Late Winter in Germany, 1989

There was no discernible overall trend; like the final dissolution, each of the pieces was going in its own direction. Subversive would be an apt description for many of the exhibits; the dowdy old tapestry form, province of dowagers and the poor nobility, suddenly reveals its claws. Archie Brennan's "Princess Di Meets a Medieval Maiden," for instance, depicts a girl from a Middle Ages Gobelin looking askance at a Lady Diana reproduced in photographic technique - a truly jarring, surrealist impression, similar to Chirico's juxtaposition of classical and modern elements.

Much to the fore were the Anglo-Saxons. Tas Mavrogordato's "He Who Loves Writes on Walls" depicts a spiky-top, back to the observer, against a wall of punkgraffiti. Note the carefully woven boots hanging beneath thelower border and the hacked out sides - a wagireh of modern images. Or Dilys Stinson's "Yellow Wall Piece" with abstract figures on a yellow ground woven to look like crude brush strokes - one of my favorites. As befits an American organized event, the U.S.A. was heavily represented: Ruth Scheuer's "The Messenger," a visionary work representing images reflected in glass, a technical feat of color mixing in wool; and "Sea Breeze" from Ann Keister, probably the most dazzling work of all, in which billowing bath towels defy the laws of gravity.

Modern tapestry is not only alive and kicking, but it is an exhilarating art form in its own right. It's undoubtedly the tempo which is for many people off-putting. To quote Archie Brennan, one time director of the Dovecoat Weaving Studios, "Some years ago, I was weaving a quite large area of plain black when some men set off for the moon. They got there before I was finished." This exhibition travels on to Stuttgart in March, where it can be seen in the Town Hall, and ends up in the Centre Jean Lurcat in Aubusson. It's your fault if you missed it.

The Textilmuseum Max Berk, which played host to the show, is one of Germany's private museums which deserves to be better known. Founded in 1978 by Max Berk, a well known clothing manufacturer from Mannheim (his company, "Betty Barclay," is famous here), and housed in a beautifully restored l8th century Baroque church, the museum displays a wide-ranging collection of costume from the last 200 years, as well as South American textiles and contemporary weavings. They boast the largest collection of European and Amish quilts in the land. I was especially struck by a large "star" quilt, which brought home to me what an extraordinary art form this is. HerrBerk's daughter, Doris Winter, is a leading German quiltmaker, and their next exhibition will be the "Quilt Biennale." The museum is dedicated to supporting contemporary textile art, and they hold an average of six exhibitions per year. A romantic and charming note was struck for me by the possibly unique collection of wedding costumes down through the ages, in a room dominated by a large Chagal tapestry. They are open Wednesday, Saturday, and Sunday. The address is Heidelberg-Ziegelhausen, which is just a short spin from Peter Bausback's newly opened gallery in Schriesheim.

We drove back along the river Neckar through an authentic marzipan landscape erected in the 18th century by German princes for the expected influx of Japanese tourists.

Traditionally, the European carpet trade has converged on Frankfurt each January for the "Heimtex" trade fair. Last year, the organizers decided to divide off the carpet people into a separate, lower-key venue. Quite rightly, tempers flared and the rugists decided to set up their own Messe, the "Domotex" in Hannover. This is now the largest carpet trade fair in the world. We set off for the 1,000 km round-trip to Hannover in high spirits. Just outside of Hildesheim, the exhaust pipe fell off! Fortunately, we found a garage which fixed on a new piece in the town of Seesen, and in the interim we spent a reflective hour in the local cemetery, high up over the town. I decided to have myself buried with my entire rug collection, which will deeply annoy my relatives and should make me a sensational archaeological find in the distant future.

The garage had worked wonders with our car and we sped into Hannover, driving straight for the fair. Hannover's Messegelande is reckoned to be the largest in the world and is being expanded for still larger events. The Domotex (the name is Japanese and means "House of ill-fame") was in several great halls, combining handmade Oriental rugs, tufted carpets, machine-mades and broadloom. One could walk easily from one hall to the other, and we started with the Orientals. The fair lasted for four days and this was the third; things were running down, one could feel, but the large importers kept up a deceptive game of opening and closing, folding and packing their wares. Thwuck, Thwuck, Thwuck, was the characteristic sound of the Domotex as dealers debated, fought, and handled each other down. Hamals with fork-lift trucks lunged through the crowd, large quantities of festival food and drink were consumed on stands more like restaurants than rug shops; turn-over was either amazingly high or appallingly low, depending on whom you wished to impress.

OCM, Sabet, and London Carpets all had fantastic, Hollywood-style sets on which to display their goods. On the OCM stand England's leading pattern expert (P.R.J. Ford) could be seen doing a telephone marathon, and all languages under the sun -- even German! -- could be heard. I took a photo of one importer with a lot of imitation Clive Rogers rugs, who immediately got uptight. When he realized I was from Oriental Rug Review, he shouted out, "I'II be at Atlanta! Wait a moment, I may have time for you later!" Alas, when he turned round we were gone, searching for the one beautiful carpet which would have made it all worthwhile. We never found it.

