Ancient Rugs

Under my feet, a beautiful Persian rug. The angular designs are full of movement and expression. The fine threads stand perfectly erect, side by side, all absolutely identical, a deep blood red ground contained by exquisite black lines, columns, boxes and hatchings.

Our smart living rooms are a fit context for these superb works of art. They sit there and give us the feeling of great luxury and affluence. But where did this serene artefact start life? In such a different place, in such different circumstances! Can I imagine where the first crossing of threads took place? The room, the village, the family? what sounds were about, what smells? What payment? What inspiration? What cause and reason? Why this and no other pattern? This and no other colour? How is it done, this perfect example of this ancient craft?  How was it arrived at?

There are records of patterns, names, descriptions; it is known where a rug comes from; its value can be estimated from the number of threads per inch and the quality of the material employed. There is a whole field of scholarship dedicated to this ancient tradition of rug making.

But the people who pursue this scholarship do not necessarily dedicate much time to considering the hands that do the work, or even those who profit from it.

I think of ancient patterns being handed down in families; I imagine small children and fine-boned women working the looms day on day, year on year, their slender fingers playing the described tune of their templates on the weft and weave; I think of dusty floors, cavernous, solitary, dusty workplaces and dimmed eyes counting threads,  choosing the next hue, putting in a mistake, unpicking a piece.

These books are full of nostalgia and wistfulness; they are sad and deliberate;  they have endured and survived many a mishap. They definitely take the long view; but they are fragile and vulnerable in their old age.