Spirit of North
I had a day off in Rovaniemi and decided to spend it in one of my favourite places in town: the Korundi House of Culture. I prowled for the second time through the ‘Spirit of North’ vol. 10 exhibition, a collaboration of artists from Tohoku (Northern Japan) and Lapland.
View of 'Spirit of North' exhibition, Rovaniemi Art Museum
The ‘Spirit of North’ cultural project, initiated by a group of artists from Tohoku as a means to cope with the aftermath of the earthquake, tsunami and nuclear disaster that shook the region in 2011, is today an international program involving artists from Japan and various Nordic countries. The driving force of this program is to explore common ground in how spirituality is fathomed and expressed in Tohoku and other northern regions in the globe. The 10th volume of ‘Spirit of North’ spreads over three rooms at Korundi House and includes paintings, video art, performances, sculptures, installations and drawings.
Artists/curators Yosiko Maruyama and Helena Junttila have put their hands, brains and hearts together to bring about a compelling show marked by an eerie hum. A sincere quest to explore and honour the domain of the spirit can be sensed throughout the exhibition. The ‘Northern’ aspect of the exhibition’s title seems to denote the origin of the artists invited, and remains not always so easy to spot in terms of content or form within the artworks.
Hiroaki Nakatsugawa, Light Shining Fleet, acrylic on canvas, 2013
Korundi offered a program of art performances in parallel to the ‘Spirit of North’ exhibition. Last month at the opening night, when I visited the exhibition the first time, Titta Court and Auri Ahola premiered ‘Tykky’, their latest piece in collaboration. The artists dressed in what it looked like a patchwork of sleeping bag fabrics that obliterated the shape of their bodies and fuelled associations between the forms of humans and trees. Something magical took place during the performance: the piece’s slow pace, generous space, immersive music and unexpected forms brought to life the paintings by Japanese artist Hiroaki Nakatsugawa, also present in the same room, which, in turn, provided an unparalleled atmosphere for the performance piece.
During my second visit to the show, now alone in the room, I took the time to digest more fully Nakatsugawa’s work. His almost monotone, gestural paintings are highly evocative; nevertheless, as great paintings usually do, they do not reveal a specific narrative, nor they adhere to a particular point of view or an opinion. At Korundi House the meaning of these paintings is distilled through the rest of the works in the exhibition: the blots of dark purplish paint can become easily before our eyes personages involved in a rushed massive escape, involving entire communities, as it might have happened during the Fukushima catastrophe.
Next to Nakatsugawa's paintings in this first room we find videos by anthropologist Toshiaki Ishikura exploring the rituals of Tohoku area and Mia Hamari’s series of wooden carvings. The stand out of these series is ‘Dai’ (2017) a figure of a nursemaid resting her feet in a pedestal of nipples. The figure is lacerated by a large crack running down her throat, chest, belly and sex.
Left: Mia Hamari, 'Imettäjä / Dai', wood, eyelashes, metal, 2017
Right: Yoshiko Maruyama,' You Who Are Creation #1909', mixed media, 2019
An installation by Yoshiko Maruyama ‘You Who Are Creation’ (2019) dominates the floor in the second room of the exhibition. Maruyama’s work consists of two wide circles on the floor: one containing fragments of animal skulls, tree trunks, plants and stones, and the second an arrangement of hand-made pieces of cardboard and plaster; all veiled in a deafening bleached white colour coat. At the nearest point of the circles two plaster casts of animal paws and human feet face each other. I paused for a moment before Maruyama’s work. I let its animistic undertones permeate my being. And suddenly, as it by grace, I felt standing before a supernatural realm, one in which our human spirit, I dared to understand, timelessly coexists with those of animals, plants and the surrounding natural elements.
