The Piece

Moon Gate

A ring vase in hand-thrown moon-white porcelain. Hollow at the centre, open at the top — a small garden gate for a single branch, or a quiet frame for whatever lies behind it.

In the Light

Materials & Making

A ring of quiet light.

Moon-white, warm as old jade.

The vase is thrown on the wheel, then shaped by hand until the ring is round and steady. It is dipped in a matte moon-white glaze — a colour that sits between white and cream, like old jade held up to the light.

Traces of iron in the clay body bloom through the firing as warm brown flecks. They gather most densely along the rim and the outer curve, as though the piece has been held by hands for a very long time.

The wheel marks are still visible under the glaze. This is not a flaw — it is the record of making.

Hollow at the centre.

The ring is thick-walled and steady — heavy enough to feel substantial, light enough to move with one hand. The opening at the centre is not a hole. It is a view. Whatever sits behind the vase is framed by the ring, transformed by the round edge of porcelain.

The inner curve is glazed as carefully as the outer — no rough edges, no thin spots. When light passes through the opening, it catches the inner glaze and glows, softly, from within.

The empty space is the point. Do not fill it. Let it hold the light.

A small foot, quietly steady.

At the bottom of the ring, a small flat foot — unglazed at the rim, sanded smooth by hand. It is wide enough to be steady, narrow enough to be invisible. The piece rests on it without wobble, without fuss.

The unglazed foot reveals the raw clay body — a warmer, earthier tone than the glazed surface. It is the only place where the piece touches the table, and the only place where it is not dressed in white. An honest detail, easy to miss.

The foot will darken slightly where it rests. This is not wear — it is the piece settling in.

Where It Lives

A cup, a seed pod, and a ring.

Set it on a tea table, behind a cup and a dried lotus pod. The ring frames the steam. The pod hangs in the opening, suspended in a circle of white porcelain. What was a table becomes a composition — quiet, balanced, still.

No flowers needed. The ring holds whatever is behind it, and makes it matter.

Light through a lattice, and a single branch.

Place it near a lattice window and slip a single branch through the opening — a dried stem, a few red berries, anything spare and architectural. The afternoon light passes through the ring and draws a circle of shadow on the table behind it. The branch becomes a painting, framed by porcelain.

Change the branch with the season. The ring stays the same — a quiet constant, a small gate.

Scrolls, inkstones, and an empty circle.

This is where the piece belongs — among brushes, scrolls, and half-read books. Set it on a desk, empty or with a single stem, and the ring becomes a small window onto whatever lies behind. A scroll unrolled, a plant on the sill, a patch of wall — all of it, framed and made quiet by the round edge of porcelain.

When you need to think, look through the ring. The world narrows to a circle. The noise falls away. What remains is what matters.

It is not a vase. It is a way of seeing.

Care

Bring the gate home.

Each piece is made in a small numbered batch. When a batch sells through, the next begins at the wheel — and differs, slightly, from the last.

The piece you receive will not be the one in these photographs. It will be its own gate.