Every room is brought together by a rug or three, because without they feel bare and lack warmth. The patterns are intricate and the colours are those from a foreign land, they’re uplifting and inspiring – and they are what instilled my obsession with colour, warmth and tone. Imagine a world without colour. A house with rugs!
When I began inlaying leather pieces on to masks, I turned to the floor and would study those patterns. I discovered a synergy in their symmetry that translated wonderfully to the shape of a face. Many happy days were spent tracing their patterns, then scuttling down to the studio to transfer them on to masks.
The depth of each colour palette in an antique rug is absolute magic in my eyes. It compels and inspires enquiry, conjuring up imagery of a past worlds heritage and an inner warmth. The sun + pigments = chemistry, and in my eyes thats alchemy. A tincture. Tinct.
You can loose yourself in a rug. Eyes searching those marks, pondering the age, thread worn bare from thousands of busy feet, not acknowledging where they tread, but golly how they work those rugs, and they wear, and they continue. Stoic. And then, after years of use they enter their most beautiful and cherished era.