Baharak Omidfah rescues discarded elaborate textiles from a village in Baluchistan, Iran, to create a precious bag as a symbol of her journey.
Two years ago, I travelled for the first time to the village of Kahnani-Kesh—a remote, simple, and quiet place, yet full of colour and stories. Amid dusty alleys and the embrace of mountains and wind, what touched me the most were the hands of women who brought life to their clothes with needle and thread, working patiently and lovingly. But then I saw something that shook me: after a period of use, these clothes were burned.
Perhaps for them, burning clothes was a tradition, a way to say goodbye to the past. But for me, watching such intricate beauty turn to ash felt senseless. Many of the embroidered pieces were still intact—or could be restored with a bit of care. In the silence of that village, I quietly asked myself: Why must all this beauty vanish?
At the end of that journey, I asked Mrs Farideh, one of the village’s craftswomen, to save any embroidered fabric scraps from worn-out garments for me. Time passed, and just last month, I finally received a small yet meaningful treasure from her: fragments of memory, color, and the skill of women, each piece holding a quiet story.
I wanted the first creation from these fragments to be simple, yet in that simplicity, I hoped it would speak loudly, to give voice to the rich and deep heritage of Balochistan. I waited for the right moment when everything would fall into place. And that moment finally arrived: a gentle, rainy day at the start of spring.
I brought out my grandmother’s old sewing machine. I sat on a handwoven rug that my parents had made years ago. The air smelled like the past. I placed my hands on the embroidery and began sewing a piece that had once been the pocket of a traditional Balochi women’s garment—something they call a “pandol”. I added a woven strap, a fastening cord, and finally, a wooden button with a tiny mirror at its center—like an eye for dreaming.
Now, my very first fully hand-embroidered bag is complete. I’ve named it Chamak, a Balochi word that means “sparkle” or “shine.” This bag is woven from memories, from the sound of rain and the gaze of my grandmother, from dreams that did not turn to ashes, but instead came to life.
Chamák is not just a bag; it’s the only version of my first step into this journey. It’s part of a living narrative, a thread spun from listening, seeing, and remembering. That’s why I’ve decided to offer it in an auction. A portion of the proceeds will support future travels, educational opportunities for children I meet along the way, and the creation of new works born from these encounters.
If your heart is moved by stories like this, follow along through my stories. Maybe you’ll become part of this journey, too.
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