by Louis Dubreuil

The kush or kuç motif is one of the original designs used exclusively on Turkmen ensis, which are now generally understood to be door rugs for the Turkmen yurt or oï (the hypothesis that ensi were prayer rugs is no longer generally accepted). The questions of whether ensi were used inside or outside, every day or just for special circumstances, remain open. Some old reports, such as the one cited by MacDonald (TRIBAL RUGS, p. 66) about the Saryks in the Pendjeh oasis, indicate that ensis were outdoor hangings for the kibitkas (Saryk’s yurt).

The Ourika Valley in the High Atlas region of southern Morocco , a place of idyllic beauty, has been a popular tourist destination since the period of the French protectorate. So it was surprising to discover that a previously unrecorded group of highly graphic Berber kilims, which had first appeared on the market as late as 2000, were made there. In 2004 the author travelled to the Ourika Valley with fellow Moroccan textile connoisseurs Wilfried Stanzer and Mustapha Hansali to learn more about this group of horizontally banded kilims, which are entirely woven from natural light and dark coloured wool and are further defined by the use of characteristic lensshaped motifs.

The Beni Ouarain and some neighbouring Berber tribes in the northeastern Middle Atlas are the weavers of a distinctive type of large, archaic-looking, white-ground pile carpet. These 'white giants' represent a direct link to the earlier weaving traditions of the Zenata Berber, and in their turn have had a fundamental influence on the development of the textiles woven by Morocco's mountain nomads.

Morocco's rural weaving culture has attracted a great deal of attention from the international art world over the past 20 years. Much of this interest has been generated by a new generation of dealers and collectors who have used their understanding and appreciation of abstract modern art to judge these weavings, thereby gradually replacing the use of fineness, natural dyes and age as indicators of quality.

If we look back we must confess that all the major exhibitions in Europe in the last years dealt with kilims. Piled pieces were not excluded but played a minor role. Specifically, the exhibitions include "Kult-Kilim" in Köln; the wonderful special show-and-tell on a castle in the Mühlviertel in northwestern Austria (collection Dr. Prammer), Traunstein (kind of "Yayla 2" ), Graz (under the leadership of Helmut Reinisch), the important congress on radiocarbon dating of kilims and the accompanying exhibition in Riehen/Basel (organized by Jürg Rageth), the combination of important kilims and steel sculpture in Essen (my, M.B, personal favourite of all kilim exhibitions until now) and now "Kelim, Textil Kunst aus Anatolien" in the Deutsches Textilmuseum in Krefeld, until May 5, 2003.

The most suitable method for repairing damaged textiles depends very much on the reason for repairing it. Is the textile a work of art, or of a relatively high level of home decoration? We believe that these are opposed to each other. The second includes much more than 90% of the trade, including the market for so called collectors pieces.

In 1953, Cecil Edwards published his important book, The Persian Carpet (1).   Edwards may well be single-handedly responsible for the modern assessment of Luri rugs.  In discussing the rugs of the Fars region, he breaks down the output of rugs from this area as 15% Qashqai, 40% Khamseh, 44% Village Persian and 1% Luri

Of the Fars Mamassani and Hulagu Lurs he points out that they are mostly settled.  “The output of these two tribes is insignificant.”   “During my stay in Shiraz in 1948 I came across only two pieces – neither of which was of any particular merit.”

The Manastir kilim, a small category of textiles, has primarily thrown up questions and only provided very few hesitant answers.  Though known by this name for the past twenty years, only single items turn up by that name on the market, and very little knowledge about them exists.  A variety of assumptions about their origins have been in circulation: they were either known as Balkan kilims or west Anatolian kilims.  The name “Balkan kilim” made them unattractive to the market and, consequently, also to the collector; it was a devaluation in the hierarchy of provenance because they were not “really Turkish.”  This prejudice needs to be corrected as our comprehension of the connected cultural content strongly deviates from the Turkish interpretation of its own history.

Islamic art in general is poorly understood and the appreciation of Islamic, Moroccan textiles is a case in point. Western markets seem more prepared to recognise the pre-Islamic and pagan origins of kilims than they do the influence of Islam; this anthropological approach misconstrues the art as backward rather than progressive.  Reference is made to a number of misconceptions in the literature - barakha, jinn, alms and marriage dowries - and an Islamic interpretation offered to assist readers in developing a truer appreciation of these textiles, which deserve a place in any comprehensive account of 20th century art.

"When I was seventeen, it was a very good year", sung The Kingston Trio from the radio in the dashboard, and I wholeheartedly agreed. Now I was eighteen, and it was an even better year. The summer of 1966 saw me in a small band of friends roving the higher latitudes of Scandinavia in an old Volkswagen Beetle, enjoying life under the midnight sun and the company of nice Finnish girls. No thoughts of rugs at this time. But I had been working on it. The year before, in Belgrade, I had acquired my first kelim.