Rather than adding material to the exhibition space, Karin Sander’s Wall Piece 120 x 120 removes it. This artwork is created by stripping a thin layer of paint, roughly one tenth of a millimeter, from the wall. The area in which the paint has been removed is then polished into a glossy sheen using sandpaper. By drawing attention to part of the physical space of museums and galleries often taken for granted, Sander reminds viewers of the power inherent in the act of building walls, and the decisions that shape how art is presented. Furthermore, depending on the angle at which one stands, the reflective surface of Wall Piece 120 x 120 can offer new, slightly augmented perspectives on other artworks in the exhibition. Keeping in mind the practical function of ceramics as containers, the juxtaposition of Wall Piece 120 x 120 with predominantly clay-based artworks may prompt reflection on the nature of emptiness, and the role of the exhibition space as a kind of “container” for art.

“Land ho!” is a nautical term, shouted by sailors upon spotting land. Inspired by this phrase, Angela Yuen collected products representing different stages from Hong Kong’s industrial history—including porcelain and plastic goods that were once popular commercial products—and used them to build a densely layered cityscape. The LED lights at the center of the installation cast their beams on these objects, sending shadows onto the surrounding walls. This overlapping, almost surreal urban shadow play shines light on Hong Kong’s journey towards prosperity over more than a century of ups and downs. As part of this exhibition, the work may challenge perceptions of ceramics as merely a material or object—it places them within a broader historical and geographic context to encourage viewers to reflect on how they perceive and imagine time, memory, and the future of Hong Kong.

Unrecognized Passings (Borago Officinalis, Alchemilla Vulgaris, Linum Usitatissimum) is comprised of dozens of interconnected ceramic segments, which together resemble a plant whose stems were cut apart, and then grew back tangled. The resulting form brings to mind borage, flax flowers, lady’s mantle leaves, and various fruits—all of which can be used to treat the discomforts of menopause. Despite being part of many women’s lives, menopause has long been overlooked and misunderstood, rarely discussed openly or holistically. Symptoms that may arise during menopause are seen as something to be endured, despite the fact that they can actually be alleviated with traditional remedies. Though Fei Yining creates much of her work through the use of emerging digital technologies, here she emphasizes the tactile interaction between hand and clay. By working with ceramics and taking inspiration from plants, she is relearning how to engage with nature, embracing the inclusivity and heterogeneity of life. Creating art through this approach has also been a form of healing for the artist, allowing her to reexamine aspects of the mother-daughter relationship, family memories, and life experiences she had not previously fully processed.

Zhang Kerui has long concerned herself with how duplication can lead to errors, distortions, and unexpected additions. By tracing out the changes that emerge when images are reproduced, she seeks to offer the viewer new ways of perceiving the world. Her works in this exhibition are derived from her explorations into the reproduction and transformation of images of flames. Taking fire as a symbol of energy transmission and the continuity of civilization, Zhang positions it as a kind of interface between different eras and spaces. In The Table of the Fire God: Blue Fork, she flattens the image of a flame and embeds it within a screen, rendering it a graphic element of another dimension within this seemingly mundane scene. This “fire in the screen” becomes of the object of our gaze as well as an active viewer itself, seemingly popping out of the canvas. It overlaps with the fork as if engaging in some unknown ritual of energy exchange. In A Dove Carrying Fire, Purple Sun, Flames Falling on the Grass, Zhang divides her composition into three parts to tell a story about the transmission of fire: a dove, symbolizing peace, opts to grasp a flame rather than the olive branch, and carries it to the sun as fire rains down on the ground. Meanwhile, the artist’s ceramic flames bring fire imagery into an additional dimension, resonating with the replicated flames that burn within her paintings.

In a 2023 interview, Heidi Lau shares her experience of looking up from working at her studio and unexpectedly noticing the full moon. She feels that the moon’s serendipitous appearance was a manifestation of her deceased mother, who she pays tribute to through two works in this exhibition. Moon Gazer consists of multiple sections of glazed ceramics and steel chain, some resting on the floor, others hanging from the ceiling. A small hand reaching out from a length of chain emphasizes a sense of connection, while the work’s turquoise ceramic elements resemble nests or burrows, suggesting connotations of home and family. Cat Power Nap, meanwhile, integrates clay sculpture and a sound installation. The audio aspect of the piece was inspired in part by the sounds—both mechanical and human—that Lau encountered visiting her mother at a hospice, and incorporates field recordings from Macau. With winding, root-like shapes and a green moss-like patch, the ceramic shell which houses the speaker recalls the base of a tree, bringing a sense of groundedness to a work that otherwise addresses the spiritual and ethereal.

Arlene Shechet creates sculptures through a hands-on, experimental process. Rather than working from sketches, she combines and juxtaposes shapes and materials until a logic emerges, testing out different glazes and firing techniques along the way. Though The Hills Are Alive is abstract, it is imbued with a sense of movement, and seems to obliquely hint at representation. Glazed ceramic and painted wood balance on top of a small steel pedestal with a base that appears to be off-center, giving the viewer a sense that the piece might make a sudden movement at any time. The title of the work, a quote from the lyrics of the title song from 1959 musical The Sound of Music, on the one hand suggests communion with nature—indeed, the mottled white surface of the ceramic block brings to mind a snow-capped peak. On the other hand, the play’s World War II setting also implies the presence of unseen, darker forces.

