On the latest episode of Dialogue with Tofiq Abbasov, aired on the Baku Network’s expert platform, the spotlight was on one of Azerbaijan’s most revered carpet artists — People’s Artist Aydin Rajabov. What unfolded was far more than a discussion about craft; it was a deep, almost spiritual reflection on heritage, symbolism, and identity.
For Rajabov, the carpet isn’t just a utilitarian object — it’s a living artifact of cultural memory. “I used to think a carpet was just something you laid on the floor or hung on a wall,” he said. “But it turns out, it’s a language — the author’s language. You can’t reduce it to a household item. That’s an insult.”
Rajabov sees every carpet as a coded message — a "password" of sorts — left behind by its maker. Decoding these visual symbols, he says, can take a lifetime. “It’s a science, and only deep knowledge can begin to unravel its secrets.” He draws attention to the depth of conceptual artistry embedded in Azerbaijani carpets. “Just look at the stylization, the symbols, the patterns — this is conceptual art in its purest form. And yet, we often don’t know the names behind them. These are their fantasies, their signatures.”
But Rajabov’s message wasn’t just about aesthetics — it was also a pointed critique of cultural appropriation. Too often, he noted, Azerbaijani carpets appear in Western publications labeled simply as "Caucasian," erasing their origins. “That symbolism, those colors, those motifs — they are ours. Uniquely Azerbaijani. Not generic, not regional, but national.”
He expressed concern that such mislabeling diminishes the significance of Azerbaijan’s artistic identity. “Our carpets are our passport,” he said. “To place them below painting or graphic art is not only unfair — it’s wrong. Carpet weaving is a monumental art form.”
Diving into the symbolic richness of the craft, Rajabov shared one example that encapsulates this layered tradition: the dragon motif. Found in more than 60 variations in Azerbaijani carpets, it doesn’t always represent evil, as commonly assumed. “Sometimes the dragon is a protector of water, a benevolent figure. This is an entire philosophy rooted in folk wisdom,” he explained.
Rajabov paid tribute to his legendary mentor, Latif Karimov, calling him not just a teacher, but a guiding force. “I’m the last and eldest of his students. He raised not just a craftsman in me, but someone who deeply loves this tradition.”
His own artistic journey began with a student project — a carpet that soon found its way to Soviet and international exhibitions, including in Algeria. Later, one of his pieces was acquired by Azerbaijan’s Ministry of Culture. Over more than five decades, Rajabov’s work evolved from ornamental designs to narrative compositions inspired by miniature painting, the traditional sport of chovgan, and historical figures.
“Carpet is my life. My source of inspiration,” Rajabov said. “The deeper I dive into it, the more I discover the story and soul of my people.”