Squares She Did Not Keep Straight
Red square, black square, red.
Easy, you would think.
But the plain is not a grid and neither was she,
and the squares went where the afternoon took them.
A chequerboard is the simplest pattern there is. Red square, black square, red, and anyone with a ruler could do it. A Boujad weaver does not own a ruler and would not use one if she did, so what she makes when she sets out to do a chequerboard is this: squares that start obediently enough at one end and then, as the weeks go by and the light changes and the children interrupt, begin to lean, to stretch, to swap sizes with their neighbours, until by the far end the grid has become a conversation. It is the most Boujad thing about Boujad rugs, this refusal of the straight line.
This one was woven around 1990, red and black on a long field, with cotton in the weft among the wool. Thirty years have brought the pile down to a finger's width and lie it flat and light. It is in a city flat now, running down a hallway with black doors on either side, and the doors have finally found their rug.
Handwoven rugs grow in beauty, memory, and value with every passing year.