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As this book deals significantly with symbolism in oriental textiles, I should announce my negative attitude towards writings on the significance of symbolism in oriental rugs. I say negative attitude, not bias, because my negativism is directed not to the idea of symbolism per se but to the authors who are interpreting such symbolism. My negativism stems from my own experience with the difficulty of precisely ascribing a specific rug to a specific weaving group which was only woven within the last 100 years. If we can not know that fact with certainly what is the likelihood that "scholars" who are tracing symbols over 2000 or 5000 years of history are on any more solid ground.
One of my earliest encounters with symbolism was in Afghanistan when I was beginning to learn about oriental rugs. I was told by a Turkoman woman weaver that a certain design in Ersari rugs was a representation of her jewelry. I mentioned this to an American friend who had a PhD in art history. She informed me that while it was indeed true that today's weaver may view this as a representation of her jewelry, it was a symbol which was probably centuries old and which had originally had a different meaning and intent than that understood by today's weaver. Who was I to believe, the weaver or the Western scholar? Such was my introduction to symbolism and the vagueries of understanding it and the depth of research which one must pursue to unlock the possible original meaning of a motif.
Upon returning to the U.S. from Afghanistan, I began reading about Turkoman rugs. This "jewelry motif" was one of my favorites in Ersari rugs and was usually associated with the Suleiman Ersari rugs. I see this motif as an evergreen tree. In reading I learned that the motif was called Ongurche, meaning spine, in some instances and Temirshin, meaning iron implement, in others. The literature indicates that the spine definition is a 19th century translation from Russian scholars and the Temirshin meaning derives from an earlier period. Both appear, however, to be visual interpretations rather then Turkoman totemic symbols. The latter meaning of iron implement derives from a later period of more settled Turkomans who had lost this totemic connection and named it for objects from daily life just as the Ersari women of Afghanistan do today. It was at this point that I developed a disinterest in symbolism as being something which was not of critical importance to me in appreciating a particular rug or textile. Without knowing its historical symbolism, I could still appreciate a rug for what it was. I did not have to "understand" its symbolism for it to have life.
These comments are offered as background to this review of The Birth Symbol to show that it was not likely to be a topic which would capture my interest for a variety of reasons. To my surprise when I started reading it I could not put it down until I had read it through to the end. A Rare occurrence for me. I immediately ordered more copies of the book because there were people I wanted to give it to. I mentioned it to several people who were unaware of it and recommended they get it and read it. I awaited the receipt of HALI and Oriental Rug Review to see what other readers might have to say about it. But alas, this book has not been reviewed. People I meet have not heard of it, and it seems destined to become a lost work.
The book captured my attention because it focuses on a motif which I see repeated in the the nomadic and tribal rugs from all of the rug weaving areas. This motif is one of less than a half dozen which appear almost universally. It is found in the Yürük rugs of Turkey, Caucasian rugs, Kurdish rugs, Qashqai, Lori and Shah Savan rugs of Iran, and the Baluch and Turkoman rugs of Central Asia. I had seen this motif repeated a thousand times in many ways. It is one I like and I was fascinated finally to find someone who was not only writing about this motif but had organized an entire exhibition around it.
But what is the birth symbol? Allen describes it "in its simplest form (it) consists of a diamond with pairs of lines projecting like arms and legs from its top and bottom vertice. Often the diamond, representing the female torso, encloses a cross-shaped figure or another diamond; sometimes additional pairs of curved or hooked lines project from the edges or side vertices of the diamond, elaborating the pattern." What we have is a simplified, graphic design of a pregnant female. It is a veneration of the birth and generation of life. In the earliest religions the grain of life was the basis of theology. The sources of life, "Woman", was the venerated symbol as the cosmic source of life. The elucidation of this idea today does not ask us to necessarily believe it. It merely says here is an archeological and anthropological fact which appears to impinge upon our desire to understand the motifs and symbolism in rugs.
Hence, this review is intended to bring Max Allen's thoughts to a larger audience, to generate discussion about it, and to explain my response to it. I feel this is necessary because the rug literature is generally so devoid of new ideas or new insights into our mutual topic of concern. When significant new ideas appear they should be broadly scattered for consideration. I fear that there is a fraternity of writing developing, similar to that of academia, in which there are accepted schools of thought. If one does not belong to one of the accepted schools the disperal of one's ideas becomes very difficult since the opportunities for publication are so limited. The Birth Symbol is a captivating study because it treats a variety of subjects relating to a common design: the historical -- religious development, its spread throughout a specific region of the world, archaelogical evidence, its existence in traditional women's arts, representation in different textile techniques, art history and psychoanalysis, and the role of female art and the aesthetics of arts.
