The audio file for this article was produced by the Ceramic Arts Network staff and not read by the author.
The moon jar, an object that epitomizes South Korean art, has become a blessing and a curse for contemporary Korean potters. On one hand, it represents a standard of simplicity and purity by which Korean ceramics can be judged; on the other, it can inhibit and even condemn Korean makers who aspire to self-expression.
The moon jar’s inauguration was during the Joseon Dynasty (1392–1910), when neo-Confucianism held sway in Korea. This belief system endorsed humbleness, asceticism, and the natural, which were reflected in pottery of ideal forms with no imposed decoration. Looking at a moon jar from around 1600, it would seem that perfection of shape and glaze was also the aim, yet this perception would be wrong. By this time, natural imperfections in the clay or glaze were acceptable; vagaries that resulted during firing—slumping, tilting, color variation—were embraced. According to curator Lloyd Choi, “The ability to accept the imperfections of nature, and appreciate the beauty in that”1 evolved from the former austerity.
Regardless of aesthetics, the jars were feats of ceramic wonder since two identical wheel-turned open vessels were joined rim to rim to make a moon-shaped container.2 Such an accomplishment required superhuman abilities of replication and control. During the Japanese occupation of Korea (1910–1945), such artistry was denigrated and ghosted, but after Korea gained its independence post-WWII, revived interest in moon jars made them synonymous with Korean culture. The forms became iconic, thereby unleashing the aforementioned curse for ceramic artists whose background is South Korean.
Jane Yang D’Haene was born in Korea and spent her first sixteen years there. She had no connection to or interest in ceramics apart from her mother owning a few moon jars, one of which Yang D’Haene broke. She came to clay by accident in midlife and adopted the moon jar as her signature vessel. Yet as her life transpired, she came to embrace the dichotomy of what the jar represents, giving it meanings beyond the traditional.
Honeymoon
Yang D’Haene’s ceramics career is a late arrival in her curriculum vitae, and, except for attendance at a few classes where she stayed long enough to acquire the basics, she is self-taught. The self-instruction occurred in a small studio space in Brooklyn, New York, from 2018 to 2020. Images from her first exhibitions show moon jars that replicate orthodox shapes created on the wheel. It is evident that Yang D’Haene mastered the grafting of two bowls while the exterior surfaces exhibit natural embellishment. The colors are monochromatic and reference phenomena in the outside world. Moon jar JYD120.22 appears to be covered in dried mud with a gnarled opening, upsetting the expected calm. The vessel’s ocher tones are overlaid with complementary hues that stick to or dribble over the surface. Moon jar JYD133.22 humorously gives the impression of the moon as seen from planet Earth. The vessel seems to confirm the rumor that the moon is made of holey cheese! Moon jar JYD112.22, slightly larger at 11 inches (28 cm) in diameter, has dashes of cobalt blue, a focus on the otherwise ashy gray surface. Crumbles of clay surround the uneven opening while the vessel perches on a tiny foot.
A display of thirteen moon jars shown at Stroll Garden Gallery in Los Angeles, California, in 2022, shows consistent size and palette, with semblance to the moon jar category, yet enough variation to engage the viewer in repeated inspection. When asked about the serenity and singular focus of these objects, Yang D’Haene said that, by this stage, she had learned about the material and the glazes and was comfortable with the textured surfaces she was making.
“I was very into textural and monochromatic; [the vessels were] peaceful because I was very comfortable. It finally got to the point where I knew what I was doing with the materials, and the texture was really right for me.”3 It is noteworthy that this fledgling potter attracted considerable acclaim, seen in exhibitions and publications (House Beautiful, Luxe Magazine, T Magazine) beginning in 2022. The dogged practice to familiarize herself with the medium, its techniques, and idiosyncrasies, reaped rewards almost as soon as she was ready to go public.
Yang D’Haene confesses to being a Type-A personality. As such, her ceramic success can be attributed to characteristics that are typical of her type:
Goal oriented—ceramics is a challenge to be met and surpassed
Organized—initial attendance at a ceramics class was dismissed as being too messy and chaotic
Impatient and urgent—she absorbs only the nuts and bolts of a series of classes and then leaves
Independent—she can tackle learning on her own
Above all, the Type A is in control, ensuring that everything goes as intended. Looking back at Yang D’Haene’s careers prior to her introduction to clay, we see the drive that reached a climax in 2023.
