There is a particular calm found only in a garden raked clean that morning, gravel drawn into wide, fanning arcs before the first footstep arrives to disturb them. Here, that same calm spreads across an ivory ground: ridges of carved wool curve and overlap, tracing slow circles that meet at odd angles, the way paths converge without quite aligning. Hand-tufted by the weavers of Jodhpur, the wool is carved rather than dyed into its pattern, so each arc reads by shadow as much as by colour. Set beneath two simple oak chairs, its sweep holds a room together without dictating where to sit. Beneath a Georgian cornice, or against the bare height of a concrete ceiling, the arcs hold their own settled rhythm either way. In a Mayfair drawing room, midday light following each curve in turn, the floor keeps the hush of a garden raked at dawn.
