STORY

The world of rugs has always seemed far removed from mine. I accorded it distant respect as a complex and virtually impenetrable world in museums, or even with a hint of condescension towards the street-corner merchants. In my defence I can only plead a fervent childhood memory of crossing the sitting room to greet my grandfather. The room seemed immense, although it was really only large, but above all I had to cross the diabolically confusing mass of the oriental rug, a dark red unstable zone cunningly sited on heavily waxed parquet. And naturally, I never failed to come a cropper in a humiliating and oft-repeated ritual. In my mind, a rug has never been just one of those anodyne accessories. (...)