Shooting for the Moon
The Yang family immigrated in the mid-1980s from South Korea to the US, settling in New York. Yang D’Haene recalls, “My parents thought [the move] would give us a better education and expose us to a different culture. It wasn’t my choice. I was really upset when we came here. At 16, my life was there.” Despite the difficulties of language and lifestyle, Yang D’Haene believes it was the right thing to do. Her parents worked in shops, and by the time they started their own business, she had moved away from home to attend college in New York.
Yang D’Haene aspired to study art, but her father, despite being a painter himself, was opposed: “My father thought that artists never made money.” She chose to study architecture, of which he approved, and was accepted at Cooper Union; subsequently, she enrolled in interior design at the Fashion Institute of Technology (FIT). After two years, the head of one of the large interior architectural companies in New York City attended a critique at FIT and offered her a job. Instead of completing her interior design studies, she began employment as a junior designer. It was a typical Type-A decision and, ultimately, a wise one.
“I got really lucky because at that time, there was a Korean senior designer, JJ Fox, who took care of me. She was very tough. But there was something about her, the way she explained things. She did things to make me really think. I took everything in; every meeting she would take me with her. I made good notes, I copied her.” After several years, her mentor decided to open her own company and invited Yang D’Haene to join her, but she saw the gap left by Fox as an opportunity to step up. “Nobody would be able to replace her except me. And I figured that I could show what I know and what I could do for that company.” She was the only employee who had in-depth knowledge about Fox’s projects, and she impressed the directors with her handling of clients and designs. In a 250-person firm, Yang D’Haene was the youngest female design director.
Her independent spirit accounted for her survival: “Being an Asian woman who didn’t speak English well, the only way I could express myself was through the work. I told myself that my design, my work, had to speak for itself without me opening my mouth. I spent an enormous amount of hours rethinking the design, redoing everything, staying up all night, and changing the floor plan if necessary. I couldn’t convince them verbally, so the visual had to be super powerful and important.”
When asked to name the company, Yang D’Haene declined because her abrupt departure in 2005 had a negative impact. She was pregnant and was advised to take immediate bed rest for the duration. Her supervisor was appalled and unsympathetic. As for Yang D’Haene, who was used to the pace and demands of a high-energy design job, the demand for idleness was anathema. Knowing her need to create, her husband bought her a small sewing machine and fabrics and suggested she sew for the baby. The compulsion to make clothes—like the compulsion to create perfect décor schemes—resulted in a copious wardrobe for her unborn daughter. As soon as the child appeared in public, admirers questioned where the clothes came from. Yang D’Haene’s husband suggested that since people adored the outfits and shops asked about the designs, why not start a business?
“I said, sure. I have a very obsessive personality—if I like something, literally day and night, that’s all I do. I created a children’s clothing company and introduced the clothes to the public and they became an instant hit.” She opened a factory, hired employees, and sold the garments in department stores and boutiques worldwide. “I wanted to grow so fast, be so successful. I did that for seven years until 2015. But I made myself extremely sick physically, mentally.”
The illness provoked the closure of the business and a one-year break, during which she did meditation and coped with debilitating depression. To counteract the despair, a friend encouraged her on multiple occasions to try ceramics. Finally, only to satisfy her friend, she agreed. But her personality nearly scuttled attendance. Yang D’Haene dressed fashionably, head-to-toe in black, and watched aghast as she was splattered with mud. At home, she declared she was not going back, but, once again, her supportive husband suggested that since she paid for eight classes, she should stick it out and then quit.
By the third class, she noticed that she was the only pupil who had not mastered the wheel. “There was this ego inside me—I was the only one who couldn’t do it. That did something to me. I completely changed my attitude and went every day, just to practice and to learn the materials. The clay I hated so much started to really live with me. I didn’t want to love the material, I didn’t try to connect, I didn’t try to create art. Yet suddenly I was so happy—it made me very calm and happy. And one day I told my husband, I think this material is perfect for what I need right now.”
What followed was renting the studio in Brooklyn and daily experimentation with clay, glaze, tools, technique, form, and aesthetic. The same determination that led to a successful interior design career and a successful children’s clothing company segued into a successful ceramics practice. As previously mentioned, exhibitions, publications, and happiness abounded as she created textured moon jars. But just when Yang D’Haene assumed she’d found her calling, she received news: she had breast cancer. On the day in 2023 when she learned she had cancer, the work changed.