Chiba Naoko's video ‘Seaside Town’ gathers the artist’s impressions during her stays in Fukushima Perfecture in the years following the tragic events associated with the name of the region. The video projection combines personal diary and documentary styles; it includes conversations Chiba held with the local folk plus the artist’s own gentle observations. I felt touched by Chiba’s heartfelt account of the actual conditions in the area (she recalls, for instance, how the native flora is returning and colonising spaces left behind by humans) and the video’s capacity to share information and insights not normally accessible through the mass media. These efforts are essential to heal and avoid further stigmatisation about the place. For the uninformed passenger, like yours truly, spending 20 minutes watching Chiba’s video was an enlightening experience.
Naoko Chiba, 'Seaside Town' (Second edition), 2019
Physically placed on the other side of the room from Chiba’s video -and culturally in the antipodes of the East-West spectrum- Amanda Billberg’s and Daniel Pherson’s video-works shimmered on a plasma tv set. All three videos ‘I’m Not Afraid of Anything’, ‘I Don’t Dream Anymore’ and ‘I’m Never Satisfied’ present kitsch animal figurines (the ones you might find in a 1-euro shop or receive as a tasteless gift) engaged in metaphysical digressions and deep existential chats -at times bordering the comical and absurd. I was immediately sold: Billberg and Pherson’s ploy of making fake animals display the insecurities and anxieties belonging so pointedly to our species is a powerful, clever (and funny) device to put a finger on the neurosis that plague humankind today (beware, perception might require involvement!).
Amanda BILLBERG & Daniel PHERSON, 'I’m Never Satisfied', video, 2019
The second room of ‘Spirit of North’ also houses a short film by photographer/filmmaker Jukka Tarkiainen documenting artist Helena Junttila’s journey in Japan in 2015, and her black and white paintings’ engendering process as a result of that trip.
I stepped into the third and final room of the exhibition eager to encounter Helena Junttila’s latest paintings. There I found, sure enough, the poker-faced woman and the chunky dark bear the Lapland artist is well-known for. The characters are in my eyes timeless actors in the dance between the gentle, sensitive, vulnerable part of our human nature and the hidden dark instinctive forces also lying within us. However, Helena’s large-format, oil paintings in the show take a new and unexpected dimension. They radiate immediacy and honesty, and a sense of bewilderment amplified by the scale of the works: they say something very clearly, just that you’re not exactly sure what it is.
One work in particular, ‘My Experience of Feelings’ (2019), takes us with a minimum of elements, a reduced palette and an attitude of restraint (nothing superfluous inhabits the picture) to as much lyricism as one can ask from a painted surface. At the opening night, I bumped into Helena’s son, he was staring at one of her paintings. I asked him what he reckoned of his mum’s new works. ‘These are her best paintings so far!’ he declared warmly. ‘Mmm, that’s a big call...’ I thought, bringing to mind Helena's extensive career. But then again, maybe not, maybe they actually are. (Certainly Finns are anything but notorious for tying to impress their interlocutor).
As I was paying attention to Helena’s paintings I could sense a disquieting presence at the back of my neck: it was performance and installation artist Tokio Maruyama’s creature made out of scrap papers lurking on the ground, ready to gobble up the distracted visitor.
Helena Junttila, ‘My Experience of Feelings’ (2019)
I enjoyed the show tremendously. During my visit I noticed that some of the labels accompanying the works at the museum displayed red dots (known to represent sold works in the arena of commercial art galleries and fairs) and I couldn’t figure out the purpose of them being there. I leave the following question ‘is it pertinent for public institutions to display red dots?’ blowin’ in the wind, as the poet once said, as an invitation for a conversation. Thank you.
I had a day off in Rovaniemi and decided to spend it in one of my favourite places in town: the Korundi House of Culture. I prowled for the second time through the ‘Spirit of North’ vol. 10 exhibition, a collaboration of artists from Tohoku (Northern Japan) and Lapland.
