Porcelain is perhaps the most commonly used teaware for gong fu cha. Every tea enthusiast owns at least one porcelain gaiwan, along with a few matching cups. On this journey, we decided to visit the birthplace of Chinese porcelain—the legendary Jingdezhen, the very place that made the term “china” known around the world.

We arrive at the high-speed train station, and it is immediately clear how popular this place is with tourists. Even though the main season is already over, tour groups are still coming in, including some foreign visitors. The station is decorated with Jingdezhen-style porcelain motifs, which instantly sets the tone and gives a first taste of the city’s character.

On the taxi ride into town, our driver asked if we were here for the Porcelain Expo. We had no idea it was happening and were delighted to realize we had arrived at just the right time. After dropping our bags at the hotel and grabbing a quick bite to eat, we hopped into another taxi for the exhibition hall, which we later discovered was actually quite far away.

Cups, gaiwans, vases, statues, decorative pieces, even machines for making pottery – everything is on display. In all the excitement, we took countless photos that would make an endless slideshow, but only a few will make it into this post. We chat with small factories, independent makers, and established masters, and as we start to learn about pricing, the mood turns a bit disappointing. The reasons behind the high prices will become clear later, but let’s not jump ahead. The expo area itself is not very large, so we finish in about an hour and head to the adjacent building, which we are told is a wholesale market, hoping to find more reasonable prices and some promising new contacts for porcelain sourcing.

We start on the top floor, where the larger producers are based, and slowly work our way down, floor by floor. In the very first showroom, belonging to a mid-sized factory, we spot pieces that strongly resemble our Yunnan Huaning pottery: deep blue and dark red, with a sort of plum-colored glaze. The big difference is the thickness of the clay. A quick check with a flashlight reveals just how thin and delicate this porcelain is, and that becomes its main selling point.
At first, we are thrilled, until we hear the prices – five times higher or more than what we pay for our Yunnan pieces. So we sit there, sipping the Yan Cha they serve, and quietly wonder whether there is any point in us being here. We move on and continue from shop to shop, photographing interesting pieces, occasionally asking about prices and collecting a few contacts, but with very little expectation of actually doing business in this market.

On the ground floor there are some machine-made, printed pieces that are much cheaper, but nothing really catches our eye at the prices they are asking. Similar items sell on Chinese online platforms for what feels like a fraction of the cost, so we decide to pass. Yet, some interesting ideas there, as computer keyboard with porcelain keys.

In the evening, after dinner, we headed to the old porcelain factory that has been preserved and thoughtfully transformed into a tourist complex. This site now houses gift shops, inviting coffee shops, and porcelain showrooms, blending heritage with modern visitor experiences. While there, we met groups of art students from Hungary who were holding a small exhibition within one of the factory’s historic premises, adding a vibrant, youthful energy to the space. The atmosphere captured the fusion of tradition and contemporary creativity that defines the village’s cultural revival.

As expected , porcelain from that area are quite overpriced , although I have to say , some pieces are truly unique and might justify the high price tag even for me , who is mostly skeptical with additional cultural value kind of concepts. Across the road from the main complex , the street is filled with night market where cups, gaiwans, or other porcelain souvenirs are sold by small individual vendors for much cheaper prices. Yet, it’s not what we are looking for , so just passing by on the way back to hotel.

The next day, we decided to explore some pottery villages—although they aren’t separate villages per se, but rather pottery-centric areas on the outskirts of the town. Probably the most famous among them is San Bao Cun. This time, we rented an e-bike for convenience, which cost only 45 CNY for the whole day, and rode there ourselves. The village stretches along a narrow road, and since we arrived early before lunch, most shops were still closed. Upon reaching the area marked by a tourist center sign and a car park, it became clear once again that this place wouldn’t be ideal for sourcing pottery. Nevertheless, since we had already come this far, we decided to take a look around and soak in the atmosphere.
Additional context about San Bao Cun: It is recognized as an international ceramic art village where traditional craftsmanship meets contemporary creativity. Resident artists actively promote a blend of classic and modern pottery, shaping the village into a thriving cultural and creative hub. With its studios, art centers, and international ceramic art events, the village serves more as an artistic community than a commercial marketplace for bulk pottery. This makes it less suited for sourcing everyday pottery items but ideal for art enthusiasts and visitors drawn to ceramic culture and innovation.

