All rugs with synthetic dyes are no good.
Synthetic dyes are simply an alternative palette.

The little oddments of knowledge which flow into the general culture about arcane subjects are as persistent and incurable as the common cold. As they pass from person to person and, indeed, from generation to generation, they accrue the aura of inherited wisdom. In fact, they provide a substitute for understanding while imparting the sensation of knowledge, just as junk food may leave a person satiated without having provided nourishment.

What enlightenment, for example, is shed by the previously quoted assertions? When applied in certain ways they are equally true and false, equally informative and misleading. Without a context, something true and accurate may be useless and meaningless. In the worst case, transmission of a truism may completely alter or even reverse its meaning. For example, we are repeatedly admonished that "money is the root of all evil," whereas we know that it is a neutral object without intention or intrinsic import. In this altered form, the truism tells us less than nothing: it imparts a falsehood. Would evil disappear if we had no medium of exchange? However, before the maxim was mauled, it imparted a great wisdom: "...the love of money is the root of all evil." This concise description of greed does indeed go far to explain war, famine, and politics.

Let us examine the origin of attitudes about synthetic colors in Oriental rugs. Warnings about the evils of synthetic dyes go back to the early 20th century. Anyone familiar with the unfortunate and unpredictable results of aniline and chrome dyes from 1860 to 1920 can easily understand why a discriminating consume might have legitimate concerns about fading, running, and general aesthetic god-awfulness. Thus the enduring dictum that "rugs with synthetic dyes are no good" was born on a powerful and persuasive platform. By the time that dependable dyes were developed and their application was mastered, the legitimate concerns of earlier generations had been immortalized.

In the 1970s, a new generation of rug connoisseurs redefined rug collecting in the United States. A distinct turn toward tribal and primitive weaving was accompanied by an indulgence in vaguely held notions about "noble savages," hidden spiritual meanings," and outrageously misinformed anthropology. Do not misunderstand me. Aside from this very human baggage, a very wonderful thing was achieved. A vast new audience was created for this wonderful art form. Much has been learned since then and much has been preserved which would have been lost if it had taken a few more generations to get some of our best 19th century tribal rugs off the floor. However, like all new movements, it was born with an off-putting dogmatism and self-righteousness. The illuminati who had rug knowledge at that time formed a quasi-religious inner circle. I, perhaps unkindly, often thought of Oscar Wilde's comment that "art is the religion of the middle class." In any event, it was this group which took up the old cudgel of "synthetic dye anathema." Perfectly wonderful rugs which excited their interest would be carefully combed for any slight presence of the dreaded synthetic dye, as feared as the smallpox virus. In fact, I suspect that they would have willingly burned the offenders, just as the earlier generations burned infected bedding.

I have been reminded often of late by my children that I am growing old. As befits my station in life, I have lived long enough to see many truisms stood on their heads. Now we are presented with Ellen Wertheimer's bestowal of absolution on the mortal sin of synthetic color. Just as the absolute vilification of synthetics lacked context and perspective, so too does this open embrace. Let us consider her points. First, we have Jim Opie's comments about the synthetically dyed Iranian rugs at the Tehran fair cited. There are, in fact, many high quality and expensive Iranian workshop carpets which are adequately dyed with synthetics and are perfectly good decorative objects. However, the broadest group of modern Iranian weaving bears the same relationship to the proud, old Persian carpet tradition the velvet paintings of the Last Supper bear to Da Vinci's original. Anyone who has seen the hideously dyed, modern Iranian products could not mistake them for beauty. Moreover, the understanding of the traditional designs is obviously lacking, as is amply demonstrated by the regimentation and overcrowding and many other shortcomings of the products. However, even absent these other shortcomings, to suggest that even a great artist could create an object of enduring beauty from this garish palette is to suggest that Yehudi Menuin could play a Beethoven violin concerto on a ukulele.

As for the citation from Murray Eiland, note that he states that "much of the opposition ... seems excessive." He does not say that it is unfounded. In fact, many synthetically dyed modern rugs can and do perform admirable decorative service. This touches on a serious point. With very few exceptions, modern carpets cannot be considered to have artisitic or folkloric value. This is not a criticism. They are not supposed to be artistic creations but are perfectly worthwhile decorative, utilitarian objects of real value. The perspective which is missing involves the confusion between antique carpets and new. The new product is not the result of the same tradition, vision, or craftsmanship as the original. You may buy a beautifully made Kittinger reproduction of an 18th century Rhode Island mahogany bombé-secretary desk for $10,000 or more. You will have received excellent value for your money. The materials will be excellent, the craftsmanship will be superior, and the scale will be precise. However, the piece of furniture will never in any essential way have any equivalence with the $10 million original.

The sad news is that as long as Iranian rugs are uninspired, slavish copies of earlier periods at best or clumsy misinterpretations at worst, the question of what type of dyes is used is only a detail. Until the next renaissance of the art form emerges, the vision which makes their work a universally accepted art form is not there. What Opie is saying is that natural dyes are one essential element of the tradition whose restoration will help to resurrect it. Murray Eiland's contention that "...any color or property produced from natural dyes can be matched..." may hold true for standard floor covering. The average consumer who buys a well made synthetically dyed rug gets a fine product for his money. However, in the realm of rugs as art, only the ancient traditions of dyeing, combined with a deep understanding of materials, provides the proper tools.

I am reminded of an article some years ago about a Japanese company which had created a synthetic form of Scotch whiskey. In fact, they even offered a dehydrated form to which the consumer just added water. Now, while I have not had the misfortune to have ever tasted this abomination, I am sure that it would suffice for the untrained palate who might even mix Scotch with soft drinks. However, consider the hundreds of subtle and not so subtle varieties of single malts and the infinite blended combinations that would be lost to a synthetic substitute. Perhaps the happy world of chemistry could duplicate these varieties as well. For that matter, one could conceivably create an infinitely detailed paint-by-the-numbers version of Da Vinci's Mona Lisa, but would there not be something missing?

