BY DESIGN : Stitches in Time : Through Her Elaborate, Intricate Works, Lily Vorperian Keeps Alive a Centuries-Old Art Form

To say Lily Vorperian does embroidery is a bit like calling Coco Chanel a dressmaker.

Vorperian is “a master of her craft, an artist of national, perhaps international stature,” says folklorist Susan Auerbach, who has followed the artist since Vorperian took part in the L.A. Folk Arts program in 1986.

Last year, Vorperian, a 75-year-old Armenian immigrant who lives in Glendale, won a National Heritage Fellowship from the National Endowment for the Arts. The prestigious award acknowledges that Vorperian does far more than work with needle and thread. Not content to use traditional patterns established over the centuries, Vorperian designs intricate, colorful new ones that unfurl as 10-foot-long wall hangings, pillows and tablecloths.

“All night I think of the colors, the shapes. Then in the morning I create,” Vorperian says. “I want to tell the world through my work that the Armenian people are very much alive, and we are creating in velvet, in silver and gold.”

In another era, another country, Vorperian might have become a famous artist or fashion designer. But she was born in Aleppo, Syria, one year after the end of World War I, when a woman was expected to marry and stay home. Later, her family fled to Lebanon, only to encounter civil war and flee again, this time to America.

Through this upheaval, Vorperian clung to her embroidery, which she had learned as a 10-year-old from refugee women in Marash, Turkey, the town from which the type of embroidery Vorperian practices takes its name.

At a time in life when most people are slowing down, Vorperian is usually up at 5 a.m. and works seven to eight hours a day; some pieces take six months to complete.

Vorperian says few people today have the time and talent for Marash embroidery. Even her daughter, Rita, says she knows the simpler patterns but lacks the time to do the work.

“It’s so difficult, this embroidery, that the young, they don’t come, they don’t learn this,” Vorperian says. “And machines, they can do many stitches, but not Marash. It’s too difficult.”

But Vorperian is gratified by the public notice, and says the art will not be lost because there are Armenian women in Lebanon who are learning it.

“The stitch will not be lost,” she says. “I’m willing to teach, but I don’t see young people willing to learn. Even if they start they’ll be discouraged.”

Auerbach says Vorperian’s workmanship brings embroidery “to a new aesthetic level. . . . While most women rely on ready-made patterns or repeat a few simple designs, Lily creates her own work.”

Each piece tells a story. One features the entire 38 letters of the Armenian alphabet. Another cites lines from classic Armenian poetry. There are snowflakes and abstract flowers, Eastern Orthodox crosses and geometric shapes.

Vorperian often boasts of the neatness of her work. Despite the intricate designs, the thread barely surfaces on the reverse side.

The basis of each design is interconnected herringbone stitches, under and over which the thread may be woven up to eight times. Clusters of squares or crosses become the building blocks for elaborate patterns. The effect is slightly raised and intricate, reminiscent of traditional Armenian wood carving, stonework or jewelry engraving.

But despite being offered tens of thousands of dollars for a piece, Vorperian’s art is not for sale. She loans pieces to museums and for cultural exhibits, but saves the rest; she has about 100, which are zealously treasured heirlooms.

Says Vorperian: “They stay in the family.”