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The Moon Jar is a distinguished piece crafted during the mid-Joseon Dynasty, also known as the Lantern Jar or Full Moon Jar (Dalhanari). The Joseon period was heavily influenced by Confucian thought, which fostered a sensitivity in the arts that emphasized the beauty of pure white porcelain, characterized by its restrained decoration. The hallmark of porcelain from this era is its pristine white hue, with subtle variations that are rarely identical, classified into shades such as milky white, snow white, grayish white, and bluish white.
The name "Moon Jar" was bestowed by the Korean abstract painter Kim Whanki, inspired by its rounded form reminiscent of a full moon. Its soft, flowing curves and robust body evoke a sense of both grandeur and tranquility. Such forms were predominantly produced in the 17th century. The white of the Moon Jar does not conform to the pure white typical of early Joseon porcelain, nor does it align with the grayish whites of mid-Joseon ceramics, or the bluish tones frequently produced at the Bunwon kiln. While often described as milky white, not all Moon Jars exhibit this quality; many display a variety of white tones within a single vessel. Additionally, one may observe yellowish spots resulting from oxidation or incomplete combustion, as well as discoloration from liquid absorption in jars that were used for storage.
The Moon Jar consistently reveals diverse shades of white, subtly shifting over time. This organic transformation of white, along with its tonal variety, may be what captivates us. Furthermore, it is exceedingly rare to find large jars in global ceramics that are entirely devoid of decoration. The expansive white sphere of the Moon Jar represents a blank canvas, stimulating our innate desire for simplicity. Once any form of painting or ornamentation is applied to its surface, it ceases to be regarded as a Moon Jar. This emptiness is a perfect expression of moderation and anonymity, devoid of desire or self-centeredness. The randomness inherent in its form possesses a compelling allure. The diverse thoughts and inspirations evoked by the Moon Jar’s solemn yet delicate surface embody the aesthetic sensibilities and beauty appreciated by people of its time.
This particular piece is in excellent condition, maintaining an almost flawless form. It exhibits a rich milky white hue. Due to its size, the Moon Jar is typically too large to be formed as a single piece on a potter's wheel; thus, it is often constructed by joining an upper and lower hemisphere, as is the case with this jar. This method of joining the two hemispheres is believed to have originated in the early Ming Dynasty (1368–1644) and is highly effective for creating large jars. Most large Chinese jars made using this technique are smoothly trimmed, rendering the connection line at the center of the body nearly invisible.
Conversely, the joining lines of Korean Moon Jars tend to crack or warp during firing, often resulting in an inability to form a perfect sphere, as seen in this piece. This slight irregularity leads most Moon Jars to take on the shape of a waning moon rather than a full moon. However, this asymmetry contributes to its beauty, embodying a beauty of randomness that evokes the subtle changes and movements found in nature. This piece comes with a purchase slip from the Taisho era, indicating it was acquired by a previous collector from an antique shop. The condition of the paper is poor, with signs of insect damage.
Numerous product photos are available for you to examine the details and condition. Should you have any questions, please do not hesitate to contact us.
The aesthetics of the period did not favor surface-level ornamentation or technical prowess but emphasized forms and expressions that quietly supported the inner life of the individual. Objects and furnishings were not merely tools of utility—they might be seen as a kind of dōjō, spaces for self-discipline and reflection. A humble jar placed in a scholar’s study, a plain desk, or an unadorned brush rest were not only objects to be observed but mirrors reflecting one’s posture and thoughts.
It is no coincidence that the crafts of the Joseon period possess a “quiet presence.” These works were created not to impress, but to accompany the human spirit—to breathe with it and to help bring it into balance.
Take white porcelain, for example. Subtle glaze flows, the tremble of clay, slight asymmetries in shape—these so-called “unintentional phenomena” were accepted and even cherished. They reflect a broad-minded sensibility that contrasts sharply with modern ideals of perfection and uniformity. This sensibility questions the boundaries between nature and artifice, beauty and imperfection, object and mind. One could even say it was not just a way of making but an expression of the spirit of the age.
If we were to describe Joseon-era beauty, it is less a “beauty of display” and more a “beauty of resonance.” Not the charm of an object itself, but the way it creates a moment for the viewer to reflect on how to live and how to be. For this reason, the object must not speak too loudly—it must carry emptiness, pauses, and silence within. This kind of thinking seems to run through the very heart of Joseon craftsmanship.
These values would eventually cross the sea and take root deeply in Japan. In the world of chanoyu (the Japanese Way of Tea), Joseon white porcelain and buncheong ware had already begun to be used by the late Momoyama period. Their modest and quiet character offered a contrast to the stately grandeur of Chinese imports. The aesthetic sensibility of “listening to what is unsaid” in tea culture resonated with the silence and imperfection held by Joseon vessels, nurturing a gaze that would eventually find form in the spirit of wabi-sabi.
In modern times, thinkers of the Mingei movement such as Yanagi Sōetsu and Kawai Kanjirō discovered in Joseon crafts “a power that purifies” and “a form of life as it ought to be.” In an age when traditional crafts were being forgotten, these objects were not viewed merely as antiques but as expressions of a way of being—welcomed with profound respect and empathy.
Even now, when I encounter a crafted object from the Joseon period, I find myself moved by its stillness. Within it dwells the spirit of a time that asked how we ought to live and what it means to be—and that quiet voice continues to speak to us, undiminished by time.
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Tax excluded. Import duties may apply. Shipping costs are calculated at checkout.