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Could you let go of the threads?

There's still a few in the frame.

I think it looks nice.

Want to try it without?

Okay, it looks great.

It's perfect.

You can release the threads.

This one?

Yes, a bit of that red.

Isn’t this orange?

-No. -Here.

Zahra, don’t use that one here, love!

This one, then?

This red.

The deep red.

Yes, the deep red.

That is the faded red and this is the deep red.

Got it.

Pass the pink one over this way.

Here.

Sometimes when a square’s done,

–you realize the colours don’t look right. –It'll be fine.

Pass the deep yellow.

–Deep yellow... –Thread it through here.

–This one? –Yes, the deep yellow.

You’ve become such a perfectionist!

Well, one must be when weaving alone.

So finish it on your own.

My back already hurts.

Then don’t weave so much.

What am I going to do with you... Is this it? This red?

That's it.

Let me have some too.

Don’t tell me later I used the wrong one!

Which one did you use last time?

Which one?

Red.

I did what?

This knot.

No way!

–You used the wrong one. –I don’t know.

I'll weave it over.

How many reds can you possibly have?

–Three or four. –Oof!

I have four red, five or six pink.

You’ve made it so complicated!

It’ll be more beautiful this way.

Everything in life fits into a larger order.

It has its own harmonious place.

If you don’t respect this,

you fall off your path and won't realize your potential,

or you’ll be completely done for.

I have truly felt this in carpet-weaving.

Pass me the beater.

It's next to you.

While we’re busy here, let’s not forget about the food.

Kazemi!

Yes?

The rice might burn!

–Could you take a quick look? –Would you be so kind?

See how it’s turning out.

Taste a little bit! Wait, no—don’t mess it up.

Don’t go and eat it all!

When we know a child will be born,

we cut a finished carpet.

It’s our tradition.

–We trim the fringe, and roll it out in the courtyard. –Kooji. We call it Kooji.

It’s called Kooji.

We don’t announce we’ve put it there.

If a boy rings the doorbell,

the baby will be a boy.

And it’s actually come true so far!

If a woman rings, the baby will be a girl.

In philosophy, colour is an 'accident'.

It doesn’t exist until an encounter.

That is, unless you implement it onto an independent entity.

Only then does it manifest itself.

For example, unless you apply colour on a wall,

it cannot be perceived.

This is the definition of 'accident'.

Many argue whether 'accident' or 'essence' is primary.

All those arguments have their place.

The point is this very colour,

until the moment it’s applied on this thing we call wool,

doesn't find meaning.

The more you walk on these carpets,

the bolder their colours become.

Because their yarn is made of wool.

Sheep's wool.

So refreshing is the spring water So bracing is the peak’s source

Where the beloved drinks—

Where the beloved sways and sways—

And sways...!

That’s a poem about Sabzeh-Kooh!

Hey, sing them a few of those songs,

the ones you already sang.

Sing the one for our hunter, Mirza Agha.

Or one about our green mountain, Sabzeh-Kooh.

—Mirza Agha’s a good one. —Sing about Mirza Agha.

Mirza Agha’s dying—

If you’re gonna sing now, that’s a good one.

He’s been dead twenty years now, since he got addicted.

Sing.

Mirza Agha! With your American rifle

Its barrel shiny like a snake’s throat

You've run your prey to the ground, everyone gather round!

Mirza Agha! With your American rifle

Its barrel shiny like a snake’s throat

Hand it down to your son Kiomarss, to remember you by!

On the ibexes' mountain is the Leopard's lair, the Leopard's lair

Save us, O Mother!

Mirza Agha like a lion rules the forest.

Mirza Agha says I know my pain

But not the remedy, not the remedy

My incurable pain, he said

Save us, O Mother!

Blazes a fire in my soul.

Sabzeh Kooh is green and lush

And the air is sweet

But where is Mirza Agha?

Save us, O Mother!

Why doesn’t he come sit with us?

Once in Sabzeh Kooh, an ibex moved its antlers

Mirza Agha showed it no mercy

Save us, O Mother!

He sent it flying against the rocks.

The peaks of Gineh-Shah are covered in snow, covered in snow

The pines of Abolzaar are washed by rain

Now the ibexes dance, fearless!

Save us, O Mother!

For our tribe has lost its hunter.

Thank you.

Not a sip of tea, not a cube of sugar!

