In a dimly lit room on the second floor of the Metropolitan Museum of Art sits a small permanent exhibit called “Art of the Loom”. The collection is part of the museum’s Islamic Art wing, and the objects contained therein, though beautiful, are far less ostentatious than the jewelry and brightly painted ceramics in the wing’s more popular outer rooms. The collection is housed in room 459, a mauve and red marble room deliberately lacking in daylight to protect the colors of the museum’s assortment of carpets from the Islamic world. The centerpiece of the room is a 32 foot long green, gold, and red affair that one imagines gracing the throne room or dining hall of an Ottoman palace. It is an eye-catching piece, certainly, but the subject of this analysis is actually a smaller carpet, approximately six feet high and four feet wide, entitled simply “Village Carpet with Medallion Design”, that hangs directly to the right of the entrance.
“Village Carpet” is a beautifully preserved 18th century example of Anatolian weaving. Probably made in Konya, Turkey, the eight-pointed medallion at the center is visually quite similar to earlier carpets of the same provenance but “the central motif, divided into alternating blue and white sectors … is reminiscent of nomadic gul or tribal emblems, and strongly suggests the Turkmen heritage of the carpet’s Anatolian village weaver.” (Plaque for work 22.100.25). The gul seems to be akin to a coat of arms in terms of meaning, and some of the border elements of this one even resemble a traditional European coat of arms in shape and design. The center of this gul is square, done in navy, white, red, and purple, with four white curliques emanating from the corners. Within the square is a smaller geometric medallion, red with eight white diamonds adorning it, and a six-pointed blue central star shape. The larger part of the gul, the alternating blue and white mentioned above, is made up of four squares, one at each corner; a pentagon in the center of the top and bottom rows, the point of which is directed outwards; and two rectangles slightly wider than the squares and adorned with points in the center of each vertical side. Each of these elements is divided into two segments, one blue and one white, and is adorned with geometric symbols that repeat in similar elements: the rectangles have shapes that almost look like sideways masks, with rays pointing out, while the pentagons have similar but more complex shapes and the squares have two simple curliques emerging from the opposite corners of diagonally-set rectangles, each with a blue z-shape over the center and a red-and-white-striped smaller square set in the corner of each of the four squares. The outer border of the gul is less heavily adorned, a field of red interspersed with more of the geometric stars and squares divided into eight triangles. This border has a rectangular base shape, a point in the center of each side, and triangular cut-outs on either side of the top and bottom points, with more angular curliques placed at regular intervals all around the border.
The piece is symmetrically knotted wool pile in still-vibrant blues, purples, and reds, with bright white contrast details. The limited but effective palette is not an unusual one: three other carpets in similar colors hang nearby. What makes this carpet unique is its intricate detail and asymmetrical geometric composition, the shapes of which are all derived from elements of the central gul. Where other carpets of similar size have either repetitive patterns or large fields of color, “Village Carpet” has a complex image lacking a pattern that emanates from the central point of the gul. The intricacy of the design as well as the presence of blues and purples (traditionally used to signify power, importance, and wealth as indigo is expensive) indicates that this particular carpet held some value, whether sentimental or otherwise, to its original owner and the artist both. In addition, the minimal wear patterns on the carpet’s corners indicate that, though this particular carpet was used on the floor, great care was taken with it. This becomes more apparent when comparing “Village Carpet” with other pieces from the collection, some of which are of a similar age and provenance but are far inferior in terms of preservation: some are merely fragments of their original wholes, while others are faded enough to obscure the image.
Though the carpet is not symmetrical, its composition is balanced so that the shapes give a superficial impression of symmetry to the casual viewer, only revealing its patternless qualities to more active eyes. One imagines that this too was intentional, making the carpet the visual and emotional center of the room it originally inhabited. It is, of course, possible that this carpet occupied a smaller room in a large house, especially given the presence of the rich blues and reds; but the central placement, size, and intricacy of the gul give the impression that this carpet would have been a prized possession of a more middle class family, one whose home was small but clean and well-appointed, with this carpet sitting proudly in the center of a parlor or living room, proclaiming the family’s heritage.
The blues have faded some in “Village Carpet”, but for the most part, the piece is intact. The white, which has remained remarkably clean for a piece that is somewhere in the vicinity of 300 years old, distinguishes the blues, reds, and purples from each other beautifully. The images and shapes in the weaving are entirely geometric, but some of the shapes are visually reminiscent of famous symbols from other cultures: the decorative curled arrows interspersed around the inner border of the gul look like elements of Icelandic protective magical staves, and the outer border shapes have a similar shape to ancient Egyptian scarab beetles. The presence of similar symbols in this Turkish carpet makes one curious: do these shapes have a meaning beyond tribal affiliation? Did this piece serve not only as decorative floor covering and declaration of heritage, but as a symbolic shield as well? And what are the two small symbols on the lower left of the carpet that are not repeated anywhere else? Are they the signature of the artist, as similar shapes seem to be on other carpets of this size, or something else? The plaque mounted next to “Village Carpet with Medallion” offers very little information, drawing visitors’ curiosity as the carpet itself draws the eye: overheard in the gallery during observation, a woman was stunned at the vibrancy of the colors and had to remind herself not to touch, as the colors made her forget the carpet’s age and fragility.
(image source: Metropolitan Museum)
