I do actually work. Do I work, actually?
I tell myself, I ask myself.
What do I do, do you care to know?
I think of my job like a multidimensional cog in a giant clockwork of a locally-based global supply chain. Multi-dimensional in that my operational capacity is stretched outside of the normal 9-5 routine, and that my area of expertise happens to be whatever I am needed for at that time. And when I am not needed, I just make up stuff to do. Lucky. I know.
We sell our clients the rugs they sell you (or in many cases, they sell your designer, and your designer to you).
We design bespoke rugs, custom in every way possible. Or, if you are amazed by what we have in our personal stash, you acquire it immediately. You love them, and keep them in your house forever. You show them off at parties. Everyone is impressed. You roll all over them with your dog. Your dog is so excited by the color, design and texture that she pees on it. You tell her she’s a bad dog, and she makes a sad face. You forgive her because that sad face is so adorable, but secretly hold a grudge because she just stained you brand new designer rug. So you exile her to some crappy remnant.
But first things first, the rug has to be woven. And before it can be woven, it has to be designed.
That’s where we start. We design and they approve. We send it off on a plane or cruising in the fast lane of the information highway to a remote country in the Himalayas. Hundreds of Who’s collect the wools, match the colors, enlarge the graph to life size and prepare to weave away.
Tirelessly they card wool, they spin wool, they dye wool…a few of these processes look like they were taken straight out of The Lorax.
The machine that spins, the boiler the heats the dye facility…these machinations toy with my imagination. Have I become the Onceler?
They shear the wool from Tibetan sheep
And carry it down from mountains steep
The spin the yarn and spin it faster
Then off it goes to the dye master.
They dry the wool on the roof tops,
And the drying of the dyeing never stops.
They knot…oh my god do they knot,
Every day, side by side—weavers knot.
And all the knotting is not for nothing
Because all sorts of rooms are in need of fluffing.
For movie stars, or for your rich aunt,
Or some other who’s who to flaunt.
When they are done—they wash, trim, bind and ship.
They go up in the air or by boat on a transatlantic trip.
They fly out the door and on to your floor
And the Who’s always want more, more, MORE!
…
Sorry, I just went off on a Seuss tangent.
Efficiency at providing quality and service is why people love us. They want more, so we make more. We sell more. We collect more. We bill more.
Last year I was traveling with a small business consortium around Nepal and India. We were doing so much more, we had to find a way to do more. My partners decided to build a weaving factory. One told me his idea. I made a Lego building. We laughed. I gave it to my architect friend. She laughed. She made drawings. I gave them to my partners. They made adjustments. They started building…
Eventually.
They are still building. There are A LOT of holidays. A. LOT. This is the lot. The lot the factory is being built in, before anything was in it.
But now it’s being built. Built in like I am to this career, but not broken down like the road in Kathmandu.
They are breaking the buildings to widen the road. Widen the road to accommodate more cars. More cars accommodate future traffic jams. Jams happen. And when you’re jammed, you just stop.
Until you can go. And so I went, back to work…
Work is observation.
Work is reaction.
Work is innovation.
Work is collaboration.
Work is production.
Work is inspection.
Work is collection.
And now you know in no uncertain terms, a vaguely specific outline of what I do that allows me to be over there, writing to you, right here.
That is, if you care.
