Wool, from the loom to the house

The wool arrives raw, still greasy, in sacks emptied into the courtyard. It is washed, dried in the sun, carded, spun. None of that is decorative. Every step decides how supple the yarn is, and so how the rug holds.

On an upright loom the weaver works from the bottom up. There is no pattern to follow. The motif comes from memory, from rugs she saw as a child, sometimes from a birth or a departure she places there, in a line of colour nobody else will read.

A rug tells you about the house where it was woven, not the shop where it is sold.

Beni Ouarain rugs are undyed with dark diamonds, woven thick for the Atlas winter. Boucherouites come from fabric offcuts, cotton, nylon, whatever is left. They are salvage rugs that became sought after pieces, and it is exactly that freedom of colour that appeals.

When buying, always turn the piece over. Tight, even knots on the back tell you about the hours far better than the face does. A clean smell of wool, never glue. And a weight that surprises the hand.

At home the wool keeps moving. It settles, it takes a patina, it catches the light of the room. It is a living object, not a surface.