Antique Rugs
Antique rugs have been on the resume of Josh Nazmiyal since he began in the industry almost 40 years ago when he was already recognized for one of the largest oriental rug collections in the United States. Each piece in the internationally recognized volume was hand-picked for rarity, and of course, aesthetic and beauty, now complementing one of the widest varieties of Persian rug and Turkish rug collections with the utmost attention to individuality and care. Because of Josh’s position in the wholesale rug industry, he’s been responsible for promoting a number of collections throughout history, from breathtaking signature Tabriz, Sultanabad, Kerman Lavar, Agra, and Oushak classics to the more unsung jewels of the luxury industry.
Rug & Kilim maintains our own facilities for cleaning and restoration exclusively for carpets we’ve sold to ensure their lasting beauty and care long after a piece leaves our collection.
- Under 6 x 9
- Runners
- 6 x 9
- 8 x 10
- 9 x 12
- 10 x 14
- 12 x 15
- Over 12 x 15
- Indian
- Persian
- Turkish
- European
- Caucasus
- East Asia
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Stories from the Antique Archive
Essays, artist dialogues, and provenance notes drawn from Rug & Kilim’s editorial desk.
On the Changing Nature of Money, and a Quiet Shift in How the World’s Great Collections Are Built
As seen in Milieu Magazine’s Summer 2025 Issue, designed by Studio Meghan Eisenbergh, features an antique Amritsar rug from Rug & Kilim’s collection.View More >> Something has changed in the psychology of collecting, and it has changed quietly. For most of the modern era, the serious collector acquired for love, for scholarship, for the pleasure of living with beautiful things, and the question of value, while never absent, sat politely in the background. That arrangement has quietly inverted. Across the last two years, industry surveys have recorded a striking figure: the share of high-net-worth collectors intending to sell from their holdings has fallen from more than half to roughly a quarter. The collector of this moment is not looking to liquidate. They are looking to hold. And they are increasingly treating the objects they acquire not as expenditures but as architecture, as a considered, diversified structure of wealth that also happens to be beautiful.
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Leo and Greti Wollner and the Vienna Carpet Inheritance
There is a particular authority that attaches to an object when one can trace its maker's hand, teacher by teacher, back to a single revolutionary moment, and in the case of Leo and Gretl Wollner, that moment is the Wiener Werkstätte. To own a Wollner carpet is to hold the last living end of a thread that runs directly to Josef Hoffmann, to Koloman Moser, to the Vienna of 1903 that resolved, against the whole weight of European convention, that there should be no hierarchy dividing the fine arts from the applied ones. A painting and a carpet were to be judged by the same measure. A century later, the Wollners are among the very last to have been taught that creed by the people who founded it.
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Christian Bérard, Jean-Michel Frank, and the Making of Nelson Rockefeller’s Most Personal Room
In April 1939, the SS Normandie docked in New York Harbor carrying, somewhere in her hold, a rolled carpet. The Normandie was herself the most extravagant object afloat; an emblem of French luxury and design, her marble lounges dressed with Aubusson carpets, signed furniture, and exceptional lighting, a vessel so audaciously beautiful that the New York Times had described her maiden crossing as "the greatest mass of steel and machinery ever to sail the sea." She was also, in April 1939, five months from her last voyage. Germany would invade Poland in September. The Normandie would be seized by the United States Navy, catch fire during conversion to a troopship, and capsize into the Hudson River, taking with her the full weight of the civilization she had been built to represent.
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Zeki Müren and the Carpet as Self-Portrait: The Pasha Who Designed His Own Floor
In the showroom of Hüseyin Kaplan, in the Sultanahmet quarter of Istanbul beneath the minarets of the old city, there are more than five hundred carpets that belong to no classical category. They are not Hereke, not Oushak, not the courtly Ottoman medallion weavings that the connoisseur expects from this geography. They are jewel-toned and abstract, shot through with an abstract confidence, and they bear, some of them, the signed ones, a name woven into the border that any Turk and most serious collectors would recognise instantly. They are the work of Zeki Müren, and they constitute one of the most singular bodies of design the twentieth-century carpet has produced.
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Deventer, KVT and the Dutch Carpet: The Workshop that Wove for Royalty
The Dutch did not look abroad for the floors of their palaces. This is a small fact with large implications. When the courts of Europe sent to Aubusson and Savonnerie for their carpets, when the very word Smyrna on a label conferred the authority of the East, the House of Orange laid beneath its ceremonial rooms a carpet woven in a river town in the eastern Netherlands, at a factory that had, with a confidence bordering on provocation, named its own street after Smyrna itself. Smyrnastraat, in Deventer. The address of the Koninklijke Vereenigde Tapijtfabrieken, and a declaration of standing made in cobblestone.
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Of Royal Culture and Inheritance: The Silk Heriz Triclinium Carpet of 1868, Perhaps the Finest Surviving Example in the World
Our founder and principal Jahanshah Josh Nazmiyal has been in the carpet industry long enough to have learned that the great pieces announce themselves before one has understood what one is looking at. The light catches the silk a particular way. Some quiet, almost biological recognition runs through the room, the way a wine of consequence stills the table before anyone has spoken its vintage. One has the sense of having interrupted a conversation already in progress. The carpet was here first; one is being received by it. The team welcomed this silk Heriz, the way Jahanshah had unrolled perhaps forty thousand carpets across the better part of his life, and we will tell you honestly that we sat down beside it for a long time before any of us said anything. There is a particular gold in the mian farsh; the great central field, that we all have seen perhaps rarely before in a quarter-century of looking. It is the gold of late-October sun on the dome of the Shah Mosque in Isfahan, the gold the Safavid silk weavers of the seventeenth century pursued and very nearly lost, the gold that the Heriz workshops of the 1860s recovered for a brief generation of patrons before the world turned and they were forgotten. To kneel beside it is to be quiet in the presence of something that does not require your understanding to be what it is.
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