Ikats are produced all over the world, and the term has become a generic description of the resist-dye technique that these textiles all have in common. The word, ikat (pronounced EE-kät) is derived from the Malay-Indonesian verb mengikat, which means to bind, tie, or wind around. Indeed, to create a woven ikat textile, an artisan binds the warp yarns and successively dyes them in different colors to make patterns. When the warp yarns are threaded onto the loom, the designs are woven directly into the fabric. The effect produced is soft, with motifs that have slightly blurred edges. There’s something captivating about these textiles, which so clearly show the hand of the makers.

Ikat designs—largely those from Central Asia—have become part of popular culture. They’ve been widely copied in the world of home goods and decorator fabrics, and it’s not hard to find ikat patterns on plates, mugs, lampshades, draperies, and more. Ralph Lauren and Oscar de la Renta were early fans of ikat fabrics, the latter using them in nearly every collection.

I first saw those designs, developed and widely produced in Central Asia from the beginning of the 19th century, in Kabul.

It started with rugs . . .

I worked in Afghanistan for a time in the 1970s, when it was a kingdom and a peaceful part of the world. I was familiar with Oriental rugs, having grown up with them. In fact, at one point, when I moved to London, I insisted on taking a room-sized Turkoman rug with me. It was, in a way, my large version of a security blanket. It literally grounded me. While I had a vague idea where it was from, I didn’t know much more than that. I just knew that it spoke to me strongly: I…