Well, Hilton hotel is there 😉

After lunch, as the day warms up, tourists start to arrive, bringing with them the lively buzz typical of popular spots. Passing by a cozy coffeehouse, a striking statue made of large plates stacked atop one another with a cup perched on the top has become a magnet for the younger crowd—mostly young women—who patiently queue up to take pictures with this whimsical centerpiece. The scene captures the playful, artistic vibe of the village and its appeal as a creative and photogenic destination.

We are meeting one of the true masters, an artist known for creating large-scale paintings not only on porcelain. Over tea, we are learning about the many reasons behind the high prices of such works. Naturally, the time and skill invested in each piece play a major role, but factors like studio rent and a limited range of products—resulting in fewer sales throughout the year—also create financial pressure. Some artists further add what could be called a cultural heritage premium or a self-recognition fee, reflecting their fame, reputation, and numerous certificates. This village, in particular, has no shortage of such acclaimed masters.

I explained to him my idea of creating a tea ware set—a gaiwan and matching cups—centered around the people involved in tea making and drinking. The concept was to depict the Tea Journey, from harvesting through processing to the final act of enjoying tea, all illustrated in an ancient-style motif. He liked the idea but pointed out that it would cost significantly more than the usual “mountains, rivers, and forest” designs, since painting human figures requires greater skill and time. Later, when we asked other masters about producing such pieces, most declined, saying they did not specialize in painting human subjects. Rather than admitting a lack of skill, they simply said, “It’s not our area of specialization.”

We are directed to another village—more accurately, a market—where prices are expected to be lower due to the presence of less well-known artists and cheaper rents for stalls and studios. This area has a particular reputation for porcelain statues but also features a variety of shops and street vendors. As we arrive at the main gate, we notice foreign tour groups and a large bus unloading Chinese tourists, a sign that the area is used to heavy visitor traffic.There we go again 🙁 I’m kinda loosing any hopes.

In a small indoor market filled with tiny shop units, we finally come across some beautiful pieces that echo the concept for the tea ware set in my mind. These designs come close to the narrative feel and aesthetic I was hoping to achieve. However, the vendors quote very high prices, and the idea of true wholesale does not really exist here unless you are prepared to spend the equivalent of several thousand US dollars, with only a modest discount in return for such a large commitment.
Most people in the building are not the actual makers but rather sellers, or friends and family of the potters, which makes it difficult to discuss technical details or custom production. Still, we sit down for tea with one of them to explore possible cooperation. Once again, we are reminded how complex and time-consuming it is to paint human figures and how strongly this affects the final price. At this point, we start to give up on the idea of having a fully hand-made, custom-designed set produced.

We continue wandering through the back streets of the market and slowly start to understand how this local micro‑industry works. It is possible to buy, or custom order, almost any shape—gaiwans, cups, vases, and more—have a painter add the design, and then fire everything in nearby kilns, all within just a few compact blocks. The model is simple and convenient for anyone who can paint, like a woman we meet who has set up a small table on the street, selling her finished pieces to tourists while calmly working on new designs at the same time.
She does not need to pay for an expensive shop; just a few square meters of outdoor space and inexpensive pre-made clay bodies keep her costs low, while her profit—the payment for her artistic work—is quite substantial. The only limitation is that, like many others here, she only paints classic landscapes of mountains, rivers, and forests and cannot paint human figures. We try to negotiate a reasonable price for buying twenty of her pieces at once, but the discount is minimal because she is in no hurry to sell; tourists will happily buy them one by one at full retail price. From her perspective, this approach makes perfect sense, and in her position, it would be hard to justify doing it any differently.

The following day, as suggested, we set out to visit some wholesale markets and the showrooms of a few producers we had met at the expo. We arrive at one location still within the town and feel relieved not to see any tour buses around—at least not at that moment. This place finally feels closer to what we are looking for: standard shop units filled with huge vases, smaller vases, plates, cups, and gaiwans, without the heavy “art heritage” atmosphere.
We start by walking through a few smaller shops, and, as expected, the prices are still quite high. Then we enter a larger showroom where several wholesale buyers seem to be negotiating with the owner. Here we are offered a “half-handmade” option as the most suitable wholesale solution and shown some samples. In this approach, the image is first printed onto the cup as a template and then outlined or refined by hand with a brush. Even so, meaningless discounts and you have to commit spending several thousand US dollars, which makes us even more appreciate our modest Yunnan pottery based industry.
We also visit what we initially assume is a producer, only to realize later that they are actually intermediaries. With them, we discuss the idea of a custom “half-handmade” version of our dream tea set. The outcome is similar: prices remain high and flexibility limited, likely because we are still not dealing directly with the people who actually make the pieces.