I am trying to describe the indescribable here, the poetry of things. The complexities of natural colors, the variations of tonality, the way they respond to light, and the way they react with different types of wool simply cannot be duplicated in the lab. As a beautiful young woman we were conversing with walked away from us with a lovely, swaying motion, I once remarked to a friend, "How do they do that?" He launched into an explanation of pelvic bone structure. I never really liked him again.

Another sensitive point is raised by Prof. Wertheimer as she cites Jon Thompson and Jim Opie on the subject of weavers liking bright colors. In fact, as seen in Opie's first book, the tribal weavers were also fascinated by toothpaste tins and bottlecaps. Should we also reconsider our feelings about these objects? Native Americans in the 19th century traded artifacts and weavings which we today consider to be works of art for bolts of printed fabric from the textile mills. Should we reconsider our attitudes about their art based on those preferences?

What I think we are encountereing here is the misinterpretation of traditional cultures. For better or worse, we have lionized the individual artist as self-invented maverick in our culture. Especially in our generation, the dismissal of tradition and the expression and promotion of self is the greatest good. And so, we have Campbell's soup can labels as visual art and the flushing of toilets as music, and the revolting drivel of sick self-absorption as literature. Only time will settle which will be lasting. It is in the nature of traditional arts that the art is greater than the artist. The Persian tribal weaver held her place in a structure hundreds of generations, thousands of years old. It was hers to learn the craft and traditions, hers to achieve a greater or lesser degree of proficiency, hers to affect the art in some small way. It was not hers to invent a substitute for weaving or dyeing or for the materials. It was hers to carry on the tradition. Within this long perspective, the time during which a novelty like bright synthetics enjoys some popularity among weavers represents but a moment. The passing fascination of a single weaver or generation of weavers does not negate a 5,000-year-old tradition of dyeing.

For a balanced way of viewing synthetic dyes today, we must carefully define our categories.

The next group in this category to consider is the beautiful old rug which clearly has a few synthetic dyes. This is often a case with fine Kubas and other Caucasians from the 1880s. It is common to have otherwise beautiful examples which are well-drawn and made from wonderful materials but have small amounts of orange or fuchsine purple. In earlier examples, these are usually only highlights, perhaps reflecting the mentioned proclivity of weavers for some bright drama. Many very fine and collectible late 19th century Qashqa'is display these highlight colors as well. In this case, a little broad-mindedness is called for on the part of collectors. Many a fine rug has a touch of something from the lab which should be overlooked in the light of its greater qualities. There should, of course, be some gentle reflection of the slight fault in the rug's price.

For collectors who would seek art in their rugs, predominantly synthetically dyed rugs, extensively faded rugs, and rugs whose hemorrhaging cannot be stemmed should be avoided.

The simple fact that a rug is handmade does not mean that it is a work of art, any more than grape juice can claim to be a vintage wine. The constant harping of new-rug purveyors on the rug's "investment" value is the annoying thing here. These rugs have no investment value. They do have excellent utilitarian value, a quality of which their sellers should be proud. The consumer is getting a bargain. It is not necessary to confuse what they sell with antique art. Ms. Wertheimer is quite wrong when she proposes that "Today's beautiful Bijar, woven with synthetic dyes, will be beautiful in 100 years, just as the 100-year-old Bijar is beautiful today." "Today's beautiful Bijar" is an oxymoron if you attempt to make an equivalence between it and the product of 100 years ago. "Today's Bijar" may be a hard-wearing, finely woven product, but it is not, nor will it ever be the beautiful work of art that its 100-year-old predecessor often is.

Just as the blame for the decline of our national sport cannot be laid at the feet of artificial turf and the designated hitter rule alone, the decline of the oriental rug is not confined to the dyes alone. Their faults include the machine-spun processed wool; the rigid, lifeless drawing; and the lack of connection with a living tradition inasmuch as they have been reduced to the misinterpretation of a few old 19th century designs. It is, in fact, unfair to ask this product to bear the burden of comparison with its noble ancestor. It is not meant to be art but floor-covering. It does not even have the claim to authentic reproduction values that the Kittenger secretary does. It is, rather, like the Ethan Allen bastardization of 18th century designs: excellent utility but not an object of beauty.

It may be true that everything is beautiful in its own way. Indeed, I have seen some wallpapers which I have thought beautiful, but none around which I would have thrown a frame and called art. On the contrary, I have seen many 100-year-old Bijars which were magnificent floor covering and occasionally rose to the level of art. The poetry which animates an artistic creation does not live out of context. This is the intangible which allows connoisseurs to identify false paintings done out of period. In the case of many modern oriental rugs, many are not even adequate reproductions.

When any art form runs out of steam, a revival of traditional forms often provides the impetus for a revival of the art. Some of the Turkish projects and the Persian vegetal production may perform this function for the craft we love. However, modern synthetic production, with inappropriate color and drawing and materials, is not a continuation or a revival of the form. It is, in fact, mood music for the eyes: mush, loosely based on classical themes. No, Ms. Wertheimer, "today's beautiful Bijar" is wallpaper for the floor, and in 100 years, it will just be somewhat tattered wallpaper. If you doubt this, just take a look at the "5-year plan" Caucasians, some of which are a respectable 70 years old now. The dead wool, flat color, and lifeless composition is a perfect tribute to the failed society which inspired them.

Color, as important as it is, is but one of the elements which makes this a great craft and occasionally a great art form. This is what the big deal is all about. It is why people collect, analyze and discuss art rugs. This field should not be compared to or confused with commercial furnishing any more than house painting should be grouped with Monet's oils.