In Soviet Union we had a custom to put wool rugs on walls, though in USA where I live they usually get on a floor. Russians covered walls with rugs in a living room, nailed rugs and tapestries over the bed or a couch. As a little girl I used to spend hours laying in my bed following the design of the rug, making elaborate twists and turns with the stems and leaves of the flowers or lines of the abstract designs that were mostly always symmetrical and had a meeting point in the center of the rug. My inquisitive mind didn’t have a space to express itself in the family I was growing up in. My parents made it clear that when adults speak among themselves children should be silent, better off, invisible. This is how I remember it. I learnt well to be invisible and silent. So my mind would find other ways to express itself. And when it did freely, I felt truly home. Anytime mind observed the environment, I felt home. I have a very observant mind, I learnt the mechanisms how it works and what environment is the best for it to work properly. It took struggles, suffering, turmoil, pain and most of all, seeking the way out of it, to come to the place where it feels home at any moment. My journey of seeking home resembles following the design on the wall rug, loosing myself in that design, trying to complete my journey from where I started to the center, making believe that I am traveling with the colors and lines closer and closer to my destination, while in reality I was laying on a bed, already home.
I found a link that explain the tradition of rugs on the walls:History of the unconditional love of slavs and rugs on the walls
