Soon, they were selling pieces like shyrdaks (the carpets used in yurts) in the city. “Everything was experiments, and mistakes, and learning,” Roza Makashova says. The Makashovas looked to them to learn about traditional Kyrgyz felting patterns, motifs, and techniques. Knowledge of felting was fading fast, but a few older women in their community still remembered the ancient art, knowledge that was passed to them from their mothers before the end of the Soviet era. “If you didn’t have a job, you had to work with what you can do,” Makashova says. It bound them to their heritage and to the rural places they had each grown up. The idea of working with their hands and honoring their history resonated deeply with these women. They began seeking alternatives-like felting. (Even today, Kyrgyz women are barred from hundreds of “dangerous” jobs in professions that range from metalworking to wine making.) Some of the most readily available jobs for women were in textile factories.īut factory work-where conditions were loud, harsh, and difficult-didn’t appeal to Chinara or the other Makashova women. Women faced unique challenges: They were expected to balance domestic responsibilities with a job, but their employment options were severely limited. There was pressure for everyone to earn income under the new capitalist system. Chinara, her aunt Roza Makashova, and her sister-in-law Nazgul Esenbaeva-all young, ambitious, creative-sought sustainable career paths in an uncertain world. Jobs that existed under communism had gone away. The Soviet Union had fallen a few years prior and the economy along with it. When Makashova graduated from university in Bishkek in 1994, the world around her was in upheaval. Crafts, like felting, were at risk of being completely lost in the name of progress. Many of the old ways were slowly forgotten to make way for the new. But under Soviet rule, much of Kyrgyz culture was Russified. The tradition of felting, in particular, was passed from mother to daughter. Nomadic life relied on the oral transfer of knowledge to survive. Long, sturdy wool fibers lend themselves to high-quality felt, Makashova explains. Experiencing the extremes of peak and pasture every season makes their wool thick, strong, and luscious. But in the summers, many shepherds still drive their flocks from the Tian Shan’s valleys to high altitudes, where their fleece grows densely to protect them from the cold. Most modern Kyrgyz shepherds are no longer nomadic. For 75 years, Kyrgyzstan struggled to maintain a separate national identity within the Soviet Union’s Byzantine system of republics and states, and it remained a part of the former superpower until its collapse in 1992. ![]() In 1876, it was annexed into the Russian Empire and served as a remote colonial outpost until the founding of the USSR in 1917. About the size of Nebraska, the nation has long been coveted for its vast natural resources and abundant farmland-as a result, it’s seen its fair share of conquerors over the centuries from Ottoman Turks to Mongol hordes to Qing Dynasty imperialists. Home to nearly 7 million people, Kyrgyzstan is a swath of green in the heart of arid Central Asia. Vendors sell shoro-a fermented barley and milk drink-out of blue coolers at little kiosks on almost every street corner. In the downtown district around the restaurant, soldiers in uniform stand on street corners next to young women in hijabs and older women in babushkas. Rather, Bishkek is characterized by cool, tree-lined boulevards, the scraggly rose bushes of its public parks, Soviet-era plazas, and imposing brutalist architecture. Here, there are no ancient stone buildings or cobblestone streets or tourist-swarmed historic districts. We’re in the capital city of Kyrgyzstan, Bishkek, near the Kazakhstan border. On the table are beets, borscht, all manner of fried bread, and no shortage of meat. ![]() One depicts buzkashi, a Central Asian sport similar to polo, that involves men on horseback chasing after the headless corpse of a goat in place of a ball. ![]() On the walls around us are large, framed, felted artworks. We’re here to eat, but we’re also here to talk about the country’s storied history, which is intricately intertwined with shepherds, sheep, wool, and mutton. On a slightly overcast day, felt artisan Chinara Makashova and I sit together in Restoran Pishpek, a bistro built to resemble a 19th-century fortress.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. ArchivesCategories |