Persian Rug Study
06-16-2011 / By:
Most students do not even notice them. They continue about their merry day, dashing to class, carrying heavy books from the library, cramming in study rooms. Maybe they look up, and notice the highly intricate scroll work on the ceiling, or the finely crafted mantle place over the fireplace that nobody's allowed to notice anymore. Maybe they spend their whole day outside, tossing around a frisbee and sipping iced tea.
But they are there. In rich ornate side rooms in Sterling library, they are there. In grand hallways leading to even grander rooms: they're there. In masters' houses, in the president's house, even in some classrooms (more like lecture halls, if you really take the time to stop and think about it): they are there.
Persian rugs, antique rugs, older than many students parents and then some. They accumulate dust and the dirt of thousands of geet over the years, but they still tell a story. A story of the aesthetic of the time, of the choices architects and designers make, of what people consider to be luxury.
Apparently, for even a castle-like school with soaring stained glass and spindling roofs and booming bell towers, a rug can make all the difference between mediocrity and luxury. Many newer schools just don't have rooms that would look right with a Persian rug. Many schols think they can't get one because they aren't old enough.
They're wrong. A rug like that can look great in almost any room. But it's true: there's something about the grandiosity of old New England private universities, the decadence of all that money, that goes particularly well with the beauty and pomp and circumstance of a very old, very expensive bit of carpeting. Maybe they're deluding themselves, trying to grasp a small part of bygone days whose remnants haunt the campus. Or maybe, they just have good taste: Persian rugs look good everywhere.
But they are there. In rich ornate side rooms in Sterling library, they are there. In grand hallways leading to even grander rooms: they're there. In masters' houses, in the president's house, even in some classrooms (more like lecture halls, if you really take the time to stop and think about it): they are there.
Persian rugs, antique rugs, older than many students parents and then some. They accumulate dust and the dirt of thousands of geet over the years, but they still tell a story. A story of the aesthetic of the time, of the choices architects and designers make, of what people consider to be luxury.
Apparently, for even a castle-like school with soaring stained glass and spindling roofs and booming bell towers, a rug can make all the difference between mediocrity and luxury. Many newer schools just don't have rooms that would look right with a Persian rug. Many schols think they can't get one because they aren't old enough.
They're wrong. A rug like that can look great in almost any room. But it's true: there's something about the grandiosity of old New England private universities, the decadence of all that money, that goes particularly well with the beauty and pomp and circumstance of a very old, very expensive bit of carpeting. Maybe they're deluding themselves, trying to grasp a small part of bygone days whose remnants haunt the campus. Or maybe, they just have good taste: Persian rugs look good everywhere.
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