Carpetblogger

Siirt Blankets on the Streets of Galata

Many people have asked lately, "Carpetblogger! Where are all the textiles?" It is true, I have not bought one since October, in Afghanistan. There are many explanations for this, mostly related to the slide of the American Peso and sharp spending cuts dictated by the Central Bank.   

Walking home this afternoon from a leisurely "Consultant's Lunch," I spotted a pile of textiles stacked on abandoned fruit stand, tended to by an old man. I pass this fruit stand nearly every day and I can say with absolute certainty it is a place where textiles usually are not. They called to me. I had no choice but to investigate further. I pawed through the piles.

He had a few woolly blankets and wall hangings folded up in old bags, which, when opened, released pungent sheepiness.  I had never seen such textiles before; neutral colored flatweave on one side, soft furry wool on the other, brushed smooth into patterns.

I asked some basic questions but assumed my Turkish has regressed even farther because I didn't really good answers from the old guy -- only that the blankets are from Siirt. Truthfully, I had no clue where that is (it's in Southeastern  Turkey and the old guy probably spoke Kurdish, but it's equally plausible that my Turkish is, in fact, unintelligible).

Twenty YTL seemed like a bargain to me, so I snapped one up.  (Then, after I wrote this post, I went back and bought the rest of them).

As it turns out, they are Siirt Battaniyesi, (Siirt Blankets) and the town of Siirt is famous for them. Made from local mohair with a cotton weft. As it's woven, the backside is brushed with a metal comb across the warp to make a geometric pattern of hairy pile, different from the simple pattern on the reverse.  I like them quite a lot.

Although I know it doesn't exist and it is treasonous to suggest as much, my house currently smells very much like Kurdistan.  Very, very sheepy.

Carpetblogger's Kabul Security Assessment

Today, Carpetblog brings a new and innovative method of measuring improvements in Kabul's security situation by using the only yardstick that matters: one's ability to freely purchase carpets.

We proudly present the Carpetblog Kabul Security Assessment, developed after spending six days last week in the Afghan capital, two hours of which were spent carpet shopping.

If you remember last year, carpetshopping was conducted in one Chicken Street shop during Ramadan, under the watchful eye of an armed guard who hadn't eaten all day. Yoinks! Talk about tense.

For this year's carpetbinge, we had the run of Chicken Street, but it may be the case that we were more confident and committed to the project, rather than a noticeable improvement in security.

Assessment: A wash.

Fewer guns than last year

Last year, seven small carpets were purchased. This year, three medium sized ones, plus a bunch of suzanis and other assorted textiles that will be put to creative use. So that's a wash, too.

So, based on the Carpetblog Kabul Security Assessment, the situation in the Afghan capital is unchanged  from last year.

And, the Carpetblog Kabul Security Assessment reveals other important, yet unrelated, data: we like Caucasian carpets better than Agfhan carpets.

When we got back to Baku, we sold the three medium carpets (one of which Ruslan referred to as "the dog carpet,"a judgment with which we have to sheepishly agree) and bought a much more expensive one from Ruslan. That, if you're an accountant and keep track of these things, was definitely not a wash.

But this one might be our new favorite carpet ever. (Just like with kids and dogs, it is possible to pick favorites). It's a Bordjalou Kazak. Its colors are so spectacular, we had to have it, even though the price, even when measured in our new preferred unit of currency ("barrels"), was pretty "special" as Ruslan likes to say. It's going on the wall, away from skanky dogfaces.

ZOMG! The Carpetblog camera is broken! This is a crisis of unmitigated proportions, so no pictures of the new and spectacular Bordjalou Kazak are available at this time.

Ask Carpetblogger: Who IS that Woman?

This question is unique in the history of Carpetblog and it comes from a Mark Adkins, of Phoenix, Arizona:

My question is, who is the gorgeous woman pictured at the top left just below the "ABOUT" link?  The one in the painting?  Who is that, and where can I find bigger pictures?  I think I'm in love...

(I reserve the right to do a complete about-face if and when I see a larger picture -- I can't see much in the way of detail at present.)

And don't think you can just ignore this.  I'll keep pestering you until I find out.  Really.

Pester all you want, Mark! The story of this lovely lady is here. She is Afghan, and was a special present from a friend who wanted to make sure he brought a carpet I didn't have already! I can totally see why you've fallen in love. Right now, however, the Producer has custody. If you are in Baku, you could challenge him to a duel for her.

Do You Like Carpets Too?

Afghanistanica pointed out a program that Carpetblog can really get behind. Thanks to Juniata College, a small liberal arts school in Pennsylvania, you can buy pretty carpets made by an Afghan women's cooperative organized by the Ghazni Rural Support Program (GRSP). A portion of the proceeds will pay for scholarships for young Afghans to attend the college.

Learn more about the program here and look at all the pretty carpets! Fair prices, too.

What's not to like about that? It's much easier than shopping on Chicken Street in Kabul with armed guards. Carpetbuying should be a force for good, helping women and young people out.

Carpetblogger approves!

Ask Carpetblogger: How do you clean your carpets?

Until this week, my answer has been, "I don't."

