First Day in Group Carpet Weaving Class

It was early Fall, 2024 when I walked into a classroom at the Tsogher Art School in Yerevan, Armenia. I was drawn by rumors of a group carpet-weaving class.

Maybe I was a few minutes late, I’m still not sure, but the room was already humming with activity. A long table was crowded with women, each working on a carpet at a different stage of creation. Wooden frame looms, partially woven with intricate Armenian motifs, lined the table like small doorways into other worlds. They were surrounded by threads of every color, sheets of graph paper, detailed designs, and unexpectedly, dishes of candy and Armenian sweets.

I definitely stood out: the only man in the room, barely speaking the language, feeling both curious and out of place.

I asked if I could sit down and was introduced to the teacher, Hasmik. I explained, in my halting mix of gestures and words, that I’m mostly deaf, that I don’t speak Armenian, but that I desperately wanted to learn how to weave a carpet. Hasmik didn’t answer with words. Instead, she gave me a look—an expression, a small lift of the eyes—that said everything:

You’re welcome here. I can teach you.

That single moment was the beginning of something special.

Over the many months that followed, Hasmik taught me four styles of Armenian carpet weaving: flatweave (bilateral carpet), mezar, shulal, and sumak (soumak, soumakh).

I cherished every class. And every evening, walking home through the city, I felt something I’ll never forget: a sense of growth, of learning, of being fully alive as I chased a craft that had quietly become my passion.