Rue Blanche Portrait

TOUFAN HOSSEINY

When we visit Toufan Hosseiny in her Brussels home, the morning is still unfolding. She lives here with her partner Virgile and their two-year-old daughter, Amytis, who is at daycare. Listening to Toufan, a certain order appears: early mornings, cooking, mending, slow hand work. The sound of cotton simmering in a pot with avocado peel runs through our conversation.

 

Their house in Ixelles, tucked just off the vibrant Fernand Cocq square, is part family home, part working space. Upstairs, that mix becomes visible. Home-dyed fabrics in soft tones are stacked on an ironing board. Pastel quilts with mask-like faces adorn the walls. In Toufan’s mending, scars are not hidden; they stay visible and become part of something new.

 

Over coffees and teas, we move from art and identity to the smaller things: clothes, kitchen rituals, and a child’s fascination with frozen bananas.

 

When we visit Toufan Hosseiny in her Brussels home, the morning is unfolding. She lives here with her partner Virgile and their two-year-old daughter, Amytis. Listening to her, a rhythm appears: early mornings, cooking, mending, slow handwork. Cotton simmers in a pot with avocado peel as we speak.

Their house in Ixelles, just off Fernand Cocq square, is part family home, part studio. Upstairs, that mix shows itself. Home-dyed fabrics in soft tones rest on an ironing board. Pastel quilts with mask-like faces hang on the walls. In her mending, scars stay visible, becoming part of something new.

Over coffees and teas, our conversation moves from art and identity to small domestic rituals: clothes, cooking, and a child’s fascination with frozen bananas.

 

Photography by Cécile Hanquet

Interview by Merel Daemen
 

 

 

What does home mean to you? 

Virgile and I both work from home, we needed a place where we could balance both family and work life without either one taking over. We moved here in June 2024, almost nine months after Amytis was born. The setting is perfect for us, as each room is on its own floor and has its own sense of intimacy once the door is closed. It feels like a house without being one, with a garden to escape the urbanity of our neighbourhood. We have a room dedicated to work. Virgile works as a graphic designer, so he will spend most of his time in there. For me, home and work intertwine. I can’t stay still. My days are shaped around daily tasks, generating new work, sewing, dyeing fabric, mending, meal-prepping, each feeding into the next.

When our daughter was born, we lived in an open-plan apartment and everything folded into everything else. It was well suited for a couple but as a family it didn’t work. It is remarkable how the shape of a space can shift your days and make life feel entirely different. 

So for you, having a home studio works well? 

It does. I’ve always liked working from home. Home is where I can fully be myself and create without overthinking too much. If I get stuck on a task, I can always jump to another and maybe find the inspiration I was missing or the solution I was looking for. 

 

 

 

So your work as an artist is an extension of your inner life? 

The subjects I choose are both intimate and collective. I’m currently working on a series about motherhood where I create quilts with fabric I dye in our kitchen with food scraps. The series explores different emotional aspects of motherhood, from love, softness and warmth, to that feeling of identity loss and suffocation.  

My work helps me process and heal with my hands repeating the same movements, like a meditation, a mantra, repairing what has been damaged. 

Do you have a daily routine? 

Amytis is an early bird, so we have a couple of hours before taking her to daycare, and starting work. Around nine I’ll begin work. Depending on my mood and deadlines, I’ll either work on my art pieces or I’ll mend damaged clothes people have brought me. I’ll move between the atelier and the kitchen, where I’ll cook our dinner as well as dyeing fabric. I like to have things prepared for the evening routine before picking Amytis up, so I can spend some quality time with her before bedtime. Virgile and I each know what to do without needing to say much. It takes some weight off. We’re a good team. 

 

 

 

Home is where I can fully be myself and create without overthinking too much.

 

 

 

How does the way you live and work influence the way you dress? 

Comfort is essential to me as I move a lot and don’t want to be restricted. I like good quality workwear that can last as I don’t enjoy shopping much (laughs). I like to keep my wardrobe minimalist, so no impulsive shopping allowed! Most of my clothes are well-worn. I take good care of them. I just wear them until they fall apart. It feels honest and reflects who I am. 

What was the last thing you added to your wardrobe? 

A jumper from Aiko, made by my friend Gioia. She upcycles vintage knits and jeans, turning them into new pieces. It was a gift from Virgile. Of course I burnt it on the waist while I was cooking. I needed to add my little personal touch, I guess (laughs).

Who do you think has good style? 

Georgia O’Keeffe. 

Georgia does have great style! How did you become an artist yourself? 

I studied fashion for three years, and graphic design for four at La Cambre. I used fabric whenever I could in my work, and ended up creating a gallery of masks for my graduation show. After graduating, Virgile and I moved to London where my mother lives. I started to work as a graphic designer in different companies, but office work just isn’t for me, I guess. I got an opportunity to exhibit in Brussels, and I worked in a pub during weekends and evenings to get some money in. 