The next day, we head to the actual factory—a key producer located a bit farther from town but still accessible by e-bike. En route, we stop at another heritage center in a serene park, home to an old dragon kiln. This site charges an entrance fee and offers optional guided tours.
Nestled in a forest beside a small lake, the center features historic buildings repurposed as museums, showrooms, and gift shops. A traditional pottery wheel draws crowds, where a master crafts gaiwans; for 30 CNY, visitors can try it themselves under his guidance. Unable to resist, I join in.
As we begin, a large group of Chinese tourists suddenly surrounds us, snapping photos incessantly—leaving Siran no chance to capture a shot of me. In the end, we only have the finished result to show for it. 😉

Google can reveal more about the many attractions in this expansive heritage park, so no need to delve deeply here. The Song Dynasty Dragon Kiln serves as the standout feature of this vast tourist site, spanning 83 hectares with ancient kiln zones, folk custom areas, and a ceramic museum.
We spent just two hours there, briskly walking through the museums, showrooms, and porcelain workshops without pausing at the souvenirs.
Eager for our main goal, we hopped back on the e-bike and headed straight to the factory.

We selected this particular factory for its standout innovation, setting it apart from the conventional styles showcased at the expo. Their porcelain uses a proprietary technique—likely involving denser kaolin clay or iron additives, though the producers guarded their know-how—resulting in remarkable hardness while maintaining relatively thin walls.
A small, thin-walled gaiwan feels as substantial in hand as a large, thick clay piece, naturally adding weight without sacrificing porcelain’s delicate translucency.
At the expo, their representative vividly demonstrated its durability by smashing the lid against the gaiwan body, leaving it unscathed.

We found this concept intriguing and believe it would appeal to our customers, as fragile gaiwans often break—especially in beginners’ hands.
The factory also offers matching cups and lid rests (small, rounded ceramic pieces for propping up the gaiwan or teapot lid during pouring ).

Entering the factory premises, we are welcomed by an assistant who first walks us through the showroom, which mainly consists of tableware: plates, bowls, and cups for daily use.
The final small section is dedicated to gongfu teaware—small gaiwans and teapots that, as they claim, are fully hand-painted by various masters, with their portfolios exhibited on the walls.
We do a quick double-check of the prices to see if they are also ridiculous, and yes—same story.

We meet the company owner, who serves us fine tea while we explain our envisioned teaware set concept in detail—gaiwans and cups depicting the full tea journey—and inquire about production options and wholesale pricing.
Our project requires a reasonable minimum order quantity (sets of gaiwans and cups), but the prices prove prohibitive. They collaborate exclusively with renowned masters whose time commands premium rates, keeping costs sky-high even for half-handmade or fully machine-printed alternatives.

We shift the discussion to their extra-durable porcelain gaiwans and cups. The owner delivers a comprehensive presentation, culminating in a dramatic demonstration: he throws a lid rest onto the concrete floor, prompting the assistant behind us to swiftly retrieve it.
He outlines ambitious product lines, including designs targeted at the Korean market. When I inquire about pricing, the structure remains puzzling—who exactly is the wholesale buyer? Even after a 50,000 CNY order ($7,000 USD), the gaiwan price drops to “only” 1,000 CNY per piece ($140 USD), despite featuring no hand-painting, just simple solid colors.
The lid rest, with its thicker construction, survives such drops, but the gaiwan and lid offer resistance only to minor impacts—like a lid slipping a few centimeters onto the tea table—not full floor falls. While this mitigates common edge chipping and extends longevity for everyday use, it remains porcelain, lacking Yixing clay’s tea flavor-enhancing properties to warrant such premiums. We don’t see that high value in such a product and probably the owner’s new Jaguar parking at the gate is the explanation for the pricing.