Moon Dust
Patriarchal society has expectations of a woman, wife, and mother. Personal presentation, behavior, and outlook are supposed to be within certain bounds. There is little tolerance for the aberrant, the inelegant, the strident, the questioning. While the body may be undergoing radical change that assaults skin and bone, it is still required that a semblance of normality (according to prevailing standards) be maintained. Yang D’Haene was determined to show, in her ceramics, that damage could be beautiful. Her quiet, benign moon jars took on mutilation, chaos, and meaning.
“The first thing I thought about was that I had to protect my scarred body. I want people to understand this indirectly, in the way that my pots are torn and ripped. They’re cut and ripped and broken, but at the end of the day, when they’re fired with the final glaze, they still can be absolutely beautiful.” Despite fighting cancer and dealing with its scars, she’s still okay. “I’m still the same person, I still can be beautiful, I still am who I am—I’m telling myself through my work. That’s the reason why the work changed dramatically. There’s one piece that I made—Untitled JYD363.23—it has a porcelain bandage wrapped around. It represents something protecting the vessel, like something is protecting me.”
In fact, there are several wrapped vessels in Yang D’Haene’s post-2023 portfolio: for example, Untitled JYD341.23 and Untitled JYD325.23. Once a motif is established, variations are explored and, perhaps, the angst of the original diminishes; the wrapping becomes a theme and type of texture to investigate. For the gallery owner, collector, or viewer who believes that the artist’s circumstances are irrelevant, the pieces stand on their own. Yet the intent is still there. Yang D’Haene remembers one potential buyer who visited her studio. “He said, these are too chaotic, this is not pretty like Korean moon jars. And I said, it’s not meant to be pretty. I didn’t sell to him because he said they should be all smooth and pretty like a traditional Korean moon jar. I told him to go to Korea for that. That’s not who I am.” Lloyd Choi condones Yang D’Haene’s response to her visitor: “The moon jar has cast a long shadow over the individuality of modern potters. Everyone wants to make the moon jar, but they’ve almost forgotten about their own artistic inspiration. They should move on. We need to let the form go.”
In addition to cancer, Yang D’Haene had neck surgery during the pandemic. She almost lost the ability to use her left arm and thought her ceramic days were over. Instead, she gave up the wheel and learned handbuilding; in addition, she retained a small team who fetch-and-carry and undertake elementary parts of the work. The cancer diagnosis required a second reckoning with her pursuit of ceramics. Despite the crises and restrictions, she refuses to stop.
Full Moon
I sense that the refusal to be defeated finds its source in being Type A, yet clay has tempered that compulsion. Yang D’Haene philosophizes: “I began to accept that mistakes are okay, it doesn’t have to be perfect. I started to accept the joy in making, the whole process. It could fall or collapse—let the material be. It’s out of my control sometimes—the kiln or the material does itself. I learned to accept it’s okay the way I am. Even if it’s broken or torn, it still can be very beautiful, and that’s what I began to believe in and that’s what I try to capture. Accepting who we are, accepting life, the environment. I hope the viewers can actually feel exactly that when they see my work.”
As well, she acknowledges the benefits of the medium: “Clay has a quality that makes you forget, that makes you calm. Maybe it’s because it’s from [the] earth, it gives you clarity in a way. I notice that when I really work on clay, I forget everything else. Even though I might be super upset or worried about something, while I’m working—because I’m very focused working on that—[clay] calms me down and makes me think twice about things. Then I’m able to deal with the problem in a smarter or better way.” I propose that this attitude is the antithesis of control—it is acceptance.
Yang D’Haene agrees: “That’s what was so liberating for me. I never felt this with any other material—interior design, architecture, the clothing. I never felt that way. Clay is a material that you just have to accept. There is beauty in it. It opened my eyes and opened my eyes for other things. Mistakes and people are the way they are. I honestly feel it made me a better person. It’s a gift that my friend suggested clay to me.”
Jane Yang D’Haene’s journey has been exciting, action-packed, stimulating, and chaotic. It has also been dark, painful, frustrating, challenging, and potentially soul-destroying. She is Korean and American; a woman, daughter, mother, and wife. All of these things, as well as the iconic artifact of her birthplace, are expressed in her ceramics.
the author D Wood has a PhD in design studies and is an independent craft scholar whose artist profiles and exhibition reviews have appeared in an international roster of art and design publications. She is the editor of and contributor to Craft is Political (Bloomsbury, 2021) and The Politics of Global Craft (Bloomsbury, 2025).
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The audio file for this article was produced by the Ceramic Arts Network staff and not read by the author.
