Get in touch with usOne of the families who produce flat-woven pieces for Jennifer’s Hamam has a remarkable history. They come from a long line of master weavers, and the eldest son — the current head of the family — has always had a deep interest in unique and creative projects. On what began as a routine visit, Jennifer was sitting with him to plan their next collaboration when the tone suddenly shifted. A call came in: the family patriarch was arriving.
The moment he stepped into the workshop, everything changed. He was 75 years old, long retired — over two decades, in fact — but still widely regarded as one of Türkiye’s most respected weavers. As he entered, the atmosphere turned electric. Everyone in the workshop stood, quiet and still, as though royalty had entered the room. The respect was palpable.
Years before, when the father retired, his sons took over the business. Like many of his generation, the eldest son wanted to modernize. He’d saved money and invested in small factory machines to produce their looped towels. The pestamel side of the workshop, however, was still operating with traditional looms. At their very first meeting, the son had proudly announced his intention to update those as well. Jennifer, without hesitation, told him plainly that if he replaced those looms, they wouldn’t be able to work together.
He was shocked — but it made him pause.
That conversation led him to reconsider. He decided to keep the looms. Today, they’re still in use, still click-clacking out beautifully handwoven pestamel — a decision that quietly shaped the course of Jennifer’s Hamam.
Over the years, that conversation evolved into a running joke between them. “Ah, you’ve come to buy looped towels today?” the son would tease. “Oh!” Jennifer would respond, “You must’ve smashed your factory machines and bought looms!” And they’d laugh before diving into new pestamel ideas.
Back in that workshop, though, with his father now seated in a cleared central space and Jennifer invited to join him, the encounter took on a more meaningful tone. Frail from age, one side of his back hunched, the old master was still full of life. He chain-smoked, drank tea non-stop, and graciously led the conversation — starting with family, as is custom in Türkiye, and slowly turning toward weaving.
Jennifer shared her conviction: the only way to preserve the art of weaving was to create pieces that couldn’t be replicated on machines, using only the highest quality threads. The patriarch turned to his eldest son and exclaimed, “SEE! This is exactly what I always tell you! You must throw away those modern monstrosities and return to the old ways!”
Then things got even more interesting.
He began sending family members out on errands. “My son, go get this! Go get that!” Slowly, they brought out some of the most incredible woven pieces Jennifer had ever seen. The youngest among them was 45 years old; the oldest, around 55. One piece in particular stood out — a double-layered weave with multiple colours running across a single weft. Jennifer was entranced.
He explained how these masterpieces had been created — and then, almost offhandedly, said he would take her to see the looms they were woven on. Jennifer was stunned. She blurted out, “You still have the looms that can do this?”
“Yes, yes,” he said. “The boys put them in storage, but I wouldn’t let them sell them.”
Jennifer’s head was spinning with ideas. By January 2012, under his father’s firm instructions, the eldest son had found a new space dedicated to restoring the old looms. They had been in storage for over 30 years, and bringing them back was no small task. It was every repairman’s nightmare — but Jennifer was thrilled. The father could no longer weave himself, but he remained deeply involved, pushing his sons forward, showing up to the shop to oversee the work and encouraging progress every step of the way.
Every time Jennifer visited, he would say the same thing:
“Don’t you worry, Miss Jennifer. These looms will be running again. I’ll make sure my sons finish the work.”
But in the summer of 2012, devastating news came. The patriarch had passed away.
The family was shattered. Jennifer made a special trip to their village to pay her respects. The funeral was enormous — a testament to the respect and admiration he had earned in his lifetime. In the months that followed, work ground to a halt. Grief weighed heavily over the entire family. Jennifer continued to visit, trying gently to rekindle their spirits, but the eldest son was nowhere to be found.
Eventually, in January of the following year, Jennifer spent a week in the village and insisted on meeting with him. The younger brothers brought her to his home. They spoke for hours — mostly about his father, and what the old looms meant to him, to the family, to the craft. Through tears, he apologized. He said grief had overtaken him, but that he now saw clearly what must be done.
He made a promise.
He would devote himself — fully and completely — to bringing those looms back to life. Not out of duty, but in honour of his father’s legacy.
And he did.
He handed all machine work over to his younger brothers and focused entirely on woven pieces.
In March 2013, a package arrived at Jennifer’s Hamam in Istanbul. Inside was the very first piece produced on the now-restored loom.
Along with it came a message:
“My father was right. We never should have put the looms away. I will never again work on machines.”
Jennifer’s Hamam honours both the son and the father. It’s thanks to dedicated artisans like them that weaving — real, meaningful, soul-filled weaving — lives on. And that beauty, thankfully, is something we all get to carry forward.