One colour, carried through its depths and carved apart by hand. Five rugs in New Zealand wool.
Lamina is Latin for a thin layer. Each rug starts from a single colour and steps it down, tone by tone, until a flat floor reads as depth.
Where one tone meets the next, the pile is carved by hand, so every change of colour is also a change of surface you can feel underfoot.
We photographed the collection in Gradus, a house of sandstone and lime plaster that steps down its site one level at a time. Sun on the upper floors, cool shade below. The same idea as the rugs, in stone.
Cavea is Latin for the tiered seats of a theatre. Sage steps toward olive and mirrors at the centre, so the floor seems to fall away.
An outline that follows the bands inside it. Chalk to sand in six steps, each one carved apart.
A cut stone laid flat. Lichen at the edge, deeper toward the centre, every plane outlined by a carved line.
Pale folds and one darker plane, where the light would catch an edge.
Talus is the slope of stone that gathers at the foot of a cliff. The outline steps in and out like terraces, and straw deepens to moss toward the centre.
A rug is lived on, not looked at. Bare feet off a cool step, a book left open, a throw that slipped off the daybed.
How rugs are made, what they are made of, and how to choose one. From the Rugberry Journal.
Read the journal