To my knowledge, no one from Cammann to Ellis, to Thompson and Pinner, have attempted this breadth of different academic disciplines. But it is only in attempting to bring together such varied topics that the complex nature of motifs and the role of symbolism begins to appear whole and the thoughts credible. The attempt to treat such a varied range of academic disciplines, which impinge on rug studies may be arrogant, but it is an effort which must be made. A strong theme in The Birth Symbol is that of feminism. It should have been expected that when such a work appeared it would come from the Americas and not from Europe since feminism is a stronger movement here and the desire to integrate it into academic and social life is greater here. However, it seems correct to me that feminism should assert itself in our attempts to understand the textile arts, for they are all made by women, with the rarest of exceptions. The relationship between women and textiles is early asserted in the catalogue: "Traditionally the art of women - almost universally rendered in textiles - has been concerned with the preservation and communication of spiritual and cultural values. Eccentric visualistic expression has taken second place in traditional societies to conservative representation, to giving physical form to shared ideas of continuity, nurturance and regeneration. Art history has ignored the special aesthetic production of women, labelling them crafts. Similarly, pschoanalytic studies of art have missed women's work almost entirely. Phallic symbolism has been widely analized, but women's conceptions of the reproductive force have remained mostly invisible to scholars. In spite of the fact that the birth symbol is still the single most frequently occuring iconic motif in Eurasia and Indonesia, it has never before been systematically described."
All of this, it seems to me, is true. Those of us involved with rugs and textiles know that we are dealing with items made by women. Many of us try and get them understood and accepted as art. Yet when we go to museums to arrange exhibtions what are we faced with. Museum directors, who are mainly male, know nothing about textiles. If they arrange an exhibition it is within the decorative arts division, a lower level than the "true" arts of painting and sculpture. Allen appropriately jars us into a consideration of why we have these cultural and deeply subjective biases against the art of women which we treat as craft.
In discussing "traditional women's art", Allen takes one down a consideration of "craft", eg. women's arts, which are functional and traditional to a consideration of "art" which is expressive and aesthetic but non-functional. In considering these concepts essays on both types of productions, one Indonesian, women's work, and the other Canadian, man's art are offered. In this presentation we are squarely faced with the role which culture plays in how we understand these different artistic products and why we view one as art and the other as craft. Allen asks us to look around "the place you are now. It will be unusual (in the typical North American home or workplace) if you see a single object made by someone you know, We are surrounded by anonymous store bought clothes, furniture, mechanical devices and food, and art by distant professional celebrities. Compare this with the situation of, for example, a Central Asian nomad, in whose environment essentially every manmade/womanmade object was made by a relative or acquaintance."
The type of domination which men today attempt to retain in interpreting textiles and at the same time to backhandedly elevate women's crafts to a higher level appears in Heinz Meyer's "The Carpet as a Work of Art."
"In contrast to the court workshops, which employed professional draughtsmen, designers, spinners, dyers, weavers, the work of making a carpet in nomad society generally lay in the hands of women. The woman in nomad society usually looked after the tent and remained in its vicinity; she collected fruit there and possibly cultivated plants, prepared the food, looked after the children as well as the old-folk and undertook weaving when released from the work already described. The necessary knowledge and skills for the construction of textiles were an element of tribal traditions, acquired by individual members of the community according to sexually differentiated tasks. In a way, technique was just as predetermined as the ‘content' of the 'picture.' For all of this the status of weaving should not be seen as equivalent to that of the 'handicrafts' of European women in our time. The carpet's religious, ritualistic, familial and tribal significance rules out such a comparison. This also implies that the carpet was not the exclusive concern of the woman, but should be understood as an experession and concern of the entire family, and the entire tribe, including the men. In the case of nomads, 'male' conceptions and their demands accordingly found their way into the carpet." (Emphasis mine.)
So there you European women, you know where your handiwork stands and as for the nomadic women; the men are totally in control there too! Meyer's essay is intended to elevate the carpet to the level of art from that of craft. In doing so he must attach the male to weaving to give it credence as art. It is exactly this type of thinking and attitude which Allen skillfully exposes in his discussion of the symbol, its religious history and the psychoanalytic attitudes in art.
