Ceramic Explorations: Yoon Young Hur’s Primal Modernism
The Korean-American architect turned ceramicist draws on her Korean heritage and US upbringing to create contemporary forms that speak to ancient traditions
At the exhibition of her Antecedere collection at Still House in New York, Yoon Young Hur spoke with our managing editor Philip Annetta about how her experiences, background and extensive research converge in her practice
Philip Annetta: Tell us a little about your background. You were an architect, correct? Do you still practise?
Yoon Young Hur: I was. I went to art school as an undergrad in Chicago, and then I studied architecture at Cooper Union in New York City. After I graduated, I worked as an architect for several years. About two years ago, I let go of my nine-to-five job and decided to focus on ceramics. I’ve been freelancing for a few people here and there, but I’d say my time has been primarily dedicated to ceramics.
Why ceramics specifically?
Oh, there are many reasons! But the material spoke very, kind of, intuitively to me. As an art student, I dealt with different mediums — including video and textiles — but funnily enough, I didn’t actually do any ceramic work. So, when I first got in touch with the actual making of ceramics, it responded to something that’s kind of powerful, and something I can’t describe in words, but it just like, hit me in my heart. And then I thought, ‘Okay, this is speaking something to me, and I need to unravel or follow it — and quit my job.’ It took me more than a year to decide, because I enjoyed working as an architect. And there were aspects that I wanted to continue. I discovered ceramics while working as an architect, and became a part-time ceramicist. I was trying to juggle both, but I got to a point where I thought I really had to take it and push it to a new level. And that was the most exciting part, and it led me to return to Korea where my family is. I did ceramics for ten months in Seoul, and that time reconfirmed it for me, because I still had a kind of split mind, but my connection to it just grew stronger and stronger. Architecture is still in my vision, but I think at the moment I’m very focused on making ceramics, and the materiality of it, and learning the history.
Is it also the immediacy that draws you?
That’s a good point — I would say that the immediate formation or result really fuels me, and I didn’t get that in architecture, to be honest. My architectural education is a huge part of my creative practice, and I’m constantly inspired by architecture, but as a designer that kind of delay or lead time was straining, because for my personality, I like feedback in a more direct way, you know, it doesn’t go through a series of iterations or contractors — it’s more pure to me, more direct and simple. So, there’s kind of autonomy and control, but also surprises — that’s another reason I love ceramics, because there’s a point where it’s beyond my control, and I love that.
Do you design on pen and paper? Do you imagine the pieces, or do you just start crafting and see what comes out?
It’s actually all of the above, but predominantly it’s the making. I do rough sketches. I look at references. Sometimes I actually envision them in the subway — I close my eyes, and I spin them in my head [laughs] because the 3D is also an enjoyable part. But again, in the evolution of it, the final definitive moment is the making. And again, that’s the moment where it’s beyond what I expected. And that’s the beauty of ceramics versus architecture — in architecture, there’s not much room to embrace the surprises because of the logistics of it. I wasn’t a hundred per cent feeling creative in a way that contributed to my personal growth as a creative thinker.
And so this collection is based on togi?
Togi is a Korean name for earthenware, just low-fired — it’s the oldest form of ceramics, from around two thousand years ago. You can see it in other civilisations too. There’s no glaze, it’s just earthen — glazes hadn’t been invented by then, and kilns weren’t sophisticated enough to fire them, so they’re quite fragile and rudimentary. I was drawn to them because they’re more than just vessels; there are more sculptural forms that are symbolic, that are very artistic and creative. They also have stories — there are figures and motifs that allow you to interpret them and imagine how they dealt with their ancestors and the ritualisation of death through sculptural forms .
Do you mean motifs in the shape or decorative motifs, or both?
Both, but mostly the shape — for instance, there are a lot of bird motifs. I created a series of Bird vessels, from references that I interpreted. There were bird-shaped vessels found at burial sites, and scholars assume that they probably held liquid for ceremonial events before a death or at a funeral.
So they have a practical purpose and a symbolic purpose.
Yes, and the bird can mean many things. But in Korea birds represent good luck, safe journeys, good spirit — very positive things. There’s some overlap with China, because we share parts of our cultures, and birds are common, not just related to burials but in weddings, for good fortune and long-lasting health. There are many associations with birds in general. So, for me to see the old, raw shape of a bird depicted by a potter was eye-opening.
It’s such a simple shape — essentially just a curve.
It is, but if you go to Korea now, you’ll see bird shapes that are so literal — they have all the decorations, they’re perfectly proportioned. They’d look like a real duck, for example, but carved in wood. Those are the things I was used to growing up — very literal forms. But then I see the ancient ones, and there’s an abstraction, there’s a very raw, simple gesture to it that’s almost more contemporary. So that research led me to what I did for the collection.
Ancient architecture was often symbolic as well — it became more literal and use-based through the centuries.
Yes. In ceramics, people started to develop more techniques, more glazes, more tools — it became more refined, and I also looked into those periods for other projects. But for me, it’s important to go as far back as I can.
Why’s that? Is there some kind of an essentialism to it?
For me, it’s more raw. And it offers more in the way of imagination, like stories. Because it’s not an absolute fact — you get these little descriptions of what they could be, but they’re just speculations. And those are really very dry, so for me, that’s an opportunity to make my own reading of it, make my own associations and bring it to a different light, to imagine the culture that’s associated with that. It’s like a gateway to engage with ancient civilisation as an active source that’s open for interpretation. That act brings connection to the present and allows us to reflect on time, ritual and object. It’s both culture-specific and universal if we really dig deep into it. Ancient civilisation and pottery are inseparable — the latter was an essential element in both everyday life and the higher arts.
