| Ladies and Gentlemen: Here are a few words to sum up the most
significant points that arose during our discussion of Karapinar kilims.
Daniel Deschuyteneer noted that a related example of the type is
illustrated in Harry Koll's Kultkelim: ausgewahlte anatolische Flachgewebe
(1999), plate 14. Herr Koll informed us in person that an English
translation of this very worthwhile book is now available in pamphlet
from, and added some general comments on the kilims attributed to
Karapinar. Thanks to Guido Imbimbo for drawing our attention to a related
fragment that was illustrated Hali 30, p. 15, when it was exhibited in
Vienna in the spring of 1986. Hats off to Daniel for noticing an unusual
structural similarity that further strengthens the relationship between my
kilim and the Vakiflar example; certainly it is reasonable to suggest that
the two pieces may have been woven by the same tribe, and, to be a little
more adventurous, by the same individuals. Michael Wendorf raised the old
formalist issue that the medium dictates form by noting that the use of
serrated or saw-toothed medallions is one of the most ubiquitous of all
slit-tapestry designs. In his words, the design format is "a manifestation
of structure driving design and a reflection of weavers in various places
and times confronting and solving the limitations of that structure in
similar and expected ways." Consequently he rejected the idea that the
kilim medallions are derived from Ushak pile rugs, and rejected any
interpretation of them based on the Jungian collective world consciousness
theory. This led to an informative tangent devoted to the relationship
between Anatolian kilims and Navaho rug designs, where the serrated
medallion is a common motif. The former influenced the latter at a very
late date, so this phenomenon cannot be ascribed to cultural transmission.
Being professionally trained in the methodology of iconography, I cannot
resist the urge to interpret the symbolic content of visual imagery. There
are numerous basic kilim designs, and it is very unlikely that they
signified nothing to their creators. Picking up on a point made by John
Howe, Michael discerned "that part of the problem in talking about and
understanding kilims and their designs is the lack of consistency or
uniformity in describing them." I had variously described the devices
alternately as four multilayered diamond shaped saw-toothed medallions,
medallions composed of a central polygon surrounded by four large
concentric layers, serrated medallions and serrated rhomboidal medallions.
In order to simplify the nomenclature, we settled on the term serrated. If
I had to revise this essay, I would footnote all of the various
descriptions that are used in the literature and then settle on that
adjective. In a similar vein, Patrick Weiler, followed by Kenneth
Thompson, discussed the propriety of using of the term baklava. Kenneth
stated that in modern Turkish it is a the generic word used to describe
any diamond lozenge shape. Patrick advocated the idea that the serrated
medallions represent the astrological phenomenon of a super nova, and I do
not find that suggestion to be in the least outlandish. I objectively like
to eat baklava, and the kilim reminds me, however subjectively, of a
starburst. Michael opened the proverbial can of worms with his observation
that I had consistently discussed the serrated medallions as being
arranged side-by-side on a horizontal axis, and objected that such an
approach "necessarily rotates the kilim 90 degrees from the way it was
woven on the loom." True, I have always thought of my kilim as being
designed to be seen on a primarily horizontal axis, like a saf. I quibbled
with Michael concerning his contention that the perspective from which a
weaver or artist creates need not be the primary vantage point. (For
example, if a weaver follows the common Anatolian practice of making
kilims in separate halves that she later plans to join together, does that
mean that we ought primarily consider one half at a time?) Marla Mallett
entered the discussion by citing the various ways kilims are used and seen
by their nomadic creators. Evidently this is one of those issues that is
open to intense debate, and unless we can obtain first hand testimony from
a long deceased weaver, it is unlikely to be resolved conclusively. The
fact that we can't even reach a consensus on whether kilim compositions
should be seen from a primarily or vertical axis shows how little we know.
Was this ever an issue for the weavers? This train of thought led to a
discussion concerning the desirability and feasibility of hanging kilims
horizontally, to which Marla contributed greatly. I am still hanging my
kilim horizontally, although with some new reservations. These are all
academic considerations, the source for much verbal fodder as we have
seen. You are all familiar with the immense sense of enrichment that can
be derived from a favorite weaving. Such things can very materially
improve an existence that, as Hobbes said, is "nasty, brutish, and short."
I sincerely hope that in looking at my kilim, along with its relatives,
you have felt one-twentieth of the enjoyment I feel every day. Thanks to
Steve Price for rotating these scans that fateful 90 degrees (the deed
will forever live in infamy), to R. John Howe for inviting me to
participate, and to each and every one of you for contributing.
RWT |