Oriental rugs unlike any other artwork: intricate beauty that you can walk on
Persian carpets and other “rugs of the East” are firmly established as elegant design elements — subtle and often unheralded — that loudly whisper refinement and good taste. Many of us think of them in terms of the imagery of medieval Europe. They were considered great status symbols in the 1500s and, more than 200 years beyond, were too precious to put on floors; instead, they adorned tables, chests and walls.
But the story of Oriental rugs goes back much further — to 3000 B.C., when Nomadic tribes in Mongolia and Turkey used hair from their camels and sheep to weave carpets to keep their earthen floors warm; and 1000 B.C., when rugs with an impressive 300 knots per square inch were already in existence.
In Persia especially, the artistry of the carpet developed so much that, today, a dizzying variety of distinctive patterns and styles is linked to at least 40 rug-making Iranian cities or villages.
“We have a long history of admiring Oriental rugs,” said interior designer Joe Minton of Fort Worth, Texas. “They’re a beautiful thing to use in a room.”
There’s pride of ownership, of course, but also discomfort — the latter because of the oftreported idea of village women and children toiling away at looms, tying tiny knots all day to weave the intricate patterns of Persian florals onto artistic tapestries that others might tread upon with nary a thought. (Child labor continues to be an issue for the weaving industry, especially in India, Pakistan and Afghanistan. Read more about that at www.good weave.com and in a recent Forbes article.)
A true Oriental rug is “handknotted,” woven one knot at a time — a tribute to the patience and craftsmanship of the weavers. The terms handtufted and handmade are misleading — those can still be machine-made.
It is said that the average weaver ties as many as 10,000 knots a day, and a 9-by-12-foot Persian rug that has 500 knots per square inch takes four or five artisans, working six hours a day and six days a week, about 14 months to complete.
My medium-sized creamcolored creation is a Kashan, I’m told, and, like me, it is at least a semi-antique. It was jokingly dubbed my “dowry rug” when my dad purchased it several decades ago during a two-year period in which our family lived in Iran.
I was 13 — an age when many Iranian girls from wealthy families used to be married off to old men of their fathers’ choosing. Although I treasured the rug, an exotic souvenir of time spent abroad, I also tucked it away for decades, seldom using it.
“A crying shame,” rug aficionados call such disuse.
“Rugs are like paintings,” said Ben Shabahang, owner of Shabahang Empire Rugs in Southlake, Texas. “It’s art. But that doesn’t mean you tuck it away and ignore it.
“These types of carpets are meant to be used — used and worn and enjoyed forever.”
Tom Siasi of CT Rugs in Fort Worth agreed.
“I always say rugs are a little bit like humans. If you rolled me up and put me in the corner, my back would hurt. Unused rugs can get mildewed and musty-smelling, and sometimes you can never get those smells out.”
Shabahang said he keeps Oriental carpets in just about every room of his house.
“They’re all different styles,” he said. “Each one is beautiful in its own way. They give me and my family enjoyment every day because we use them. What other kind of artwork can you walk on and know that it just keeps getting better?”
At first glance, my Persian carpet is a twin to one that resides in California with my sister. Our dad purchased them together, and they bear the trademark elongated center medallion surrounded by vines and Persian florals that make them instantly recognizable to those in the know as products of the city of Kashan.
Our dad hung the carpets on the wall of a bedroom through our teen years, and my sister and I discovered many miniscule differences between them. We would trace the delicate patterns of vines and blossoms with our fingers, lovingly pinpointing the places where one weaver made a flower using mint thread while her counterpart selected yellow or green.
Whether mistakes or artistic deviations, such “flaws” are a hallmark of Oriental rugs. Two women from a nomadic tribe might start weaving a rug from opposite sides, adding their own touches as they work, while weavers of Persian prayer rugs are known to purposefully weave irregularities into their creations — a speck of bright orange among browns, for instance — as a reminder that humans can’t duplicate the perfection of Allah.
As for my old visions of children toiling away on my rug, Shabahang and other rug retailers said it is important for them to research suppliers and for consumers to find rug dealers whom they trust.
A third-generation rug dealer and entrepreneur, Shabahang said he eliminated the childlabor issue by opening small factories of his own in India.
Taking a different approach, Hassan Khoshroo, owner of Atlas Rugs in Fort Worth, said he travels to India and elsewhere to check on his suppliers’ factories and view the work conditions of the weavers.
“You never really know what things are like if you visit them only when they know you are coming,” Khoshroo said. “I pay them surprise visits. I just drop by unexpectedly. That’s how you find out what’s going on over there.”
Siasi of CT Rugs never worries about industrialization or the growing market for massproduced Persian carpet knockoffs eliminating the ancient techniques of making hand-knotted rugs.
“They’re two different markets,” he said, noting that nothing can replace the allure of a real Oriental rug.
“You never see an antique Persian carpet at the Goodwill (store). People keep them in the family and pass them on through the generations.”