Warmgifts China Porcelain

Share heartwarming stories, infuse warmth into ceramics, and preserve them in eternal memories.

[warmgifts]

Team Customization Conflict Resolution: Creative Shift from Electronic Products to Honeycomb Ceramic Cups

Today, I encountered an incredibly interesting team customization case! A project director from a tech company approached me. Their team had just completed a major project and wanted to customize commemorative gifts.

But the problem arose: younger team members wanted electronic products, finding them cool and impressive; while senior experts wanted gifts with cultural significance. Both sides were deadlocked in their opinions!

Rejected Option 1: Electronic products? Senior experts felt they lacked collectible value.

Rejected Option 2: Traditional crafts? Younger members found them not trendy enough.

Then I had a sudden inspiration: What is the core of the team's success? It's the collaborative order akin to a "hive mind"! Suddenly, I thought of the honeycomb pattern design on Warmgifts' Siyu Ceramic Cups! The honeycomb symbolizes collaboration and order—isn't this the perfect embodiment of team spirit?

Direction confirmed: Use the robust texture of coarse pottery to represent the project's depth, and the philosophical imagery of the honeycomb pattern to reflect the team's wisdom.

The client's eyes lit up: This idea is brilliant! It has cultural depth, embodies team spirit, and even resolves the generational gap issue.

In the end, we customized 12 Siyu Ceramic Cups, each engraved with a team member's name. The younger members found the honeycomb pattern cool, and the senior experts appreciated the cultural significance—perfect!

[warmgifts]

If This Vase Could Speak: A Ceramic’s View of a 15‑Year Marriage

I am a vase.

I was born in fire. Before that, I was clay, then a sketch on a screen. A man sat late at night, moving shapes around. He chose two cranes, a lotus pond, a soft pink ground. He was thinking of a wetland, a first date, a silence that had lasted fifteen years.

When I came out of the kiln, I held that silence inside me.

He gave me to her on an ordinary evening. She held me carefully, as if I might break. Her fingers traced the curve of my neck, the feather lines of the crane. She smiled, but it was a smile that stopped halfway. She saw something he hadn’t—a detail in the plumage, a memory.

“You remember,” she said.

Now I live on a sideboard in their living room. I watch them pass by. Sometimes she pauses, looks at me for a second longer than necessary. He does too, when he thinks she isn’t looking.

I am just a vase. But I am also the space between what was said and what wasn’t. I am the vessel for a moment they almost let go.