After the fire, a rose

Last week, after sending the newspaper off to the printer, I checked into social media. The first post I saw was a list of mutual aid resources to help those affected by the devastating wildfires in Los Angeles. Among the dozen or so shelters was St. Sarkis Armenian Church in Pasadena. 

I’ve been in that church only once — for my aunt Vartuhi (“Rose”)’s funeral. At the cemetery, instead of dirt, we each took turns throwing a rose onto horqur’s casket before it lowered — into the ground, to become food.

Growing up, my sister and I spent our school breaks alternating between mom’s family, in Yerevan, and dad’s, in L.A. Every other summer, we’d be at horqur’s house in Pasadena.

Shortly after Vartuhi’s passing, my grandmother came to live with us. Her name was Hranush, meaning “sweet fire.” When I was born, as is custom, my parents offered to name me after her. “No, give the child a fresh start and pick a new name,” Hranush said. So, she named me after a flower — just as she did her daughter. 

A wildfire rose. (Photo: flickr, Photography by Lexi)

I haven’t been to Pasadena since the funeral. But last week, Vartuhi’s son sent a video of their neighborhood — one home after another, engulfed in flames. The home I spent all those summers in is now sheltering loved ones who lost theirs. After all, a rose can grow after fire.

L.A is burning. Earlier, we reported on the devastation to the Armenian community. Sahag-Mesrob Armenian Christian School in Altadena is gone. Many loved ones have lost their homes and livelihoods — tragically, some, their lives. From Artsakh to Lebanon, Syria to Jerusalem, our communities have spent the last few “new” years putting out fires, only to be dealt new flames. 

January 9 would have been Sergei Parajanov’s 101st birthday. I awoke with a line from his chef d’oeuvre, The Color of Pomegranates, in my mind: “You are fire, dressed in fire. Which of these fires shall I withstand?” The lines are from the great bard Sayat Nova’s tune, Tamam Ashkharh: “The whole world I traveled and did not find another like you.” 

Watching the camera flit from one burning structure to another, I asked, “Which fire shall we withstand?” 

Sanctuaries have been set aflame, like the walls of Sahag-Mesrob — or Zorthian Ranch, another Altadena staple. “Z ranch” was founded over 70 years ago by Jirayr Zorthian, a genocide survivor. Like me, Zorthian was 5’2 and once called Connecticut home. But that’s probably where the similarities end.

In 1923, a pre-teen Zorthian and his family fled their native Kütahya (also the birthplace of Komitas) to settle in a “new” haven, just a short drive from my home. From the records, the family arrived by boat on the 1st of August; three months later, Atatürk declared the Turkish Republic. Decades later, Zorthian would share in an interview why they could not go back.

“My father…he was a writer,” he explained. “[My father] was involved in a plot to overthrow the Turkish government. He was going to be executed — he escaped — that’s an entirely different story.”

“When we arrived in New Haven, my father said, ‘What an incredibly wealthy, abundant country. How rich, how wonderful. But alas,’ he said, ‘how much they waste.’” 

So, the son turned waste into life. Moving to California with his wife in the 1950s, they purchased a “ranch” that would soon become an artists’ haven, a community center and a natural respite from city life —  in short, a sanctuary. 

The roughly 45 acres of mountains, valleys, forests and sculptures have hosted the likes of Bob Dylan and Andy Warhol. From its early days of star-filled bacchanalian parties to a children’s summer camp to a stunning junkyard, its current form is more artist-run farm — that is, until last week. 

Now, a multi-generational family’s labor of love and creative haven is up in smoke. “We are devastated to report a loss of our entire archive,” his granddaughter, Caroline, told the Weekly

Thousands of sketches and paintings from throughout Jirayr’s life, photos, films, deep historical records, books, his late wife Dabney Zorthian’s writings, boxes of letters, family portraits and even his infamous shipwreck painting that was featured in Life Magazine — “all burned in the cellar,” said Caroline.

Devastation at Zorthian Ranch. (Photo: Zorthian Ranch)

After Jirayr’s death on Armenian Christmas, January 6, 2004, his son Alan took over the space with his sister Alice, later joined by Alan’s daughter Caroline. In a 2014 interview, Alan stated, now ominously, “the wind gets very strong here.” 

But he also said that “the work is never done.” Arshile Gorky, another genocide survivor-artist who ended up in Connecticut, said the same thing about his craft: “I never finish a painting. I just stop working on it for awhile.”

There is a permanence to destruction that seems insurmountable.

But the nature of creation is one of boundless un-ending.

In the words of Gorky, “I believe in everlastingness.” 

Zorthian, Gorky, Komitas, Parajanov and Sayat Nova — all converge in this poetic kaleidoscope of art, exile, destruction and re-creation. The first three were genocide survivors. The last two also met a tragic end — with Parajanov’s poor health, spurred on by unjust imprisonment, and Sayat Nova’s martyrdom for refusing to renounce his faith. All were multilingual, multidisciplinary and diasporan (or became diasporan, in the modern sense). And each man found extraordinary beauty in the most ordinary of places. 

“Much of the artwork and legacy and historical archives being lost is the rejection of recognizing artists existing outside of the academic/gallery system,” Caroline said. “Jirayr always resisted that.”

Last week marked the 21st anniversary of Jirayr’s death. “It took a long time to figure out what the ranch could be without [him],” explained Caroline. “Inheriting a million dollars in debt, having no official infrastructure in place whatsoever and running on the fumes of legacy… It was the efforts of family and love that made the ranch what it was.” 

Just days later, the celebration of a rich memory would turn to smoke. But hands replant and hands rebuild. Zorthian Ranch, like much of the Angeleno community, is now fundraising and looking forward. 

“Everyday, we are finding solutions through our environment (sometimes brutally) and each other. We will rebuild together,” the team posted on social media. And like our communities in Lebanon and Syria and elsewhere across this burning globe, this one too shall rise, as Caroline told us, “like a Phoenix from the ashes.”

After every fire, a rose will grow.

Both Sahag-Mesrob School and Zorthian Ranch have set up GoFundMe fundraisers. To donate, please visit Sahag-Mesrob Armenian Christian School or Zorthian Ranch.

Lilly Torosyan

Lilly Torosyan

Editor
Lilly Torosyan is editor of the Armenian Weekly and a member of the Armenian Nutmegger community. (That’s Connecticut nutmegs by way of Sasun walnuts). Her writing focuses on the confluence of identity, cultural continuity and language – especially within the global Armenian communities. She previously served as the assistant project manager at h-pem, an Armenian cultural platform launched by the Hamazkayin Central Executive Board, and a freelance writer in Armenia.
Lilly Torosyan

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3 Comments

  1. Your words touch our very soul. Our communal history has been one of great achievement, created by love, necessity, and ingenuity. You expressed the anguish…with the eternal hope and resilience of the Armenian spirit. Thank you for your thoughtful expression.
    My son lived in Alta Dena and has returned to volunteer there. Zorthian Farm and the school will benefit from your eloquence. We pray for them all…

  2. Dear Lilly Torosyan,
    Welcome to the family of Armenian Weekly. Zorthian ranch was on my mind from the moment I heard about the fire in Altadena. The fire was a sad reality. However we can rejoice in the history of the ranch. Thanks for bringing to our attention about Zorthian and his ranch. Kudos to you…

  3. Dear Lilly Torosyan, Thank you for this touching and empowering story on Z ranch. My heart goes out to Alan and Alice and children… As a native Altadenean, living close to the foothills, attending school with Jirayr’s kids, Z ranch was somehow in everyone’s orbit. The physical archive may be gone, but the intangible heritage and oral histories surrounding the ranch will live on. <3

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