By Tori Marlan
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Connet’s clients–collectors, dealers, museums, and owners of heirlooms–bring him their worn and torn treasures by appointment only. He cleans off the decades or centuries of corrosive grime and then either restores or conserves them. “With restoration,” he explains, “you rework something the way it was originally done–you reweave a tapestry, reknot a carpet, replace a section of quilt. With conservation, you try not to alter the original piece at all. You support and protect it so it doesn’t deteriorate further.” In either case, he says, “I’m taking great old things and helping them be around a bit longer.”
Connet reserves his greatest appreciation for pieces that were made by ancient cultures. “They used simple tools but had an incredible sense of aesthetics and an incredible sense of craftsmanship that is lost today.” He spreads the Inca poncho over a piece of cloth on the floor and sits down next to it. The garment consists of 66 small squares, each containing a unique, finely woven geometric design. “I see mind-numbing fineness,” he says. “Blinding.”
That won’t happen with the Inca poncho, because he’s already figured out what to do with it. It’s too fragile and historically important to reweave, so he’ll realign the warps and wefts, returning the garment to its original shape. Then he’ll “visually fill in” the holes by tucking behind them patches of fabric he dyes to match. Finally he’ll stitch the garment to a stretcher, using a thread of organza silk as fine as a hair. When he’s finished, he says, “your eyes won’t zoom right to the flaws.”
He folds the kilim and puts it back on a shelf in the “ripped pile,” where it’s been for five years. He laughs and says he has so much work he might never get around to restoring it.
