My boyfriend and I recently learned a valuable lesson when it comes to home furnishing: don’t take something home on trial if you aren’t prepared to pay for it. Having done exactly this with a Persian rug that we loved but was a bit out of our price range, we are now the proud – albeit somewhat reluctant – owners of a gorgeous vintage Sarouk.
We came by it after hearing about a local store that was going out of business. The entire inventory of vintage and antique rugs was being sold at below-market prices following the death of the owner – by all accounts an eccentric millionaire with a penchant for race horses and real estate, not to mention fine carpets. As I have long-coveted the vibrant and luxurious floor coverings of others’ well-appointed homes, I was hopeful that this estate sale would be my chance to finally purchase one of my own beauties at a price that was at least approaching affordable.
A Riot of Color and Cloth
I soon found that hope to be ill-conceived. Even at bargain bin prices, a quality carpet commands a steep price. Arriving at the advertised address, we found ourselves in a large showroom filled end-to-end with nothing but rugs in every size and shape, many rolled up and leaning against the walls and others hanging, suspended from racks. The majority were stacked on top of one another in haphazard piles on the floor so that to move through the room, we had to weave around heaps of rugs or simply tread across them where there was no room to maneuver. The whole place was a musty, dust-filled riot of color and cloth that made my eyes burn and my head physically ache.
Holding back sneezes, eyes watering, we gingerly traversed the maze of woven wool and silk, lifting corners here and there for a glimpse of the treasures that laid beneath. We watched other customers milling about doing the same, eliciting the help of either of the two knowledgeable men charged with the management of the estate sale. They seemed to know exactly where to find a certain piece amid the jumble – an animal pictorial Sumak in this pile and a Tabriz tree of life in that – as if following a hidden pattern in the curvilinear motifs and medallions that they alone could see and interpret.
They furthermore possessed an astonishing breadth of esoteric knowledge of their inventory. Point to any piece, and they could tell you not only its age and its origin, but the history and politics of the particular nomadic tribe that wove it. At one point, one of them proudly shared his Instagram with me, used exclusively to display his extensive (and no doubt expensive) collection of rugs.
Round Two
After the initial scouting visit, I returned for a second time by myself, determined this time to not leave empty-handed. After poking around for nearly an hour, I came across a stunning Baluch of such deep garnet that it verged on black at certain angles in the changing light. The field was woven in rich hues of plum and wine, velvet-like in appearance. A contrasting small rosette motif repeated around the border, the white petals popping, almost silvery in the light.
After circling around it endlessly, dragging it here and there to view it in varied lighting, I rolled it up and stashed it away behind a couple larger carpets leaning against a wall. I was quite certain that this was it, but greedily wanting to be sure that I hadn’t missed anything that might surpass it, I resolved to have one final pass, confident in the knowledge that my prize was well-hidden from others’ hungry eyes.
This assumption, too, proved to be erroneous. Upon returning to my hideaway, I found two women eyeing my carpet, now unrolled and laid out flat, exposing its dark beauty for all to see. I loitered nearby, pretending to examine other specimens while jealously side-eying the thieves, poised to leap in to reclaim my prize at the first sign of abandonment. Rather than lose interest, it became clear that my rivals were resolute in their admiration, and after haggling to a mutually agreeable price, they duly walked out of the store with my precious cargo in tow.
Ridiculously, I admit that I was irrationally distressed by this loss of a piece of cloth that I had only minutes ago come to discover and subsequently desire with an intensity approaching need. Suddenly, I couldn’t stand to be there any longer, surrounded by beautiful things that I could touch but were out of my reach. I left the building with thoughts racing – It’s the only one like it in the whole store (it was not). It’s exactly what I was looking for (I had no idea what I was looking for). This was my once-in-a-lifetime chance to find such a piece at such a good price (unlikely). Eyes brimming with absurd tears of disappointment, I walked home and vowed not to return.
Third Time’s the Charm
After a week’s distance and some sheepish reflection, my boyfriend suggested we visit the sale one last time before it was due to end. And so, still slightly smarting, I found myself wading through dusty carpets for the third time in as many weeks. After setting aside a number of pieces that were exquisite and also exquisitely expensive, we unearthed a small Sarouk embellished with intricate floral medallions. Though we couldn’t decide on its exact color – it seemed to shift in the light along a purple-red spectrum – we both agreed that it was stunning. In dim lighting or in shadow, it was cooler, a deep maroon with purple-y salmon undertones, but in the sunlight, it would take on a warmer rose-hued red. Iridescent navy and royal blue outlined floral sprays set in a burgundy field outlined by a border of scroll-like flowering vines between two thin gold bands of floral motifs.
We learned that the rug, dating from the 1930s and appearing to have never been used, was an American-style Sarouk from the city of Arak in northwest Iran. The most popular rug in America at that time, many featured this hard-to-pin-down dark salmon shade called dughi, thanks to the American proclivity for flash and glitz.
The resident rug expert extraordinaire – Pete Rugman, as we sardonically christened him (he was a bit of a snob) – assured us that the $700 asking price was a terrific deal, given that the carpet was well worth $2500 to $3000. Apparently, its value would only increase over the next five to ten years as it graduated from the class of mere vintage to the rarefied antique. Yes, it would be a great investment piece, we rationalized.
And That’s How They Get Ya
Still, observing us balk at the price, sly ole Rugman suggested that we take the carpet home for the night to try it out in our space. If we liked it, we could come back the following day with payment. If not, simply return it. Not wanting to part with it quite yet, we agreed to this arrangement with the mutual understanding that no matter how much we loved it, we’d return it the next day.
But we already know how that story ends. It simply looks too beautiful there beside the bed, illuminated by the sunlight streaming in through the window, feels too luxurious underfoot, to be taken back and abandoned to that cluttered purgatory. The rug seemed to win the favor of Odin, our cat, as well. When allowed in the bedroom (always under supervision), he immediately throws himself down onto the carpet, rolling and flipping, stretching out his long, speckled belly in pure feline bliss. Having gained the cat’s approval, we knew there would be no parting with it. Bargain or no, investment piece or money sink, it is beautiful, and it is ours.
Brenda says:
What a great story. I actually like the one you ended up with more than the one that got away. Sort of looks like the one I left behind when cleaning out my aunt’s house that had been my grandmother’s because it seemed old and dirty. Oh well….