The moon jar, an object that epitomizes South Korean art, has become a blessing and a curse for contemporary Korean potters. On one hand, it represents a standard of simplicity and purity by which Korean ceramics can be judged; on the other, it can inhibit and even condemn Korean makers who aspire to self-expression.
The moon jar’s inauguration was during the Joseon Dynasty (1392–1910), when neo-Confucianism held sway in Korea. This belief system endorsed humbleness, asceticism, and the natural, which were reflected in pottery of ideal forms with no imposed decoration. Looking at a moon jar from around 1600, it would seem that perfection of shape and glaze was also the aim, yet this perception would be wrong. By this time, natural imperfections in the clay or glaze were acceptable; vagaries that resulted during firing—slumping, tilting, color variation—were embraced. According to curator Lloyd Choi, “The ability to accept the imperfections of nature, and appreciate the beauty in that”1 evolved from the former austerity.
Regardless of aesthetics, the jars were feats of ceramic wonder since two identical wheel-turned open vessels were joined rim to rim to make a moon-shaped container.2 Such an accomplishment required superhuman abilities of replication and control. During the Japanese occupation of Korea (1910–1945), such artistry was denigrated and ghosted, but after Korea gained its independence post-WWII, revived interest in moon jars made them synonymous with Korean culture. The forms became iconic, thereby unleashing the aforementioned curse for ceramic artists whose background is South Korean.
Jane Yang D’Haene was born in Korea and spent her first sixteen years there. She had no connection to or interest in ceramics apart from her mother owning a few moon jars, one of which Yang D’Haene broke. She came to clay by accident in midlife and adopted the moon jar as her signature vessel. Yet as her life transpired, she came to embrace the dichotomy of what the jar represents, giving it meanings beyond the traditional.
Honeymoon
Yang D’Haene’s ceramics career is a late arrival in her curriculum vitae, and, except for attendance at a few classes where she stayed long enough to acquire the basics, she is self-taught. The self-instruction occurred in a small studio space in Brooklyn, New York, from 2018 to 2020. Images from her first exhibitions show moon jars that replicate orthodox shapes created on the wheel. It is evident that Yang D’Haene mastered the grafting of two bowls while the exterior surfaces exhibit natural embellishment. The colors are monochromatic and reference phenomena in the outside world. Moon jar JYD120.22 appears to be covered in dried mud with a gnarled opening, upsetting the expected calm. The vessel’s ocher tones are overlaid with complementary hues that stick to or dribble over the surface. Moon jar JYD133.22 humorously gives the impression of the moon as seen from planet Earth. The vessel seems to confirm the rumor that the moon is made of holey cheese! Moon jar JYD112.22, slightly larger at 11 inches (28 cm) in diameter, has dashes of cobalt blue, a focus on the otherwise ashy gray surface. Crumbles of clay surround the uneven opening while the vessel perches on a tiny foot.
A display of thirteen moon jars shown at Stroll Garden Gallery in Los Angeles, California, in 2022, shows consistent size and palette, with semblance to the moon jar category, yet enough variation to engage the viewer in repeated inspection. When asked about the serenity and singular focus of these objects, Yang D’Haene said that, by this stage, she had learned about the material and the glazes and was comfortable with the textured surfaces she was making.
“I was very into textural and monochromatic; [the vessels were] peaceful because I was very comfortable. It finally got to the point where I knew what I was doing with the materials, and the texture was really right for me.”3 It is noteworthy that this fledgling potter attracted considerable acclaim, seen in exhibitions and publications (House Beautiful, Luxe Magazine, T Magazine) beginning in 2022. The dogged practice to familiarize herself with the medium, its techniques, and idiosyncrasies, reaped rewards almost as soon as she was ready to go public.
Yang D’Haene confesses to being a Type-A personality. As such, her ceramic success can be attributed to characteristics that are typical of her type:
Above all, the Type A is in control, ensuring that everything goes as intended. Looking back at Yang D’Haene’s careers prior to her introduction to clay, we see the drive that reached a climax in 2023.
Shooting for the Moon
The Yang family immigrated in the mid-1980s from South Korea to the US, settling in New York. Yang D’Haene recalls, “My parents thought [the move] would give us a better education and expose us to a different culture. It wasn’t my choice. I was really upset when we came here. At 16, my life was there.” Despite the difficulties of language and lifestyle, Yang D’Haene believes it was the right thing to do. Her parents worked in shops, and by the time they started their own business, she had moved away from home to attend college in New York.
