A column of burning orange-red runs down the centre of these 304 x 203 cm (9'12" × 6'8"), and on either side, blocks of colour organise themselves with an unexpected freedom. Anise green, sky blue, vivid yellow, powdery mauve, black, cream, each placed there with a quiet assurance, like the touches of a palette a painter had left open.
The Afghan weavers did something strange and magnificent here. They took the vocabulary of modernism, its blocks, its flat planes, its bold contrasts, and passed it through that living irregularity that only natural wool woven by hand can produce. The result resembles neither quite a rug nor quite anything else. It simply resembles itself.
