More than 25 years ago, when I was studying to be an Ira Progoff National Intensive Journal Consultant, one of the metaphors he liked to use was what he called the tapestry of life. Our experiences are the woof and warp. The front side of the tapestry shows a design or pattern, but if flipped over, the back side appears to be chaotic. Now my late friend Donna would say, “Fran, remember, life is in divine order.”The story of the Turkish rug factory and showroom reminded me of Ira’s metaphor, which I leave to you to interpret through your own point of view.
When I downloaded my photos from Turkey, all the photos I took in an upscale rug shop in a small town where our tour bus stopped flooded me with memories. The owner of the shop, which has been in business since 1898, admitted that most of the weaving is done my master weavers in Turkey’s villages, but several girls were in the shop apprenticing to the craft. They were also, I suspect, part of the “theater” of rug making and selling. Many of the rugs had taken up to four years to make.
We were taken on a tour where some of the apprentices were working in various stages of weaving and one woman was extracting silk from silk worm pods in a large hot vat medieval-looking vat.
Here is a close-up shot of one of the women working on a rug.
The rug shop owner and his salesmen, however, were far from medieval. They were thorough professionals—and very cultured as well. These were not the men you saw in the bazaars selling rugs; they were the Turkish equivalent of Rodeo Drive.
After the tour, an excellent lunch complete with wine and/or raki (similar to Greek ouzo) was served in the main rug showroom and the theatrical production began. The owner gave a historical overview of handmade rugs and then countless young men began what seemed like a ballet of rug showing artistry. Rug after rug was carried in or unfurled, large ones with three men unrolling them. They piled them on top of one another throughout the large showroom—and then the salesmen swooped in to begin the tastefully-done bargaining. I did not buy a rug, but almost everyone else on the trip did. I’ll just have to make do with my Home Depot specials I have in my home although I’ll admit one salesman (who said he lived part of the year in Marina del Rey) attempted to outrageously flatter my youthfulness, wisdom and beauty while I kept saying no and his prices went lower and lower.
This whole experience was, without a doubt, dazzling—better than most of the musical theater productions I’ve seen at the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion. Hmm. Does this story spank of "Nickel and Dimed?"