Most of what is written about symbolism is related to religious function. Religions and man's need for iconography are the basis of much symbolic representation. One of the most interesting chapters in The Birth Symbol is titled "When God Was A Woman." It refers to an age that most of us do not consider when we think of religion. Religion today revolves about the present great religions of the world: Christianity, Islam, Judaism, Buddhism, Confusism and Hinduism. All of these are male dominant. "When God Was A Woman" deals with an antecedant time to all of these, when the religious function was built around the mother goddess. Most of us have a slight knowledge of this because we can recall the pictures of the bare breasted mother goddess of Minoan times which we leered at in our history books as prepubescent teenagers. It is back to this era that Allen takes us for a beginning of the birth symbol. When the man god was a woman and how out of that iconography the birth symbol arose and subsequently how it has survived, spread throughout a significant region of the world, and persists as a common, frequent symbol in the textiles of today.
It may appear at times that The Birth Symbol is a totally feminist document. It is not. One of the more interesting examinations of feminist art is a section on "the Dinner Party", an embroidery and ceramic work of Judy Chicago, an American feminist artist. The discussion of what Chicago did as a feminist statement and its relationship to the birth symbol is a fascinating study in how feminists view themselves today when contrasted to the regenerative life concept of the birth symbol. The response of the male art community to Chicago's work is an interesting critique of art criticism, in of itself.
If Chicago was not in sync with the birth symbol, Allen trys to show us why in a consideration of art history and psychoanalysis. If Chicago missed the mark with "The Dinner Party" it was because we are so saturated with the concept of male dominance and penis envy, that today we fail to recognize the regenerative power of the birth symbol. A particularly marvelous photograph in the text is of Freud's famous couch. It is covered with a Khamseh rug, the main border of which clearly shows a version of the birth symbol. One cannot escape fantasizing about Anna O. laying there talking to Freud about all of her penis envy, which stemmed from the male supressive condition of which they were both a part. A comic irony!
With respect to the studies of symbolism in rugs,I was personally relieved to read a study which suggests that a symbol moved from West to East instead of from East to West. Having read the theories about mandalas and cloud collars, I have been chauvanistically afraid that all of our symbolism had originated in the East. The Birth Symbol is reassuring because in discussing the archeological data, Allen traces the movement of the design from Eastern Europe, across Turkey, across Central Asia and into the Indonesian archipelago. For rug archeologists who believe that the rug technique originated in Mongolia and moved West and that the "nomadic and tribal" motifs of today all trace back, in some form, to Mongolian and Cllinese symbolisrn this could be unsettling. I believe that Allen's work expands the areas which one should consider when thinking about unlocking the mysteries of rug iconography.
In pursuing the archeological evidence, Allen takes us on a tour from the Venus of Willendorf to Çatal Hüyük and a migration of the design into South Asia. In so doing we are treated to not how universal a symbol it is but, as he says, "how restricted it is. It lies in a band across Europe which is coentensive with two well documented cultural "diffusions". The documented archeological data is accompanied by a simple but graphically illustrative map.
Quite clearly there are many ideas in The Birth Symbol which are innovative and different. But they are scholarly well grounded, the documentation and cohesion of the argument is one of the best which I have encountered. What ever one's "thing" about rugs there should be something in it which will stimulate.
As one who thinks almost exclusively about pile rugs and to a lesser extent flatweaves, I was astounded by Allen's knowledge of other textiles and how they are employed to expand this particular symbol. It is not used just in floor rugs but exarnples of designs in embroideries, ikat, plangi, jewelry, and beadwork are all used to support the main thesis. All are woman's "crafts" and so the design persists in all of these techniques as well.
The catalogue is well produced on a high quality paper. All of the exhibited items have specific comments about what they are, how the design relates to the overall variations in the birth symbol, and there is technical data in an appendix on each item. The color reproduction is better than average although most of the items are in black and white. The book is well designed with selected examples accompanying the text to illustrate concepts being discussed. One section is devoted to footnotes. These footnotes are extensive quotations from the source materials which underpin the thesis of the birth symbol. It is something which reads as an essay in itself, and I found it most interesting. However, if one is not interested in this greater detail it does not intrude upon the basic document of the catalogue. My only problem with the production of the catalogue is the binding and its size which is 8' 1/2" high by 11" wide. This size does not fit easily into most book shelves. Having been involved in the production of a similarly shaped catalogue, I know this is due to turning the "designing" of a book over to a designer instead of somone who likes books.
The Birth Symbol is a work which raises many issues that should be of concern to those of us who are trying to understand the rug as art in its many and varied meanings. The final paragraph of the essay summarizes many of these:
"The birth symbol, probably our oldest surviving religious image, can be found incorporated into the rugs of a great many late 20th century North American homes, underfoot. The image is with us still. From psychoanalysis we learn to recognize phallic symbolism in the arts of man, emblematic of power. Now attention to the parallel imagery of textiles, the traditional province of women, discloses the birth symbol as another fundemental conception, the symbol not of power, but of life itself."