The likelihood an elective activity like carpetwashing gets done is inversely proportional to the number of linguistic and logistical obstacles that stand in its way. Not only must I identify a qualified carpet cleaning professional, that person has to come get the carpets. Furthermore, moving stinky carpets around is a royal pain in the ass any time of the year, more so when it is 100 degrees and you are on your own. These are all significant obstacles.

On the other hand, I have carpetdogs, so my carpets are pretty damn dirty. Smelly too. That workhorse 6' x 5' Dagestan sumac that was in the dining room in Baku and Kyiv absorbed prodigious amounts of food and alcohol from Sunday dinners and parties. These factors make carpetwashing less elective and more imperative.

Most importantly, however, if you're moving into a new apartment with Ottoman-era wood floors that appear to be designed for your favorite carpets (or, looking at it another way, if you made your second real estate purchase based on how good your carpets will look), you cannot have dirty carpets.

So what to do?

One thing you'll notice about Istanbul is that there are a lot of carwashes. Because Turks are enterprising, rare is the carwash that is only used for washing cars. For example, because they can be hosed down, carwashes are ideal places for a bayram sacrifice -- a ritual slaughter of sheep and cows and a right bloody mess. More frequently, however, carwash guys are as likely to be aiming their high pressure hoses and soap brushes at carpets hanging from wires as Anadolu sedans.

"No carpet of mine is going to a skanky carwash!" I sniffed.

Turns out, that's pretty much wrong. A few weeks ago, I called a carpet dealer and he came to get three of them. They came home all shiny and reptilian, smelling of clean wool rather than dirty dog. I fell in love with them all over again.

Apparently, they went to a carwash. According to my sources, that's standard Istanbul carpetwashing procedure.

If this is the case, I thought, why not just cut out the middleman and go talk to the guys at the carwash near my house?

Fortunately, my Turkish has progressed to the point where I can negotiate such a transaction. I hopped into the guy's 1967 green jeep Cherokee and we sped up the street to my house. He threw them in the back and took off. Receipt? Hells no.  I've been able to track their progress as I pass by with the carpetdogs. They've been drying on the roof of the carwash in the scorching June sun.

I was only going to get a couple carpets washed, but why stop with six? I've got another eight ready to go. The remaining eight might wait, or I might send them to the car wash too.

Doh! I almost forgot

Ruslan says this is an Uzbek kilim. Based on the wide selvedge, it may be, but it may also be from Afghanistan. Hazara kilims have this characteristic, but they tend to be slit weaves and this is not.

The Producer bought a kilim for his new office, but it is not interesting.

Underachiever

Today, I realized I am not living up to my capabilities, that I have become a slacker. How did I arrive at this conclusion? I attended the Josephine Powell "Giving Back the Colors" exhibit today at the Yildiz Saray here in Istanbul.

It made me realize that there are too many textiles I have not bought.

                                  

Seriously, stunning is the best word to describe the content, the design and the woman behind the exhibits.

First, a little background (shamefully, like my father, she has no wikipedia page). Josephine Powell left the US right after World War II to work in refugee camps and pretty much never went back for any length of time. She moved to Istanbul in the early 70s, after traveling through Afghanistan, North Africa, Iran and Pakistan photographing and studying nomadic life. Throughout the 70s and 80s, she explored the deepest pockets of eastern Anatolia, ending up with 30,000 photos and countless textiles and tools used by nomads as well as copious field notes. She was particularly interested in the weaving done by women, and as a result of her work, there is wonderful documentation of the contributions made by nomadic women that otherwise would never have been known.

                                        

Powell died sitting at her desk at age 87, in January, right after I got here. I know some people who knew her well and she was universally described as a cantankerous, borderline obsessive personality. Her apartment in Cihangir was filled to the top with her collections -- indeed, there are pictures of it in the exhibit. Not only did she keep her collection of kilims, storage bags, photos and weaving tools in it, she had spinning wheels, yurt frames and countless other treasures. From now on I will point to her when some oppressor asks "what are you going to do with that carpet/kilim/random textile?"

                                     

I don't think Powell was married, but if she was, her husband would have asked "what are you
going  to do with those sumac sheep stomachs?"

Powell wanted her collection to stay in Turkey, and she bequeathed it to the Koc foundation, which is trying to find a permanent home for it. She died before the cataloging was finished.

Exceptional pieces of it was exhibited this weekend as part of the International Conference on Oriental Carpets. Dealers from all over the world attended (more on that) and I don't see how any rug-freak could not be blown over by her exhibit. Some kilims were over a hundred years old and badly in need of restoration, but looking at the natural greens and purples and golds in those kilims made me swear off chemical dyes for good. My favorite carpets are the ones that seem to be breathing and these practically jumped off the walls and slapped you.

                                    

Not only that, the exhibit showed all the different tools that women used to make kilims Her photographs and notes brilliantly illustrated the techniques and gave texture. That's the important thing about textiles for me. Who made them? Why? What did they do with them? You don't get that in a lot of museums, mostly because the answers aren't known, because, well, the artists were neither known nor valued.

