FLOORBOARD OF TOKONOMA, Antique Material, a, Joseon Dynasty（1392–1897CE）

The Joseon dynasty (1392–1897) ruled the Korean Peninsula for nearly five centuries. More than a lineage of monarchs, it was an era in which a coherent system of thought permeated every layer of society. Embracing Confucianism as a national ideology, Joseon influenced institutions, education, and daily life, upholding "ethics and moderation," "order and sincerity" as core virtues—values that deeply shaped the aesthetic sensibilities and understanding of objects at the time.

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.