Tags: rug restoration, artisan memory, Ladik carpet, weaving journey, textile heritage

When I was sixteen, my great-grandfather gave me something that looked, at first, like a problem: an old, damaged Ladik rug. The edges were worn. The colors had faded. There were holes, stains, and time written all over it.

But I didn’t see a rug. I saw a story.

That moment became the turning point in my life. I didn’t know it then, but it set me on a path I’ve followed ever since — restoring not just objects, but memory.

I took the rug to a local master restorer. I watched. I listened. I asked questions. And little by little, something inside me shifted. The careful handwork, the subtle beauty of the original dyes, the mystery of each motif — it opened a door that I’ve never wanted to close.

That Ladik rug didn’t just teach me how to restore. It taught me how to respect time.

Since then, I’ve worked with thousands of carpets — each with its own history, each with a soul. But I always think back to that first piece. It was more than a gift. It was an initiation.

And it still lives with me — not just as a memory, but as a beginning I continue to honor, thread by thread.