Blue-and-White and Beyond: Why Ginger Jars Still Delight
- Debra Palmen
- Jun 8
- 5 min read
As I rebuild my website after The Great Website Disaster, I'm adding fabulous new things that I've never offered before. And because you subscriber to my Newsletter, you're getting to hear about them first. This time, I've added a number of great items and prints to my Decorative Homewares page, and today I'm focussing on ginger jars. I do have a thing for lovely ginger jars, with quite a few in my own collection. Perhaps you'll develop a thing for them, too.
When the great porcelain makers of the Ming Dynasty began creating lidded vessels for storing and transporting spices, they could hardly have imagined their creations would one day sit in Georgian drawing rooms or be colour-matched with mid-century sideboards in Bondi apartments. Yet ginger jars, as they came to be known, have enjoyed just such a journey. Today they’re prized for their elegance, adaptability and sheer decorative charm, with many collectors scarcely aware of the pungent roots that first filled them.
The story begins in China during the Ming Dynasty (1368–1644ce). The kilns at Jingdezhen, already centuries old, were by this time producing porcelain of dazzling whiteness, perfect for cobalt-blue decoration that became a hallmark of the period. Among the many forms developed was a stout, rounded jar with a domed lid, used to store and transport spices such as salt, oil, and ginger. The latter was particularly prized, not only for culinary purposes but also for its use in medicine and ritual. The jars were often sealed with wax to keep the contents fresh and were not considered ornamental objects.
But porcelain has always had a knack for transcending its utilitarian origins. These Chinese vessels began to travel westwards along the Silk Road, and by the time the Dutch East India Company entered the scene in the 17th-century, they were being packed into ships bound for Europe in ever-growing quantities. European merchants and collectors, utterly captivated by the delicacy and exoticism of Chinese porcelain, didn't see these jars as containers for root vegetables, but as symbols of refinement, culture and wealth.
It was then that the English adoption of the ginger jar truly began. The jars were removed from kitchens and placed in drawing rooms, on mantelpieces and side tables. Their original function faded into obscurity, and they became purely aesthetic objects. Some were converted into lamps, others were displayed in symmetrical pairs, a style that remains popular today. The English even coined the term "ginger jar", though most of the jars had long ceased to carry ginger. The name stuck, more for the allure and implied exoticism of the word than for its accuracy.
By the 18th and 19th-centuries, as chinoiserie reached its fashionable peak, English and European manufacturers began to imitate the Chinese style. Worcester, Spode and other major potteries produced their own versions of ginger jars, some closely mimicking the originals, others adapting the shape and pattern. These Western jars were typically more decorative, sometimes gilded or brightly coloured, and they often bore European interpretations of “Oriental” motifs, complete with imaginary pagodas and fanciful landscapes.
It's tempting to think of this as admiration for Chinese art, but it was also a form of cultural appropriation. Europeans were reinventing Chinese style to suit their own domestic ideals. Where a Chinese jar might have featured the restrained elegance of blue-on-white decoration, Western copies often leaned toward the theatrical. But despite this, the fundamental charm of the ginger jar endured. Its curved silhouette, wide shoulders and fitted ceramic lid or cork stopper gave it a satisfying physical presence, while the fine decoration invited close study.
One of the most beguiling features of a ginger jar is its ground colour – that is, the background shade upon which its designs are painted. In Chinese porcelain, the most traditional ground is white, which beautifully sets off the designs. But as techniques evolved, potters introduced coloured grounds including celadon (a soft green), iron red, and powder blue. Later, yellow, pink, green and even a warm, deep peach became the palettes of the Qing Dynasty.
Each colour is symbolic. Yellow was reserved for the imperial household, pink and green were associated with happiness and longevity, while cobalt blue, made from imported Persian stone, was prized for its vividness and depth. In later Western adaptations, we see ground colours influenced more by European tastes, with rich navy blues, buttery creams and even dramatic blacks. Collectors often develop strong preferences, with some favouring the freshness of white-ground jars and others drawn to the opulence of deep red or turquoise glazes.
Ginger jars today have found an easy second life in both traditional and contemporary interiors. Their sculptural form means they work beautifully as standalone pieces, but they’re also stunning in clusters, particularly when varying heights and ground colours are combined. A single blue-and-white jar can lend a touch of classical elegance to a room, while a group of pink-ground jars (called famille rose) bring joyful colour to a modern white-walled space. Designers often place them on bookshelves, entry consoles or even as centrepieces on dining tables. And, somewhat ironically, some have returned to their functional roots, but now holding utensils in a kitchen, or flowers in a hallway.
Part of the ginger jar’s charm lies in its quiet versatility. Unlike many antiques, it doesn't require a matching set, nor does it need to be part of a larger theme. A well-chosen ginger jar can hold its own in a minimalist apartment just as easily as in an Edwardian parlour. For decorators, they're an easy way to add history and texture without overwhelming a space. For collectors, they're objects of near-endless variety, with differences in glaze, form, finial and decoration offering the thrill of the hunt.
In more recent years, the ginger jar has become something of a design icon. It turns up in homeware catalogues, and even as motifs on wallpaper and textiles. Yet antique examples retain a quality that modern reproductions often lack. There is a softness to the hand-painted lines, a subtlety in the glazing, and a weight that speaks of their history. Many jars show signs of their past lives: a glaze bubble here, a tiny firing crack there. These imperfections aren't flaws but hallmarks of authenticity, evidence of their journey across continents and centuries.
For those new to collecting, the world of ginger jars isn't as intimidating as other, more “serious” antiques can be. It’s pretty hard to get it wrong – simply choose a jar whose colour or motif appeals to you. If you like birds, pick a jar with a finely painted crane or phoenix. If you prefer florals, seek out plum blossoms or lotus patterns. Don’t worry too much about matching; the pleasure lies in the mix. And unlike many antique categories, ginger jars rarely feel formal or fussy. Their roundness softens their stature, and their decorative surfaces offer endless interest.
I currently have several ginger jars available on the website, each with its own character and story. Some are fine Qing examples, others charming 19th-century English. All have been selected not just for their beauty, but for the way they can work in a modern home. Whether you are after a bold statement piece or a subtle accent, there's a jar to suit. I invite you to browse the current collection on my website, where each piece is photographed and described with care. Just go to:
To own a ginger jar is to hold a small piece of global history, glazed and fired into permanence. It’s an object that’s crossed oceans, changed purpose, and endured every shift in fashion. And it continues to sit quietly on our shelves, reminding us that beauty sometimes begins with utility.
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