How can I drink when that thin-waisted girl’s scarf has come undone?

–Sing another one! –Again, again!

Ali Mohammad knows lots of poems.

Ali Mohammad is a poet himself!

Don’t pour me tea Don’t break me off any sugar

I’m not here to sit down.

Send everyone away, my charming companion!

–Oh, my... –Oh, my!

Watch his ears!

Wait, wait!

Just wait a second!

Get off! I want to get on.

Go get a stick.

I'm gonna go there, and charge back at you!

Do it backwards!

I’ll go and race back, let’s go!

Abbas, Come on!

Abol’s gone off somewhere.

Next thing you know, he's dead...!

A moonlit night.

The sheep sleep here at night so they don’t catch cold.

Yes.

Their own breath keeps them warm.

On cold nights we put them in here so they don’t get chilly.

Once we load up here,

we head down to warm plains for three months, with God’s help.

Three months in the mountains, three months in the plains.

It’s what we do. We migrate.

It’s warmer here, right?

Come on over.

Come sit down!

Come, you'll get cold.

This cold weather seriously endangers us.

Those who set off on foot are already there.

When thunder and lightning strike,

with strong winds and pouring rain,

that’s when it’s really hard.

There’s no respite for nomads—

neither in Iran, nor abroad.

Always suffering in the wilderness, at the whim of nature.

The cold that you yourselves are experiencing,

and the heat! It’s catastrophic.

Really, it’s hard.

Nomadic life is challenging.

Just getting by is difficult.

Bring the heat a little closer, so you don’t get cold.

Come on, go ahead.

There’s supper here.

–I mean it. have some! –No thanks, Uncle, you’re very kind.

It's nothing complicated.

No really, it’s fine, thanks.

If we want to come by Karoon-4,

the road for the cars passes over the dam, right?

No, that’s Karoon-2.

From down there, it forks into two roads.

Before, the road to Shahr-e-Kurd ran along the river, remember?

Did they build a bridge over Karoon-4?

A suspension bridge for cars?

Yes.

So that road also leads to Balut-Boland?

If you take Helisaad Boulevard, there’s a bridge at the end.

I mean, can...

—No, no! —Nomads can’t go that way, only cars.

Abdullah! Why are you saying that cars can pass?

No.

I mean next to the river.

You mean along the riverbank?

No, I mean by the dam.

No, you can't take the herd through there.

What about the road through the tunnel?

That road goes to Lordegan.

No, it passes through Do-Polaan.

Via the old road.

–There is a way through. –Yes, from right around here.

Yes, but it doesn’t cross Balut-Boland.

No, not from this side.

From right over here, Haji, you follow the boulevard...

Are you talking about the dam?

You know where the Helissad Boulevard is?

They built a bridge over it, just for cars.

Nomads can't cross.

It’s only for cars. The tunnel’s too narrow, anyway.

But after the tunnel...

–Exactly! Their path merges with ours. –Yes. The road becomes one.

So how many birds, do you think?

I don't know—

at least 70 or 80.

We don’t count them.

There are always more coming.

They say that long ago, at the time of migration,

they would go to Sabzeh-Kooh mountain.

There was a woman,

who had just gotten married.

She came to the mountain here, behind the Valley of Love.

Her husband was in the fields, planting rice.

Sabzeh-Kooh is right behind this mountain.

She heard the voice of her husband from the valley.

Then...

She threw herself down into the valley.

That’s why we call it the Valley of Love.

She had so much love for her husband,

that she jumped off the mountain!

–It's a true story. –It’s true!

It's true.

It was long before our time,

but our elders told us about it.

There used to be epic love.

There used to be epic people.

There used to be epic men.

Where are they now? They're gone!

It's over...

Show how much we have picked!

This part of our hands, it gets swollen.

By nightfall, we can’t fold them like this.

It hurts too much.

Well, it's pomegranates

of course it’s painstaking and hard.

Bakhtiaris are brave people. They’re hardworking.

Well, every work has its own difficulties, sister.

Plucking them and seeding them, too.

A Bakhtiari woman always has her hands full.

There’s always something to do.

People, no matter who they are,

in the city or in the country,

have to work hard.

And for us, being Bakhtiari,

we always have work ahead of us.

Come have some tea!

Let me bring this up first.

I'm going up.

They’re a lot of work.

Days are okay, but at night it’s a headache.

