The Pirayú Artisan Teaching Ñandutí to a New Generation—and Pushing the Craft to Its Limits

From a Mother’s Lap to a Lifelong Mission

At just seven years old, Norma Martínez sat beside her mother, Julia Valdez de Martínez, and began learning the intricate stitches of ñandutí. That early lesson, given without a textbook in the company of Tuyukua, Pirayú, set her on a path she never left. Today, at an age she wears lightly, Norma is one of the foremost teachers of this traditional Paraguayan lace-making technique, and a restless innovator who refuses to let the art become a museum piece.

Growing up in a home where crafts were seen as a livelihood, Norma and her sister were taught ñandutí while their brothers learned farming. Her mother sold pieces to support the family, but Norma quickly displayed a habit that would define her: she changed the designs. “If we had a large order that required a strict pattern, I would alter the stitches and create new motifs,” she recalls. “Mum would get upset, but she took my pieces anyway, and the clients always liked them.”

That impulse to experiment never faded. By the time she was 17, she was already teaching others, invited by a cooperative to share her skills in Caapucú. Over decades, she transformed her teaching method from pure observation to a system grounded in counting threads, measuring centimeters, and sketching patterns with pencil and notebook—an approach refined through her work with Japanese instructors who encouraged a more analytical, precise craft. The result is a body of work that stretches beyond traditional doilies into sculptures, shields, and even a feathered shawl woven “in reverse.”

Where Tradition Meets the Geometry of Thread

The Math Beneath the Lace

One of Norma Martínez’s central insights is that ñandutí, despite its delicate appearance, is entirely mathematical. Early in her teaching career, she noticed that counting the warp threads, dividing them evenly, and making every stitch identical produced perfectly symmetrical patterns. She began documenting this with pencils, rulers, and notebooks—a stark departure from the oral, eye-based tradition her mother used. “When I learned this, my way of teaching changed entirely,” she says.

That shift matters for the craft’s survival. As an art form historically passed down within families, ñandutí faces the risk of thinning knowledge chains. By formalizing the basic principles into teachable steps—including a book-tutorial titled “Tejiendo un legado”—Norma is making the craft replicable by anyone, not only by those who grew up inside the community. Her book, born from a conversation with visual artist Claudia Casarino, translates twenty years of handwritten class notes into a public resource.

The Drive to Create What Hasn’t Been Seen

Norma’s portfolio includes works that pushed the limits of the technique. She wove coats of arms for Vatican-related commissions, requiring extreme precision to translate small, low-quality photographs into textile form. Another breakthrough came when she entered a competition with a radically unconventional piece: a shawl worked “in reverse,” where the stitches were left loose and then uncovered to resemble exposed feathers. She began the project with only ten days remaining, scrapping a previous design she disliked, and worked day and night until it was finished. The piece won second prize, vindicating her belief that experimentation is not a betrayal of tradition but its engine.

This balance—between inheritance and reinvention—is what she is now passing on. She openly shares her “recipes” and refuses to guard secrets. “I never keep any secret,” she says. “I try to give everything because that is the legacy I want to leave to this country.”

How to Start Weaving Ñandutí, According to the Maestra

For anyone wanting to try ñandutí, Norma Martínez offers two practical starting points drawn from her decades of teaching:

• Begin with the “pensamiento” stitch. This foundational point, named after a four-petaled field flower, is the first she teaches to all new students. It establishes the rhythm of counting threads and maintaining even tension.
• Use two-ply cotton thread on a recycled or basic fabric base. She recommends locally available cotton from Paraguayan or Brazilian mills, stretched over an “ojito” (the small circled frame called ñandutí resa). From there, you can build motifs inspired by flora, fauna, and your own ideas—and, as Norma does, give them new names when you invent a design that pleases you.
• Master the structure before seeking the hardest stitch. The most difficult point, arasape (named after the guava plant), requires a solid grasp of the underlying thread geometry. Norma advises patience: learn to count and divide threads precisely first, and the complex patterns will follow.