For my inspirations specifically, I’m sure if I keep researching, I’ll find more clues, but they’re fragments, they’re speculations. I still don’t know if they were used just for burials, or for weddings, and so on. And there’s actually not too much written in English, which is a whole other topic.
But you’re not just repeating those forms.
They’re of my own interpretation — definitely inspired, but it’s not like a literal replica. For instance, these Concave pieces are completely my own interpretations of a vessel that could convey time, and in a way hold spirit. Because the important function of the ancient versions was storing water or food, but to me, it’s no longer about food and water — the function is irrelevant in a way. I have to ask myself what it is conceptually, what can I emphasise to talk about the idea of containing an offering that’s not food or liquid. I was trying to communicate that idea of holding your offering to another dimension, whether it’s ancestors or nature gods.
The angle suggests offering and openness — if it was a vertical bowl you wouldn’t be able to see into it.
It’s an evolution. Typically, it has to be completely vertical to hold. But I want to free myself from the literal, functional aspect of it and capture a sense of welcoming, and pulling and pushing.
So if you’re giving yourself a creative brief for this, would it be that you’re trying to understand it by doing an interpretation, almost like an investigative project with an interpretive project forming part of that investigation?
I would say it’s a study in a way. It’s my way of engaging with history and figuring out how to communicate that to a different audience that’s not Korean or Asian, or someone who’s not familiar with primitive works. It’s ongoing, and I have made pieces that are more relevant to today, called Jaegi — low-sitting pedestals on which offerings for ancestral sprits are placed. There would be, say, twenty of these little platforms where different types of food were placed as an offering to your ancestors. So, any kind of sculptural pieces aren’t really relevant to the current forms for rituals and offerings.
I made these pedestals in Korea before I started working on this new collection in the US, but there’s some relevance to this collection. In the beginning I was making more contemporary vessels. I started looking into Korean work and this was my first reading of it, in a way. I wanted to make something similar but slightly different. But then I decided to go further back, before this type of thing was invented.
The clay for the Jaegi piece is from Seoul. It’s a subtle difference but for me it’s important for me to be place and material-specific with the type of work I create. I wouldn’t want to create a similar piece I made in Korea in the US or vice versa.
What’s the difference in the material?
There are different clay bodies — different minerals create different types of texture and strength, and for my New York work I use a different type that offers me different results. There are different qualities and characters — for instance, this clay has a lot of large stone particles, which means there’s more strength to it, so it’s very good to build free-form like this, whereas porcelain is made of very fine particles, so it doesn’t have the strength to support itself when it’s drying. Maybe there are some artists doing that, but large pieces tend to be more inconsistent in porcelain.
So was it a deliberate decision to try to use US materials?
Yes. I wanted to include the Jaegi piece in the show, even if it wasn’t specifically made in New York. But to me, it’s like a part of the story. It’s like the current style — it’s recognisable, a subtle interpretation — but other pieces are more of different time periods. I want to draw that connection of ‘We’re here but we forgot about these’. That’s important — to go further back and examine where and how it started. And to me, it’s much more creative, much more fun and also more meaningful in a way. This type of offering or ritual ware is very based on the food you serve — there’s no sculptural or artistic component. People are asked to do it, and it’s a chore basically.
For this, the story of it was actually inspired by the collection of a museum in Korea that holds ceramics from around the country, but not many people know about it and the younger generation isn’t interested. I actually met the museum founder’s son, who runs it now. I wrote him a handwritten letter and told him I made the collection based on his book and the museum’s collection. Then we met and he shared his concerns about how younger generations aren’t interested in this heritage-type work. He was surprised that people my age, especially from the US, were writing him about his collection. It’s almost archaic, and in Korea now they’re all very Western. In art, we’ll have a Keith Haring show and people go crazy.
That’s something we hear in every country, but we also meet people who are trying to get young people connected to makers again and get them involved. It’s a constant concern that these techniques and this knowledge are dying. But I’m very glad that younger generations are getting back into the maker culture.
There is definitely interest — there are clusters of people doing traditionally inspired work, and there are design communities that are definitely active in that. But from a museum perspective, he wanted to see a growing level of interest from the general public. I would definitely agree that it’s better — there’s probably more interest and more makers than ever in the last few decades.
You’re based in Seoul and New York. Where do you spend most of your time?
In the last few years, a huge chunk of my time was spent in New York, and then I had ten months in Seoul and six months in New York and back again — that’s been the last few years. I’m trying to see how far I can push that or how sustainable it could be. I think there’s something very interesting about working in a different environment, a different community with different types of fellow potters nearby, and different spaces to work out of. In Korea I focus a lot more on technique and just one or two clays, so it’s very focused, and then here in New York I just go all over and buy different clays, try different things and get inspired by my studio mates.
So, my practice includes both Asian heritage-inspired collections like Antecedere and others that are free of that type of cultural content. The first is more investigative and research-based whereas the latter is more expressive of the materiality and the play between colour and form. I love that dichotomy and I want to continue to develop my work in both directions — maybe they’ll merge one day or maybe not. But that balance between both is very enriching. The content of Korea is also interesting to me — the elements I’m trying to extract from and the act of figuring out how I can bring them to a point that’s reachable or tells a story. So, two places, two studios, two different cultures. I was educated in the US, so I have that kind of perspective but I’m pulling in the Korean heritage that I’m learning about — it's familiar in some ways but there’s a vast pool of things that I still don’t know.
As told to / Philip Annetta
Images / Sharon Radisch, Yoon Young Hur & Inki Kang
The Korea Issue
Introducing issue 22, Design Anthology’s annual edition dedicated to exploring a single country’s design scene. This year, we've focused on Korea’s vibrant and eclectic creative community.
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