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There was a time when Carpet making served to transmit higher forms of knowledge
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Of high quality and cherished by collectors, Persian carpets are, in fact, a part of everyday life, but the details, quality and texture are far removed from commercialization. Carpet making flourished in ancient Persia (Iran), giving birth to an industry that was once centered in Kerman, Isfahan, Kashan, Tabriz, and Herat. There was a time when such art served to transmit higher forms of knowledge, a time when art was executed according to certain laws represented in nature, akin to the role of geometry in Islam. Art was not just an external expression subject to manipulation and interpretation. It all seems like nonsense now, simply because everything has become so commercialized. There is a strange kind of irony when an object created purely for the joy of creating it goes only to those who can pay astronomical prices. Some handicrafts today do still serve the purpose for which they were created, providing the onlooker with a deep, inner knowledge that serves to bond the spirit as a cloud of inner peace descends upon one. Preserved in traditions of rituals, song, poetry, art, and dance, carpet making is one such art form. When words cannot express certain thoughts, these art forms serve to produce impressions that can merge different parts of the psyche into one whole.
The process of weaving is, in part, the holding of the threads of:
“The me I thought I was”
“The me that I am”
“The me that is we”
“The me that will be” (not “has become” which indicates stagnation)
“The will that is Thy Will”
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Overlapping, over-crossing, and intertwining, bound together to portray patterns and colors taken from thought forms in order to create a new life. “For me weaving is therapy and spinning is peace – both remind me that there is a slower pace and it is somehow balancing to have some low tech along with the high tech,” said one weaver. For others the threads might have been worn bare, like exposed nerves, shattered from an enforced reality that endeavors to tear one’s sense of what is real apart. The addictive pain of hurt, the betrayal of ongoing abuse, the lies mixed in with the truth and the slight glimmer of laughter from days of innocence. I remember clearly as I watched him, this man from Persia, surrounded by people watching him weave on a large wooden frame, how absorbed he was in a world separate from the world in which we stood, creating, giving birth to what was growing inside
[Glory be to Him who created pairs of all things, of what the earth grows, and of their kind and of what they do not know] (Ya- Sin 36:36).
How much of God’s law is reflected in art? Day and night, light and dark, cold and hot, male and female — the discovery that all matter is based on pairs and opposites. Such symmetry—pleasing opposition—is reflected in 19th century carpet using red and black. Opposites are always found in nature, pairs bound together right down to the microscopic world, opposites that balance each other out harmoniously.
Avoidance of this balance sets up a pattern of discord, and it is discord that we see in what have been coined “War Rugs.” Contrast, repetition of geometrical shapes and colors—simple, effective, and sometimes dramatic, a community splintered into individuals. Which reminds me of a story about a village that worked together on one carpet. The young and old gathered together in the cold winter evenings. Divided into groups, some extracted the debris from the wool, others beat the wool out with sticks, yet another group combed the wool. One group spun the wool, ready to be dyed by another group, and then others wove the carpet. Certain movements went with the weaving as symbols, and their meanings came to life on the canvas. Working together in mutual respect and harmony, just as in Bani Hassan, a small village on the borders of the marshes in Iraq. The sheep shearing takes place from April to May, with the men of the family taking the sheep down to the canal for washing with locally made soap. Once sheared, the wool is stretched and bundled then spun after three or more days in the sun. The women dye the wool using vegetable dyes, after which it is ready to be used to weave the carpets (Ochsenschlager p.7, 8).
War Rugs
What happens when the sense of pairs, of harmony, becomes lost, becomes confused. What happens when violence becomes a way of life, particularly as when imposed by occupying forces? What happens in places such as Afghanistan, which was a war game for the British in the 19th century, the Russians in the 20th century, and the US in this, the 21st century?
