It looks like a sunset seen through a rain-streaked window. Within these 301 x 196 cm (9'10" × 6'5"), red, orange, sky blue and water green dissolve into one another in vertical columns that vibrate like light on water, without sharp outline, without clean break, in that silky blur that only Afghan wool woven by hand knows how to produce.
The weavers of north-western Afghanistan took the language of Western modernism and passed it through their own sensibility, something softer, more alive, less cold than what the European ateliers of the 1920s would have produced. The result is a piece that belongs to no precise era and which, for that very reason, will outlast all the ones that follow.