On and on we tramped, through hall after hall of dire imitations. Clive Rogers would be shocked and dismayed to see the myriad and pathetic imitations of his original brainchild, "modern, artist" carpets with blocks of color aimlessly arranged, about as avant-garde as a 1920s Kirshehir. During the heyday of the Dada movement, Marcel Duchamp suggested using the Mona Lisa as an ironing board;here ironing boards were being touted as Mona Lisas. It seems that when someone gets an original idea in the rug business, 20 people ignore it, 20 try to kill it, and several hundred try to copy it -- but this is the way of the world.

We both felt the Swiss importers were ahead in quality and presentation. The Tibetan Carpet Centre, Zurich, for instance, had a large stand with just a few carpets displayed effectively -- not those flaky, faded Tibetans but nice rugs with good strong colors. Ali Shirazi made a strong showing with old pieces, as did Rasta from Hannover, and many of the Persian importers also featured old rugs. Prices were high, though. In the tufted carpet section, I missed Herr Gruber, the German tufting wizard whose firm specializes in high quality remakes of 1920s Art Deco carpets. The general level was probably just too low.

Through the desert we tramped, on and on -- our legs were giving out as we reached the Uta Hulsey stand and paused to talk. Frau Hulsey was fighting a lone rear-guard cultural action in the face of all those bazaar barbarians. In 15 minutes two dealers came by and tried to hustle the prices down on new books. Nothing doing! They paid the price or scuttled off. Which books were selling well? "Books with lots of pictures and a low price," said Frau Hulsey ruefully. These included the recently relegated works from P.R.J. Ford and Gans-Ruedin. Frau Hulsey rightfully berated me for my critical review of Herr Enderlein's kilim book, and I promised to be good and kind to everybody in the future. Your fifth columnist's little Nikon was again playing tricks, as I should otherwise have published a photo of Germany's most attractive and charming bookseller.

John Taylor in Hannover

Everyone I talked to agreed that the Domotex would be happening again next year. I was glad to have attended and would hope to see more importers from the U.S. in evidence next time. A solitary American presence was that of Teddy Sumner from Michaelian and Kohlberg. The Messe personnel arranged us a room for the night in a private house in Hannover, which is nicer and less expensive than staying in a hotel -- when you can find one with vacant accommodation. We stayed with Herr Lensch, a retired schoolmaster and health food fanatic. Breakfast had been compiled under the guidance of a leading German medic. Also overnighting was a Mr. Bhutta from Pakistan, a moody,melancholic man who had a stand at the fair. Things are not going well for him, he says; next year will be better. He ate a healthy breakfast of three oranges and departed. Helga and I took the streetcar downtown to visit the Kestner Museum and look at their rug collection, which turned out to be just two pieces, a tatty Caucasian animal and medallion carpet fragment and the unique Polonaise carpet, neither of which is illustrated in the excellent catalog, Islamische Teppiche und Textilien. All the other pieces are in store. I was devastated by the justly famous Egyptian department with its collection of old Kingdom artifacts. For this reason and for the exhibit of contemporary glass, the Kester is well worth a visit. Hannover itself is a charming town which was drastically redecorated during World War II by teams of English and American aerial architects. In theTownHall, we saw three models of the town in 1689, 1939, and 1945, plus a model of present day Hannover, the Green City, as it's known. In1945 the damage was extensive and is realistically rendered in the model. This confirms my supposition that the greater part of modern Germany is restoration work.

We really enjoyed strolling around Hannover; its relaxed and comfortable streets encouraged the flaneur in us. Next stop was the Oriental Carpet Museum of Dr. Amir Pakzad, which is situated above his carpet shop in the Georgstrasse. We entered and I explained my purpose (in German). A gentleman sitting at a desk looked up wearily and said, "ich habe keiner Lust!" ("I'm not in the mood!"). I said to him (in English), "That's a positive attitude!" and he immediately bucked up, "Ah, English! 0.K.!" And off we went. The gentleman in question was Herr Ahmed Attia, an Egyptian national, an artist and sculptor who has worked with Herr Pakzad for some years.

The carpet museum of Dr. Amir Pakzad, Hannover

Behind high security walls and doors we were taken through a number of rooms with the Pakzad collection. This was a true homage to Persian surrealism with bombastic silk rugs like the Tabriz (in the catalog Islamische Teppiche pl. 53), the Saruk (pl. 51), a "grave carpet" which set me thinking about the cemetery in Seesen, and a fine collection of Islamic textiles. There were some not very good Chinese and Khotan carpets and a number of rugs which seemed to have been immoderately dated. My favorite, the garden carpet fragment (pl 4I), was pleasantly disappointing in its simple layout, and I was smitten by the Bijar Weeping Willow rug (pl. 42) and a Caucasian carpet with a cyrillic inscription said to have been woven for a tea factory. There was a fair Lotto and a medallion Ushak, a good Smyrna carpet, and, of course, the ever popular Polonaises. Several of the pieces illustrated in the book from Herr Pakzad's brother, Mohammed Pakzad, Persische Knupfkunst, were also on display, including the outrageously kitschy plate 105, an old silk senneh on a brown ground with 100% synthetic color. Herr Mohammed Pakzad also has a shop nearby, which I hope one day to visit.