It gets too cold to seed them.

You start from the other side.

A friend came here and said,

“You make miracles!"

“First you make it yellow, then it turns green, then blue!”

I said, that's colour, it's the ingredients we add.

Like hydrosulfite of soda.

Soda looks like crystal flakes.

It looks just like candy!

Natural dye is activated by water.

Without water...

Without water... it won't work.

it won't work.

Now this yellow,

this yellow has to soak for two hours

to turn a bit more golden, take on a red hue.

More and more, my kids say

“You’re not earning enough.”

I say come on, in the end, it’s not about what I earn.

I’ve been doing this work for 40 years.

They say, “Well, okay, but you need to pay our bills."

"Why are you so attached to this?"

Sometimes they say to give it up.

I say, no way, I’m not quitting.

This has been my job for a lifetime.

Leave it and do what?

This is my profession, my vocation.

My craft! Go and do what?

The carpet you're sitting on, the colours are all mine.

It's all handmade, the wool, the dye.

You can't compare it to machine-made.

They’re not convinced.

They’re kids—whatever you say,

they always have an answer, eh?

You can’t convince them.

Maybe a few... I don’t think many will enter this profession.

They don't think like us anymore, young people these days.

They won’t accept this type of work.

They say it’s too much of a headache.

I tell you, I brought them here for a few days.

The things they saw—

Say, washing, arranging the skeins— whew!

It drove them crazy.

They said no way they’re coming back!

I said come and help, but they refused.

What if one day you want to get a rug made,

at least you can dye the colours yourself.

I said at least learn dyeing...

for your future.

When a colour has shading, we call it abrash.

Abrash green has both yellow and green undertones.

Shirazi dyers brought abrash into the bazaar.

This technique of varying the tone.

Handspun yarn won't hang as straight... whatever you do.

The straight ones are machine-made.

Handspun is more delicate.

The fibres are very fine.

If you’re not passionate, the work is tedious.

Even just hanging it.

Skein by skein, pulling each one out.

Shaking it, and hanging them all up.

And dyeing them is even worse!

Without passion, any work is like that.

Machine-made yarn is no good for rugs.

But now business owners want machine-made,

because people don’t buy handmade anymore.

Okay, so this is done.

We have a request for the Supreme Leader:

to boost the carpet market.

To shake it up a little.

The market is unstable.

The carpet market is catastrophic.

It's never been like this.

It’s unprecedented.

Taking stock of it all, the dye, all this, in a way

has become part of my life.

I can't let it go.

Can a person...

Can a person throw away a limb?

It’s the same thing for me.

It’s like cutting off a limb from your own body and throwing it away!

This work is a part of me.

It's part of my existence. I can't.

In the end, the money...

This craft is what matters.

It’s a shame if this trade disappears.

If it does, traditional practices will die out.

This is the final pattern.

I’m here now.

I’ll keep going until it’s done.

Once I reach here, it’s done.

Then I just have to do the border

to finish.

These two go together.

Together?

Yes, just like this, watch...

And these, the same way.

One over, one under.

For me, I can’t read

so I lose focus.

I count every 100, or 120 lines.

Each time I put a mark like this,

so I don’t lose track.

Here's the pattern...

That's the 3rd?

No, the 4th.

The 5th.

The 6th.

The 7th.

The 8th.

9th—

And this makes 10.

The dust is difficult to deal with.

If we just go in like this,

they won’t even give us insurance—

The Ministry of Agriculture, Jahaad.

It would be good if we had insurance.

Doctors are expensive.

It’d be better if we had insurance.

I wanted to sell, but the prices had dropped.

They said if you want to sell, it’s 2 000 000 ($600)—

it’s too low, don’t sell.

This yarn, just the yarn for this carpet,

I got it for 1 500 000 ($450).

That's what it cost me.

Work this much for 500 000 ($150)?

Forget it!

Yeah...

But I have to sell.

This is my job.

And she has to work on it for two years to finish.

To earn just a little bit...

I do this because I have to.

Now we comb it.

To make it nice and straight, like this.

At the end of the row?

You do it when a row’s done?

Yes.

When we’re ready to cut, we do this first.

To straighten the rows, make them even.

This is called the song of Sholeil.

It’s a...

a love song.

Not sure how to explain it, how to interpret it.

When it’s about love, it speaks for itself.

You have to understand its language.