letting go, I find freedom.