Wall Hangings
Wall
Hangings
Look closer; they breathe. They do not sit silently against the wall like an obedient guest. They inhale the fluctuating light and exhale shadows stretching into the room. They carry distinctive dimensions, their own existence, the apparent feeling that one is being watched—not by something in the room, but by history itself, by the ghosts caught in silk, their expressions frozen, waiting...
There was once a weaver who swore that one of his carpets spoke to him. He said the face in the center had changed overnight, the mouth shifting as if caught between laughter and sorrow. No one believed him. But the visitors came to see for themselves when the carpet was finished, framed, and hung where the afternoon sun could slip through the silk.
A face in a Cinar wall hanging is never still. It shifts with the light, frowns in the morning, and smiles at dusk. The knots are so fine that a misplaced knot might change a story forever. They are made to be seen, hold their own against time, and remind us that faces—even those trapped in silk—never change.