We’re leaving to explore another wholesale market nearby. This one is smaller than the previous market and noticeably less crowded. Some shops have even closed down, suggesting that certain business concepts we’ve seen elsewhere may not be sustainable here. There’s also a shop selling “raw” gaiwans and cups, so local artisans can easily pick them up to add their own artistic touches—just across the road.
After browsing several shops, taking photos, and collecting contacts with little hope for future cooperation (though you never know, since we’re already here), we stopped by one store and chatted with a local art teacher who mentors a few students. It became clear—and was confirmed by her—that there remains a high price threshold for fully hand-painted work, even when done by her students. She specializes in classic nature motifs and does not paint human figures.
We also learned that distinguishing between fully hand-painted and partially hand-painted pieces can be very difficult. After all , it is a human artist who will still use the brush to outline a pre-printed sketch. In fact, some fully machine-printed items can appear hand-painted at first glance because the brush strokes and imperfections are replicated in the printed design. Local social media buzzes with videos explaining how to identify genuine hand-painted work, sometimes recommending magnifying glasses for close inspection.
This raises an interesting question about the true necessity of owning a fully handmade cup or gaiwan. If the purpose is to drink tea rather than just show off, high-quality machine-printed pieces look nearly identical to hand-painted ones to the casual eye. After all, the clay itself remains the same. Ultimately, it seems that what buyers are really paying for is the feeling of owning a unique work of art.

Heading back to the hotel, we noticed another place that looked like an antique market on the way. Some people were selling antique-style teaware in small shops or even outside in the bike parking area.
When we went inside this market, it turned into a local apartment area with houses packed close to each other. In China, they call it “hand-in-hand” buildings or areas, meaning the houses are so close that neighbors can shake hands out of the window.
We walked through the narrow streets between the buildings, which reminded me of hidden alleys in Hong Kong. The ground floors of those buildings are units used for shops, which mostly sell vases, porcelain statues, and occasionally some tableware like gaiwans or cups.
We also met a foreign family who were buying vases, presumably for resale abroad. It is something I dreamed of back when we started sourcing teaware from Jianshui. They also make nice vases with carved and clay-filled paintings and calligraphy.
Packing such stuff safely and shipping it with a reliable forwarder is enormously expensive and not 100% guaranteed to arrive safe. That high-density Jianshui clay is tough enough; I can’t imagine doing that with porcelain. Fair play to them!

In one of the very hidden units, I saw something that looked like fake old pottery production in progress. Cream and various techniques were used to make the new glossy porcelain look old and worn. In some videos I watched later, I also saw a method that uses burned ashes and fire to smoke the surface, followed by brushing to create that aged effect. This technique adds a smoky, weathered look to the porcelain, making it seem antique. Such methods are common in making new pieces appear as though they have aged naturally over time.

Our Jingdezhen visit wasn’t successful as a sourcing trip, but it made for a pleasant tourist experience. We only bought a few small half-hand-painted gaiwans. We also visited the local porcelain museum, which was crowded with tourists despite being low season, so it wasn’t enjoyable for us.
A taxi driver shared with us that during holiday seasons—like Chinese national holidays when hotels nationwide raise prices—Jingdezhen hotel rates surge four times or more. Visitors pay around 1000 CNY expecting matching quality and service, but only prices rise, not standards. This leaves many (about 8 out of 10,as he said) disappointed or angry, prompting bad reviews of the city.
The authentic old streets have transformed into a “girls’ selfie street” decked with trendy decorations—a common tactic to draw young tourists, especially girls, for photos and spending. On the way to the train station, beyond the classic red-brick factory architecture, we saw similar new builds ( red brick cladding ) under construction. The driver noted they’ll become another tourist zone with gift shops and attractions, while other areas develop big luxury hotels. Jingdezhen is firmly a tourist spot.

Our initial goal was to source authentic Jingdezhen porcelain for our shop, but the trip turned out to be more educational than commercial. Still, we made valuable connections and gained knowledge that could lead to future business opportunities.

For now, we’re focusing on general porcelain teaware, as it remains a practical daily utensil prone to breakage; thus, high retail prices are difficult to justify. At this stage, it’s unrealistic to expect our customers to spend several hundred dollars on a porcelain gaiwan just because it’s painted by a Chinese master few have heard of—even within China.

The half-handmade pieces, painted over a template, show slight variations between items and come at a more reasonable price. We’ll see how this concept performs in sales. As for machine-printed teaware, there’s no real need to go to Jingdezhen since it’s widely available on local online platforms—often at lower prices than in the city’s shops.