They should have tarmacked that road. Or perhaps not, perhaps it was fine the way it was. They bounced around silently, they shook and slowly unrolled at every curve, every touch of the brakes. Dust, dirt and the hands that carried them sullied them. Specks and flecks that worked their way into the wool to remain there, invisibly staining those evocative colours. They fan out like waves, sometimes, those identical images that pile up, get mixed up and sort themselves out again wherever they happen to fall.  That mountain of loose rolls reveals irregular shapes that remain rigid despite their lack of corners. Perhaps that is why it is so hard to keep them still, steady and disciplined. The hands are back, nervous yet supple while holding them, delicate and distracted while moving them. Unexpectedly, at the sharpest bend, that chaotic pile collapsed and fell. Out. And so, everybody followed. Those confused colours crumpled on the floor, seemed suddenly perfect. All those hands working to beat them, stroke them and beat them once more. Before laying them down again on the dull diluted brick-red earth. They sat upon them, surrounded by futuristic vans, fast and smiling dogs, relaxed faces ready to nod in greeting to the new arrivals.  They talked. They talked about that time She Left The Party. They talked about a Portento: that guy who took a shot. Was it from three metres? It doesn’t matter, to them he was Magic Johnson. They talked about the tail wagging furiously, the only striped tail in a fury of wagging tails.  They talked about Nemo, about what it would be like to live underwater, where everything is voiceless, amplified and throbbing.  Throbbing like those vibrations that rose through hands and feet resting distractedly on soft, dusty surfaces, absorbing everything in their thick, knotted edges. Those silent sounds, the light, the colours and even the dust, create a suspended dimension, free and undefinable, with no name or address, vanishing only to reappear. Who knows where, who knows when, who knows if ever again: T.A.Z.mania.

SEE FULL COLLECTION
http://www.alantamir.com/tazmania-collection-rugs-by-alan-tamir/