How a Little Toile Can Make You Happy
I love it when friends confess their latest obsession to me. How some little discovery caught their eye and soon, they found themselves like Alice in Wonderland, spiraling down a rabbit hole of curiosity and pleasure or desire that feels slightly out of control. Definitely addictive. I’m sharing one my newest: toile. Embroidered toile to be specific.
It was sometime in 2022 when one of Carolyn Handler’s toile scenes dropped into my Facebook feed. Bam! I felt a rush of pure delight. Carolyn is an old friend from my long-ago Barnard days. By day, she’s an attorney; by night, she happily stitches fun little narratives in toile, adding some color and movement there, magnifying small moments of life between characters. She’s new to toile, having taken an embroidery class from visual artist Richard Saja, her mentor, earlier in 2022.
I took to toile like a fish in water, she tells me happily. Toile gives me the same charge as a red car. If I see a sports car, I get the same leap of heart that I get looking at toile — it’s a very exciting thing.
A little toile history, then. The word means fabric in French and is usually made of cotton, canvas, muslin or fabric blends sold by the yard and printed with floral or pastoral scenes. Toile originated in Ireland, but the French elevated toile to a royal art. It served as a cheap first draft brouillon, or rough sketch, for seamstresses fitting clothes.
Today’s artists have reclaimed toile. I like Harlem Toile, by artist-entrepreneur Sheila Bridges. Think Bridgerton: A bit of Regency-era historic redress. There’s great queer toile out there, too.
Toile, I think. A love story for the ages.
For more writing by Anne-christine d’Adesky on queer activism, romance, and creativity — as well as toile — check out her Substack, Tell Me Everything.
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