Zhang Yibei’s recent works are inspired by the defense mechanisms that various organisms have evolved to protect themselves. Using a variety of industrial materials and found objects, she explores the diversity of defense mechanisms and the complex psychological states that they project. The softer an organism is, the more likely it is to evolve a hard outer shell. For example, the seashells in There’s Everything in Our Bonfire appear solid and hard, but their exposed openings suggest the prospect of a vulnerable organism retreating inside at the first sign of danger. In Helmet, cactuses are wedged between upright shells, seemingly on the verge of falling, which heightens the sense of tension between defense and fragility. The cactuses also evoke pearls—which are created by some mollusks as a response to intrusions by foreign objects. When sand or parasites enter their shells, the organisms secrete nacre to envelop them, forming a pearl over time. Here, the spiny cactus replaces the smooth, delicate pearl, emphasizing the violent nature of this defense mechanism. The opening of the shells seems to be tentative, giving the sense that they may close at any moment. This subtly hints at the duality of defense: while it can reduce danger, it can also lead an entity to be more closed off, less open and tolerant. Placed within the context of the exhibition, this dialectical relationship adds an additional layer to the concept of container technologies.

Chinese tradition figures large in Heidi Lau’s practice, owing in part to her family history and roots in Macau. Her grandparents were Taoist, and her hometown’s history as a former Portuguese colony counterintuitively allowed for the preservation of traditional culture in the city. The “Spirit Vessel” series takes inspiration from mingqi, ancient Chinese burial objects, and resemble urns, traditional architecture, or even the intricate artificial landscapes of Chinese gardens. Aspects of these works also link back to traces of lost matriarchal values embedded in tradition: the sculptures’ bulbous shapes resemble gourds, a symbol of fertility in China, while the twisting, serpentine forms around their bases evoke the snake goddess Nüwa, said to have created humankind. As a family heirloom, pottery can be seen as a conduit for inter-generational communication, and by nodding to funerary rituals and artifact, Lau positions these sculptures as a kind of dialogue with her ancestors and deceased family members, expressing her longing for them and sending them good luck for their journeys into the unknown.

Meng Yangyang, whose artistic background lies in oil painting, has long addressed formal issues in painting through her practice. Using a unique material language, she attempts to break down the boundaries between painting and non-painting. The new series of works shown in this exhibition were made using natural plant ash with varying degrees of granularity, mixed with modeling paste, then pushed around and piled up to form shapes. This creative approach evokes the process of pottery making. While these works may appear to simply be flat abstract paintings, the images on their surfaces and underlying bases are fully merged, challenging traditional approaches to painting, where the base is hidden underneath the image. Here, the materiality of the base is emphasized. The image is no longer a representation or simulation of another form, but a direct presentation of the materiality of the “paint” itself, returning it to its most fundamental state. From the artist’s perspective, this method of creating works, which breaks conventional painting norms, emphasizes the essence of painting as a kind of spatial artwork, forming an ambiguous and open relationship with sculpture.

It is difficult to define Yao Bo as a “ceramic artist” in the traditional sense. She is not only a maker of ceramics, but also treats the kiln-firing process as a means for building community. All the while, she also writes, researches, and performs translations related to ceramics. Her practice is centered around wood-firing thin-bodied clay, an approach that requires a high level of technical skill. Not only is maintaining the temperature within the kiln a subtle process, but the marks that ash and flame can naturally leave on the body of the clay during the firing process imbue each finished piece with a sense of chance and unpredictability. Through her experimental explorations into this technique, Yao Bo reflects on both the everyday attributes of containers and their hidden qualities, treating pottery as a practice rooted in daily life.

Her works are not only the continuation of a handicraft tradition, but also an expression of deep contemplation on the relationships between community, nature, and time. The same values are embodied by Geleshao, the wood-fired kiln she has created. In the artist’s opinion, while the physical process of firing can be quantified, the moment and site of the kiln firing form an emotional bond and shared experience that cannot be replicated. Each time more wood is added to the kiln’s fire, it is brought by different artists, who bring their own life experiences with them. The works they create in the kiln become containers carrying the weight of time and newly forged emotional bonds.

Mythology and science fiction are frequent sources of inspiration for Fei Yining. In her work Spring, the artist focuses on Marzanna, a Slavic goddess symbolizing winter, disease, and death. At the end of each winter, a straw effigy of Marzanna is set ablaze in celebration and cast into a river. Her sacrifice marks the arrival of spring and a renewal of life. In the artist’s reimagining, Marzanna reclaims her subjectivity within a virtual environment, appearing as a witch-like straw figure. Here, fire no longer signifies destruction. This time, rather than sinking beneath the water, the goddess chooses to dance upon the frozen river, refusing to allow the arrival of spring.

Kumie Tsuda’s art is occasionally representational, but as she puts it, her interests lie in “intangible things, like memory, air, and time.” She invites nature into her practice, allowing chance to play a role in the final appearance of her glazes, and often adjusts the colors of the pedestals that display her work based on specific exhibition spaces and their surroundings. In At This Moment, a lumpy shape—half cloud, half mountain—is covered in translucent white glaze and dotted with several finger-like protrusions. Some of these resemble twist-wrapped candies, while others are dotted with “eyes,” taking on the appearance of cartoon ghosts. Cute yet mysterious, these non-threatening spirits echo the fairy-like entities that pop up elsewhere in her work, embodying unknowable aspects of the natural world. The piece rests upon a T-shaped plywood pedestal, painted in bold colors inspired by traditional Japanese palettes. A similar wooden structure becomes the artwork itself in Afterglow (Autumn Color in Mirrored Gardens): an I-beam-like form is attached the wall, a lightbulb hidden behind its main vertical panel. Bathed in yellow light, sophisticated tones of green, orange, and blue perfectly capture the calm atmosphere of an autumn sunset.