Individual’s coping mechanisms are determined by cultural resilience and how thorough the occupation force is at denying the indigenous people the right to be who they are. Different people express these problems in different ways, often making pathological imbalances appear socially acceptable, such as in the process of weaving where the abstract produces a kind of beauty. Tanks, guns, rifles and helicopters--geometrical weapons of destruction--washed, combed, and spun, stretched and then attached to loom movements, forward and back, knotting and pulling, observing, comparing, and cutting. Hardly the kind of activity that one would expect from people in a war-torn region, but weaving served as a thread from the past that helped to heal the wounds of Afghanistan when it was under Russian occupation. Who would have thought that the sounds of destruction and attempts to annihilate their whole existence could lead to the past rescuing the present?
The Prophet Muhammad (peace and blessings be upon him) always praised the virtue of working with the hands—it is what they were made for after all! To be involved regularly in manual work that somehow brings the mind to a point of realization signifies that nothing is wasted—all forms of energy have to be altered from one form to another.
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The Baluch of Afghanistan, a nomadic people, have become renowned for their prayer rugs. So much so, that to the collectors, these “War Rugs” are known as “Baluch/Baluchi” (meaning nomads) even when the rugs are not from that region. The type of weave varies according to the area. The people of South Baluch use less dyed wool in their flat weaves and sometimes include embroidery. In Eastern Baluch the density of knots is less. In the mountains live the Hazara, a people spread between Kabul and the heart of the country. Their mentality is pastoral and therefore floral expression is dominant. Many Hazara have migrated to Iran and Tajikistan, taking their traditions with them.
Afghans that were displaced and found a home in Mashad, Iran, made war rugs under relatively congenial conditions, not isolated in camps as the Afghans in Pakistan were. They adopted the Mashad weaving technique as Iran attempted to integrate them into Iranian society.
Under US-installed Mohammed Reza Shah there were over 1million weavers. Today this number has doubled. However, what strikes me most is that the War Rugs were conceived and crafted during war, not in peacetime, a fact that indicates the agility of the human mind.
Journalist, writer, and member of the Advisory Board of the Cultural and Educational Center of Afghanistan, Christopher Krammer did not find War Rugs in local homes, but in the offices and homes of Westerners in Pakistan who were representing aid agencies and international organizations in the 1990s. When one thinks about this, having given form to inner anger, fear, and confusion, would one keep the object of that anger in one’s presence? For Krammer, “The ‘War Rugs’ were quite disconcerting…because when I actually looked at them, I must admit, they made me quite physically ill. These are not, in general, beautiful objects. Their palette is lurid, the motifs angular and violent. The stories they relate form a narrative of invasion and armed conflict, of displacement and revenge…”
It was with the withdrawal of Russian troops from Afghanistan in the 1980s, that the production of such rugs came to an end and many war rugs ended up with dealers. (Gower p.2, 3).
If such expressions in art can trigger the effect that Krammer spoke of, curiosity heightens as to why aid agency employees would want these rugs in their offices and homes. Once Krammer moved past his negative reaction to the rugs he realized that “…they recorded history and turned it into an art form. How many of us could do that, and still make a living?…Forced out of their homeland, forced to survive any way they could, these Afghan weavers bore witness to history…The role of rugs as a vehicle of expression continues to this day, and we in the West might not like the message conveyed…you will also see glimpses of that damaged, but still tremendously resilient and important country of Afghanistan.” (Afghanembassy p. 2, 3)
Post 9/11
With the dawn of the “war-on-terrorism,” all indications point to a second generation of War Rugs near Kabul. Designs of poppy plants (which served as the only means of income for many), US weapons and insignias are used. The designs are less traditional and more contemporary, probably because of the lack of natural resources due to the devastation of their environment. Then again, it could be due to the sense of detachment one employs as a safety mechanism. One can see an inspired beauty about the rugs that pertains to worship, even though they were made during the US-led occupation. The images might have changed—but only for a time.
As we look at the carpets in our homes, just contemplate this thought. Carpets originated from a culture that depicts an external and internal life in wool, cotton and nylon to keep our homes warm and bright. Yet, nylon is a petrochemical, a product for which the region has been plundered while the people themselves weave a story that Westerners will pay almost anything for! As the laws of nature cannot be avoided, as matter in the universe is indestructible, so is the energy that shows the interrelatedness of everything, bringing two very different worlds together—worlds that have no real sense of each other.
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