Yang D’Haene aspired to study art, but her father, despite being a painter himself, was opposed: “My father thought that artists never made money.” She chose to study architecture, of which he approved, and was accepted at Cooper Union; subsequently, she enrolled in interior design at the Fashion Institute of Technology (FIT). After two years, the head of one of the large interior architectural companies in New York City attended a critique at FIT and offered her a job. Instead of completing her interior design studies, she began employment as a junior designer. It was a typical Type-A decision and, ultimately, a wise one.
“I got really lucky because at that time, there was a Korean senior designer, JJ Fox, who took care of me. She was very tough. But there was something about her, the way she explained things. She did things to make me really think. I took everything in; every meeting she would take me with her. I made good notes, I copied her.” After several years, her mentor decided to open her own company and invited Yang D’Haene to join her, but she saw the gap left by Fox as an opportunity to step up. “Nobody would be able to replace her except me. And I figured that I could show what I know and what I could do for that company.” She was the only employee who had in-depth knowledge about Fox’s projects, and she impressed the directors with her handling of clients and designs. In a 250-person firm, Yang D’Haene was the youngest female design director.
Her independent spirit accounted for her survival: “Being an Asian woman who didn’t speak English well, the only way I could express myself was through the work. I told myself that my design, my work, had to speak for itself without me opening my mouth. I spent an enormous amount of hours rethinking the design, redoing everything, staying up all night, and changing the floor plan if necessary. I couldn’t convince them verbally, so the visual had to be super powerful and important.”
When asked to name the company, Yang D’Haene declined because her abrupt departure in 2005 had a negative impact. She was pregnant and was advised to take immediate bed rest for the duration. Her supervisor was appalled and unsympathetic. As for Yang D’Haene, who was used to the pace and demands of a high-energy design job, the demand for idleness was anathema. Knowing her need to create, her husband bought her a small sewing machine and fabrics and suggested she sew for the baby. The compulsion to make clothes—like the compulsion to create perfect décor schemes—resulted in a copious wardrobe for her unborn daughter. As soon as the child appeared in public, admirers questioned where the clothes came from. Yang D’Haene’s husband suggested that since people adored the outfits and shops asked about the designs, why not start a business?
“I said, sure. I have a very obsessive personality—if I like something, literally day and night, that’s all I do. I created a children’s clothing company and introduced the clothes to the public and they became an instant hit.” She opened a factory, hired employees, and sold the garments in department stores and boutiques worldwide. “I wanted to grow so fast, be so successful. I did that for seven years until 2015. But I made myself extremely sick physically, mentally.”
The illness provoked the closure of the business and a one-year break, during which she did meditation and coped with debilitating depression. To counteract the despair, a friend encouraged her on multiple occasions to try ceramics. Finally, only to satisfy her friend, she agreed. But her personality nearly scuttled attendance. Yang D’Haene dressed fashionably, head-to-toe in black, and watched aghast as she was splattered with mud. At home, she declared she was not going back, but, once again, her supportive husband suggested that since she paid for eight classes, she should stick it out and then quit.
By the third class, she noticed that she was the only pupil who had not mastered the wheel. “There was this ego inside me—I was the only one who couldn’t do it. That did something to me. I completely changed my attitude and went every day, just to practice and to learn the materials. The clay I hated so much started to really live with me. I didn’t want to love the material, I didn’t try to connect, I didn’t try to create art. Yet suddenly I was so happy—it made me very calm and happy. And one day I told my husband, I think this material is perfect for what I need right now.”
What followed was renting the studio in Brooklyn and daily experimentation with clay, glaze, tools, technique, form, and aesthetic. The same determination that led to a successful interior design career and a successful children’s clothing company segued into a successful ceramics practice. As previously mentioned, exhibitions, publications, and happiness abounded as she created textured moon jars. But just when Yang D’Haene assumed she’d found her calling, she received news: she had breast cancer. On the day in 2023 when she learned she had cancer, the work changed.
Moon Dust
Patriarchal society has expectations of a woman, wife, and mother. Personal presentation, behavior, and outlook are supposed to be within certain bounds. There is little tolerance for the aberrant, the inelegant, the strident, the questioning. While the body may be undergoing radical change that assaults skin and bone, it is still required that a semblance of normality (according to prevailing standards) be maintained. Yang D’Haene was determined to show, in her ceramics, that damage could be beautiful. Her quiet, benign moon jars took on mutilation, chaos, and meaning.