 

Those pieces became my first solo show “Never Alone” at rodolphe janssen in 2017. With COVID in 2020, we returned to Brussels, and I started preparing a new solo show with Baronian gallery that ended up taking more than a year. This exhibition, “Uncontrolled Bodies” (2022), explored meditation and the relationship between mind and body. I made drawings in a meditative state and later embroidered them onto fabric. 

And after your return to Brussels, you became a mother? 

After moving to Brussels, and after my show “Uncontrolled Bodies” in 2022, we travelled to Mexico for two months. The trip was really inspiring to me. I learned new techniques there through a few workshops. When we came back, I was pregnant (laughs). Typical, right?

What I did not expect was how quickly people stopped asking about my work. Suddenly, all the attention went to motherhood. It was such a deep and beautiful transformation, but at the same time it felt as if my creative identity was being taken away from me. 

 

Becoming a parent is wonderful, of course, but it is also a full-time emotional hurricane and a level of chaos and intensity I was not fully prepared for. Mending was something small and simple I could do during her naps.

 

Is this when you started mending clothes?

Yes. I kept Amytis at home for the first year. I thought I could keep creating, but it was almost impossible. She slept only twenty minutes at a time, and it was difficult for me to make any progress. I began mending clothes to stay connected to my practice and to who I am.

Becoming a parent is wonderful, of course, but it is also a full-time emotional hurricane and a level of chaos and intensity I was not fully prepared for. Mending was something small and simple I could do during her naps. It helped me stay connected to myself and the outside world by feeling useful beyond caring for my baby. The bubble of new motherhood felt suffocating at times during that first year, and mending gave me a way out of that. 

How did it start? 

It began with our own clothes. Then friends started asking if I could repair theirs too. They liked the visibility of the stitches. They tell a story and make it unique. It turned into something social as well, allowing me to meet new people. As interest grew, I thought it would actually be nice to pass on the technique by giving workshops. So now I do both mending and teaching, which I love. 

Do you see a connection between the mending and your art practice? 

Definitely. Both have to do with that aspect of healing and repair. My art practice plays with conventions, blurring the lines between domesticity, craftsmanship and art. Textile work, like mending or embroidery, is often treated as a domestic task, usually done by women and not valued. But it carries something much larger that is often overlooked. 

Your work often touches on identity. Where does that come from? 

Our identity is constantly evolving. We are not the same person we were a couple of years ago, a few months ago. Our identity changes with the environment we are in, and the people we are surrounded by. My work helps me mark that evolution, illustrating each stage, each change I’m going through. 

 

 

 

What's the best book you read in the last year? 

“Mothers, Fathers, and Others: Essays” by Siri Hustvedt.

What keeps you balanced? 

Maybe repetition, and the ability to be slow. My work and my life are both built on repetition: cooking, sewing, caring, mending. All these slow gestures help me process things. I am a calm person, but I think a lot. The rhythm keeps me grounded and out of my busy mind, which likes to run ahead of me if I let it (laughs).

And cooking, when I have time. The slow rhythm of chopping, stirring and tasting keeps me calm. It can be meditative and so rewarding, especially when I cook for others. Sharing food is the best. 

What do you always have in your fridge? 

Jars of nuts. I can’t live without nuts! 

Which artist do you admire? 

Louise Bourgeois. 

What is a place you can’t wait to return to? 

Oaxaca in Mexico. I’d love to go back with my daughter. The textiles, the natural dyes, the weaving traditions… they carry centuries of knowledge. There's a depth and history that will stay with me forever. When we were there, I took workshops in weaving and natural dyeing and it became part of my work afterwards. I’ve always spent a lot of time in the kitchen, cooking, and now I prepare colours there as well. It is domestic and creative at once. And I love that the pigments come from what we eat. That they are part of our daily life. 

Who do you admire most? 

My parents. They escaped Iran in their early twenties, landed in Brussels by chance with almost nothing, and somehow built a successful life. I arrived one year later. They took care of me while learning a new language and a new culture, studying and working. My mother became a psychologist and my father a creative director. Their story still blows my mind! 

 

My grandmother never called it art, but I think I inherited her sensibility.

 

Do you keep connections to your roots? 

Of course. I stay connected through language, people, traditions, flavours and small objects like jewellery I received from my family. I gave a Persian name to my daughter, Amytis, which means ‘good thought’.   

Do you see traces of that heritage in your work? 

Probably unconsciously. Perhaps in the fabrics and craftsmanship. Persian culture has a very mature and specific refinement I relate to, and find extremely inspiring. My grandmother was very gifted with her hands. She never called it art, but I think I inherited that sensibility from her.

 

 

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