Minor criticisms apart, we were knocked out to have seen so many classical examples under one roof, and in the possession of one individual. It's Herr Pakzad's wish to give his collection to the government of Niedersachsen when they can provide a suitable venue for it. In the meantime, the museum can be visited and I truly recommend it. Try to have Mr. Attia take you around and ask him for his David Hockney story!

The day was not yet over and we had time to visit Herr Kanaa of the Gallery Kanaa in his premises. This is a shop dealing seriously in collector's pieces. Herr Kanaa is aninteresting character, part French, part Corsician, part Arabic. He worked for Dr. Pakzad for 10 years before going solo. His is the kind of rug shop I like -- small, intimate, low pressure. He had a number of nice bags and kilims, some very good Persian furnishing rugs, and he showed me the classy Keshan he recently published in Hali 41. Over coffee we laughed a great deal about the iniquities of the rug business. There's no money in North Germany, he said; it's all in the South. Ah, but that's what they say in the South about North Germany, I wagered. Having mutually exhausted our stock of jokes, we parted company.

Hannover remains in my memory as a pleasant and easy city, with good food from every conceivable nationality (try the Shalimar Indian restaurant) and a perfectly functioning public transport system which whisks you anywhere you wish to go, all the result of the monthly trade fair get-togethers.

On the way back to Volkersgau, we stopped off to visit Manfred Bieber, whom I found busily drawing out the Bakshaish animal/landscape carpet recently in the possession of a well-known German dealer. Manfred is amused at the public reaction to his catalog in Istanbul. There is a considerable amount of in-fighting amongst the new carpet producers, half of whom have all the money and no ideas, the other half having all the ideas and no money. Manfred's house was crammed full with copies of great old rugs, original old pieces, and numerous souvenirs from his journeys. I was amazed at his industriousness and the painstaking work of copying old rug designs onto graph paper. Would it not be easier with a computer, I queried. Scornful replies.

Our last meet was at Stuttgart's Linden Museum, which is one of Germany's finest, specializing in things ethnographic. The museum has also been the recipient of a group of early Caucasian carpets, on loan from a prominent West German collector. The well-known "Seerose" ("Water lily") carpet published in the second Munich catalog (pl. 65), for me the most dramatic of the group, greets one on entering. This carpet alone is worth the trip and is long overdue for color reproduction. Its low-light illumination (35 lux, I suppose) is not the best, however, and its being under glass denies one that most exquisite of rug pleasures, fondling the surface when the attendant's back is turned. The other pieces are all displayed on the stairway under more natural conditions. Next comes a large, rare Northwest Persian/Caucasian carpet fragment on all cotton structure, with very striking colors. And on the top floor are two Caucasians from the 18th century, one a fragment published some time ago by Frauenknecht, the other a white ground piece with a curious brown ground border dotted with swastikas, and which prompted the following joke: "Could it have been woven for the Reisechskanzlei?" "I think it's older."

The Linden Museum is not particularly rich in textiles but there are a number of other exhibits worth seeing, including a Chilkat blanket, pentagonally woven like an asmalyk; some excellent South American weavings (especially the marvelous Paracas shroud); painted costumes of the Plains Indians; a group of Navajo blankets; a pair of Inca knee-warmers in similar technique to those East Anatolian Chit; and a woven Tibetan thanka. The salvaged and rebuilt sections of the Tashkurgan bazaar in Afghanistan have here found a permanent home, complete with fully furnished yurt.

We were given a guided tour by the management and then left to our own devices. I attended the visiting exhibition of Shoowa textiles, my first encounter with African textiles of any note. It was a little disappointing. Again, the illumination was dismal for objects which had first seen the light under a strong African sun. The textiles are small, with intricate, often arbitrary patterns and subtle earth tones. They may or may not become popular with Western collectors, although moves are afoot to stimulate the market. No, for the greatness of African art one must look elsewhere -- to the Benin bronzes, for instance, of which the Linden Museum possesses a small but outstanding collection. Most of the best stuff can now be seen in the British Museum, the result of close cultural exchange between the two peoples in the l9th century. On the monumental cast heads of chieftains with their consorts were placed elaborately carved ivory tusks, and the bronze plaques from the palace of the king are amongst the finest cast bronze works which any culture has given us. There is a truly terrible picture of the last Obi, or king, of the Benin after his capture by the British: a broken, angry face stares into the camera. This is the one David Attenborough didn't publish (Cf. The Tribal Eye).

The museum is thus a kind of historical zoo, and who knows which of us will be the next exhibit. Judging by the range of material from the African culture alone -- from Voodoo masks to cases made out of pressed Coca Cola cans -- our day may not be far off.