Without a doubt, Wedgwood Queensware is one of my favorite china patterns—as much for its beauty as for the memories attached to it. The cream-on-lavender “blue” Queensware was my grandmother’s china since the 1950s and was brought out for many holidays and family celebrations. I vividly remember sipping chicken soup from a double soup bowl trying to show everyone I could be trusted not to spill or drop the china entirely.
When my mother later took over hosting responsibilities, she inherited the Queensware and used it from time to time before retiring it to a cupboard. Years later, when my parents downsized, she entrusted the set to me.
When I shared my desire to use the Queensware in my creations for The Brooklyn Teacup, both my mother and grandmother were supportive. We agreed these pieces were too beautiful to stay hidden away, and that honoring them meant letting them be seen and enjoyed. (Of course, I created pieces for each of them first!)
“Not the Queensware!”
A Conversation Worth Having
I’ve since sold and upcycled that original set of family Queensware many times over. And yet, whenever someone comes across photos or videos transforming pieces from this pattern—and yes, I mean drilling through it—to create our signature tiered trays, some reactions tend to be critical and even angry.
“Not the Queensware!”
“How could you?!! You’re ruining it!”
“That should be preserved!”
"You're breaking my heart!"
We hear variations of these same comments again and again. On one level, I get it:
Queensware carries emotional weight. For generations—particularly for my grandmother’s and parents’ generation—certain china patterns were status symbols. To dine on luxury china—once associated with royalty, no less—meant you had “made it.” Seeing this symbol being appreciated in an altered, unfamiliar way might be jarring.
Interpreted in this way, I get it. But we don’t agree with the underlying premise of the criticism.
What some perceive as destruction, we see as creation.
When we upcycle china that hasn’t been in use into a tiered tray or home accent meant to live on a counter or table, it regains visibility and purpose. It is seen, touched, and newly relevant—far more likely to be valued again by this generation and the next.
Because the most meaningful way to honor the past
is to let it live on.
By contrast, when beautiful china sits unused in cupboards or buried in storage, its story stops. That’s how even the most venerated patterns end up on thrift-store shelves, forgotten—or worse, discarded entirely.
For us, honoring Queensware (or any other pattern for that matter!) doesn’t mean freezing it in time. It means giving it new purpose through upcycling so it can live on.
[Explore The Queensware Collection]