                               

And you might think that is all, but it's not. The Carpet Conference had a dealer's hall with dealers in antique carpets and textiles from all over the world. I stood in front of an 1840 Ensi -- a pattern I haven't got and want terribly. It was only $18,000.  It was like being in a carpet museum, only better, because you could touch the carpets and talk to the dealers and ask as many questions as you wanted about colors and restorations and dating. I can't really think of many better ways to spend an afternoon

My father-in-law tells me I need to set goals. I'm still young-ish. I am going to be Josephine Powell.  Powell kept exploring and collecting and filling up her apartment with cool things into her 70's.

No more slackerdom for me! I'd better get busy.

Ask Carpetblogger! Why do you not buy carpets in Turkey?

The carpetmonkey jumped on my back on our first visit to Turkey in 1991 and was emboldened when we returned in 1996.  I bought my fare share of Anatolian kilims  and they satisfied me.

A decade later, I find little satisfaction in carpet shopping in Istanbul.  It's hard to find the dowry/folk art pieces I prefer at prices I can afford. Mostly, I object to Turkey's carpet-industrial complex, in which kilims and carpets are mass produced in Turkish and Iranian factories and vomited up in the alleys of the Grand Bazaar. They're of decent quality but they lack soul. As Ruslan would say, "they aren't made with love!"

My reservations were justified yesterday as I walked down my own street.  I had always heard rumors that carpets in Turkey were "aged" by leaving in them in the road for cars to run over.  No longer a rumor! A hotly colored "Bukhara" kilim was lying in my street, getting "aged," right in front of the basement sweatshop where "genuine" Uzbek suzanis are made and sold in the Grand Bazaar for $300.

In Samarkand, paying $25 for a suzani is getting ripped off.

In Recovery

There is plenty of evidence to suggest that I live in what many believe to be the center of the carpet universe. Even in my own neighborhood, which is nowhere near the Grand Bazaar, antique dealers and junk shops on my street put stacks of carpets outside their doors every sunny day. Some hang them from the windows, as if to taunt me. I resist their siren calls.

These carpets mean nothing to me. I can look at them as I pass; I can even brush my hand over the knots or flip through the stacks, but I do not buy. I can stare the carpet demon down. I never blink.

I am in recovery.

How did this happen? I think it's something along the lines of aversion therapy. Carpets are heavy and awkward. The 20 carpets I just moved from one country to another caused me grief. I never again want to pick up another carpet and carry it up four flights of stairs. 

BUT, for those who are unable to get the carpet monkey off their back, RFE/RL has run a series of interesting articles about a wholesale carpet  fair in Hanover, Germany. There's interesting insight into the modern carpet market and how traditional designs are being adapted to fit modern tastes (feh!), how carpetmaking industries in Afghanistan and Pakistan are evolving , and how the carpetmaking industry in Azerbaijan declined precipitously after Carpetblogger got kicked out.

How to Buy Carpets in Kabul

A wise person once asked, "is it worth it to get your ass shot at to buy carpets in Kabul?"

This is the wrong question. How in the world can you come to Kabul and not buy carpets?

Indeed, everyone knows getting your ass shot at in pursuit of carpets in Kabul is completely legit.  But taking a few precautions to reduce the risks somewhat might be advisable.

Like bringing a driver and armed guard with you.

True, having an edgy, hungry, Afghan armed with a Kalashnikov guarding the door of your carpet dealer diminishes the quality of the casual chit chat and increases the general level of tension in the shop. Ramadan complicates things, since you can't have tea and snacks and everyone is crabbier than usual.

Even so, negotiations still take place. Foreigners still get ripped off. There's no point in waiting until things calm down.

'Cause the place is a basket case and "calm" is not something that's likely to appear anytime soon.

Buildings are low and mud colored. A thick layer of dust sucks out what little color the broken trees and bushes lend to the city. Any buiding of any importance, from an office to a health clinic to an Embassy to a goverment building is surrounded by blast walls and concertina wire, and heavily guarded. All are unmarked, to reduce the probability of becoming a target.

Kabul, and Afghanistan, is a tragedy. Things are getting worse, not better but this is not not news to Afghans.

The situation in the regions has been bad for months, and it's only since the suicide bombers started hitting Kabul did anyone outside of Afghanistan start paying much attention. People are edgy, dour and pessimistic about the future. Suicide bombers in Kabul are new; their randomness disrupts the carefully constructed wall of willful ignorance and intentional focus on other activities that makes it possible for foreigners and locals alike to function.

Predictably, the Taliban is gaining ground in some areas. People are sick of the lack of security and the fact that five years after the fall of the Taliban (still widely hailed) and something like 70 billion dollars spent, downtown Kabul doesn't have electricity most of the time and schools operate out of tents. And bicycles are being remotely detonated as buses of police rumble by.

Kabul is probably the most fucked-up place I've ever been. True, I was only here for a few days and was strictly limited to traveling between my office and UN-security approved guesthouse. But the work I was doing exposed me to the views of many Kabulis on a wide variety of current political issues. It was fascinating and so very depressing.

I did my part to contribute to the local economy -- eight hastily purchased prayer rugs and bags. They are gorgeous -- shiny and reptilian, just the way I like them.

What did The Producer say when I got them home?

"Why didn't you buy more?"