“The first thing I thought about was that I had to protect my scarred body. I want people to understand this indirectly, in the way that my pots are torn and ripped. They’re cut and ripped and broken, but at the end of the day, when they’re fired with the final glaze, they still can be absolutely beautiful.” Despite fighting cancer and dealing with its scars, she’s still okay. “I’m still the same person, I still can be beautiful, I still am who I am—I’m telling myself through my work. That’s the reason why the work changed dramatically. There’s one piece that I made—Untitled JYD363.23—it has a porcelain bandage wrapped around. It represents something protecting the vessel, like something is protecting me.”
In fact, there are several wrapped vessels in Yang D’Haene’s post-2023 portfolio: for example, Untitled JYD341.23 and Untitled JYD325.23. Once a motif is established, variations are explored and, perhaps, the angst of the original diminishes; the wrapping becomes a theme and type of texture to investigate. For the gallery owner, collector, or viewer who believes that the artist’s circumstances are irrelevant, the pieces stand on their own. Yet the intent is still there. Yang D’Haene remembers one potential buyer who visited her studio. “He said, these are too chaotic, this is not pretty like Korean moon jars. And I said, it’s not meant to be pretty. I didn’t sell to him because he said they should be all smooth and pretty like a traditional Korean moon jar. I told him to go to Korea for that. That’s not who I am.” Lloyd Choi condones Yang D’Haene’s response to her visitor: “The moon jar has cast a long shadow over the individuality of modern potters. Everyone wants to make the moon jar, but they’ve almost forgotten about their own artistic inspiration. They should move on. We need to let the form go.”
In addition to cancer, Yang D’Haene had neck surgery during the pandemic. She almost lost the ability to use her left arm and thought her ceramic days were over. Instead, she gave up the wheel and learned handbuilding; in addition, she retained a small team who fetch-and-carry and undertake elementary parts of the work. The cancer diagnosis required a second reckoning with her pursuit of ceramics. Despite the crises and restrictions, she refuses to stop.
Full Moon
I sense that the refusal to be defeated finds its source in being Type A, yet clay has tempered that compulsion. Yang D’Haene philosophizes: “I began to accept that mistakes are okay, it doesn’t have to be perfect. I started to accept the joy in making, the whole process. It could fall or collapse—let the material be. It’s out of my control sometimes—the kiln or the material does itself. I learned to accept it’s okay the way I am. Even if it’s broken or torn, it still can be very beautiful, and that’s what I began to believe in and that’s what I try to capture. Accepting who we are, accepting life, the environment. I hope the viewers can actually feel exactly that when they see my work.”
As well, she acknowledges the benefits of the medium: “Clay has a quality that makes you forget, that makes you calm. Maybe it’s because it’s from [the] earth, it gives you clarity in a way. I notice that when I really work on clay, I forget everything else. Even though I might be super upset or worried about something, while I’m working—because I’m very focused working on that—[clay] calms me down and makes me think twice about things. Then I’m able to deal with the problem in a smarter or better way.” I propose that this attitude is the antithesis of control—it is acceptance.
Yang D’Haene agrees: “That’s what was so liberating for me. I never felt this with any other material—interior design, architecture, the clothing. I never felt that way. Clay is a material that you just have to accept. There is beauty in it. It opened my eyes and opened my eyes for other things. Mistakes and people are the way they are. I honestly feel it made me a better person. It’s a gift that my friend suggested clay to me.”
Jane Yang D’Haene’s journey has been exciting, action-packed, stimulating, and chaotic. It has also been dark, painful, frustrating, challenging, and potentially soul-destroying. She is Korean and American; a woman, daughter, mother, and wife. All of these things, as well as the iconic artifact of her birthplace, are expressed in her ceramics.
the author D Wood has a PhD in design studies and is an independent craft scholar whose artist profiles and exhibition reviews have appeared in an international roster of art and design publications. She is the editor of and contributor to Craft is Political (Bloomsbury, 2021) and The Politics of Global Craft (Bloomsbury, 2025).
1 Lloyd Choi quoted in Clare Dowdy, ‘Why Korea’s moon jar is so Iconic’, May 10, 2023, BBC https://www.bbc.com/culture/article/20230510-the-ancient-symbol-that-defines-korea.
2 See Asian Art Museum, ‘Making a moon jar,’ https://youtu.be/j18YHr2TS0E?si=9Ar0OCDed hTjDKDY.
3 All quotations by Jane Yang D’Haene were taken from an interview with the author on February 7, 2025.
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