When casual viewers are shown pictures of a representative group (HALI 116, pp. 106–15 will suffi ce), their probable initial reaction is that the carpets all look alike. Once the nuances are pointed out, individual preferences will be determined by how the whole and partial medallions are arranged, and whether the negative space between is open enough to let the composition ‘breathe’ while containing the lattice of vinery and leaves without crowding.

Ushaks of any age short of new were in high demand throughout America’s ‘Gilded Age’ between the late 19th century and the mid-1920s. Dealers and auction houses in the US clamoured to supply the well-housed gentry in the eastern states from Boston to Miami. The Turkish émigré carpet dealer Vitall ‘the Pasha’ Benguiat (1859–1937) partnered with the Art Sales Corporation, a subsidiary of the American Art Association and precursor to Sotheby’s. The Association funded his scouring of Europe and the Near East to find important carpets and textiles to be sold at auction, and provided him a studio above its New York salesroom. But his extravagant lifestyle and a waning market took their toll, and by 1927 he owed the AAA a half million dollars. Cortlandt Field Bishop, co-owner of the AAA, demanded payment via immediate liquidation. After postponements, the first and most important liquidation sale was held on 23 April 1932, followed by another in 1935. Prices were fractions of what they had been ten years earlier, and it was said that losing his prized collection irreparably broke the Pasha’s spirit. He was rarely seen in the trade thereafter.

The Great Depression notwithstanding, tastes had changed. The proportions of large-medallion Ushaks were now seen as awkward, their designs were considered grandiose, and they were soon regarded as curios or relics, not as components of modern interiors. Nor was there much collector interest. During the second half of the 20th century, arguably a high point of rug studies and collecting, they were shunned to the point of wilful ignorance. It hardly mattered whether they were early or late, they were all seen as export-orientated, formulaic and devoid of personal expression. What’s more, for most collectors they were too large to display or store; typically heavily worn, damaged and dirty, they were not thought worth restoring.

The carpet as it appeared in the 1932 Benguiat sale, unchanged when exhibited in 2006

Yet there were always a few cognoscenti who understood and appreciated classic Ushaks, serene in the knowledge that they remained in the world’s most prestigious museums for good reasons. The owner of the carpet seen here, who wishes to remain anonymous, is a life-long artist and rug enthusiast, largely self-taught. When it was offered to him in the early 1980s he saw past the damage and dirt, and leapt at the chance to buy it, with no illusions. It was not the sort of piece that would have been selected for rug society exhibitions, and it was not ‘exhibition ready’ in any conventional sense. Still, it was a masterpiece—impeccably drafted and coloured, superior to any chosen comparison. That includes to the closely related Joseph Lees Williams half-carpet in the Philadelphia Museum of Art, of which Charles Grant Ellis noted, ‘It is better to own half such a carpet than none at all.’

Compared with others of its age, the present carpet was in remarkably good condition, missing little more than its outer guard borders and with a few crudely repaired holes. It would have responded well to competent restoration, the cost of which had continued to rise over the years, and it remained unrenovated. Nevertheless it was exhibited in 2006 at the Arthur Ross Gallery, University of Pennsylvania (HALI 145, p. 109). At the time, a few dedicated rug scholars and enthusiasts might have recognised it as Lot 27 in the catalogue of the 1932 Benguiat liquidation sale, where it appeared exactly as it did in 2006. As far as is presently known, it had not been offered in previous AAA sales, which suggests it might have been among the Pasha’s favourites.