In the middle of the desert in Iran, there is an ancient city called Yazd. It's history dates back over 3,000 years, and the age shows in the beautiful architecture and mosaics. I have heard more stories about this city than I can count. Grandma's recollection of it is bitter and dry, and Grandpa talks about it like a love he lost many years ago. I like his stories best, because he has a place in his heart for Yazd like I do Oklahoma. Their families lived there for generations, and neither of them can recollect any part of our family coming from a different part of Iran. In their 50's they came here, following my parents, and left their home behind.
Angela recently visited Morocco, and after seeing her pictures I told her I would have to dig into my hundreds of photos I have saved to show her some of my favorite spaces with Middle Eastern influence.
Growing up, our home always looked like Yazd.
Layered Persian rugs, tapestries, intricate plates hung on walls, and lots of color. Even our meals that we share together as a family every Saturday are a reflection of home, and the culture we still enjoy from it. I always appreciated my parents incorporating these little bits of who we are into our every day life. It shaped and changed my senses to love anything that reminded me of Yazd, too.
Here are a few of my favorites that I have saved over the years. I apologize in advance that I never have sources for anything. Some of these photos are so old that I can't even remember where I got them from. I have owed Angela these for months, and I thought I would share with anyone else that is interested in a little ethnic inspiration.
Oh, my heart melts to the tune of a jewel-toned rug, layered pillows, and lanterns.
So it came as no surprise than when it was time to feather my own nest, I would find ways to pull bits and pieces of our culture into my every day.
Even my little spot at the last Arts Market is a piece of home.
Over the years I have found inspiration in so many different places, but none of them can compare to what runs through my blood, reminding me that Yazd holds a big piece of my heart, as well.