View of 'Spirit of North' exhibition, Rovaniemi Art Museum
The ‘Spirit of North’ cultural project, initiated by a group of artists from Tohoku as a means to cope with the aftermath of the earthquake, tsunami and nuclear disaster that shook the region in 2011, is today an international program involving artists from Japan and various Nordic countries. The driving force of this program is to explore common ground in how spirituality is fathomed and expressed in Tohoku and other northern regions in the globe. The 10th volume of ‘Spirit of North’ spreads over three rooms at Korundi House and includes paintings, video art, performances, sculptures, installations and drawings.
Artists/curators Yosiko Maruyama and Helena Junttila have put their hands, brains and hearts together to bring about a compelling show marked by an eerie hum. A sincere quest to explore and honour the domain of the spirit can be sensed throughout the exhibition. The ‘Northern’ aspect of the exhibition’s title seems to denote the origin of the artists invited, and remains not always so easy to spot in terms of content or form within the artworks.
Hiroaki Nakatsugawa, Light Shining Fleet, acrylic on canvas, 2013
Korundi offered a program of art performances in parallel to the ‘Spirit of North’ exhibition. Last month at the opening night, when I visited the exhibition the first time, Titta Court and Auri Ahola premiered ‘Tykky’, their latest piece in collaboration. The artists dressed in what it looked like a patchwork of sleeping bag fabrics that obliterated the shape of their bodies and fuelled associations between the forms of humans and trees. Something magical took place during the performance: the piece’s slow pace, generous space, immersive music and unexpected forms brought to life the paintings by Japanese artist Hiroaki Nakatsugawa, also present in the same room, which, in turn, provided an unparalleled atmosphere for the performance piece.
During my second visit to the show, now alone in the room, I took the time to digest more fully Nakatsugawa’s work. His almost monotone, gestural paintings are highly evocative; nevertheless, as great paintings usually do, they do not reveal a specific narrative, nor they adhere to a particular point of view or an opinion. At Korundi House the meaning of these paintings is distilled through the rest of the works in the exhibition: the blots of dark purplish paint can become easily before our eyes personages involved in a rushed massive escape, involving entire communities, as it might have happened during the Fukushima catastrophe.
Next to Nakatsugawa's paintings in this first room we find videos by anthropologist Toshiaki Ishikura exploring the rituals of Tohoku area and Mia Hamari’s series of wooden carvings. The stand out of these series is ‘Dai’ (2017) a figure of a nursemaid resting her feet in a pedestal of nipples. The figure is lacerated by a large crack running down her throat, chest, belly and sex.
Left: Mia Hamari, 'Imettäjä / Dai', wood, eyelashes, metal, 2017
Right: Yoshiko Maruyama,' You Who Are Creation #1909', mixed media, 2019
An installation by Yoshiko Maruyama ‘You Who Are Creation’ (2019) dominates the floor in the second room of the exhibition. Maruyama’s work consists of two wide circles on the floor: one containing fragments of animal skulls, tree trunks, plants and stones, and the second an arrangement of hand-made pieces of cardboard and plaster; all veiled in a deafening bleached white colour coat. At the nearest point of the circles two plaster casts of animal paws and human feet face each other. I paused for a moment before Maruyama’s work. I let its animistic undertones permeate my being. And suddenly, as it by grace, I felt standing before a supernatural realm, one in which our human spirit, I dared to understand, timelessly coexists with those of animals, plants and the surrounding natural elements.
Chiba Naoko's video ‘Seaside Town’ gathers the artist’s impressions during her stays in Fukushima Perfecture in the years following the tragic events associated with the name of the region. The video projection combines personal diary and documentary styles; it includes conversations Chiba held with the local folk plus the artist’s own gentle observations. I felt touched by Chiba’s heartfelt account of the actual conditions in the area (she recalls, for instance, how the native flora is returning and colonising spaces left behind by humans) and the video’s capacity to share information and insights not normally accessible through the mass media. These efforts are essential to heal and avoid further stigmatisation about the place. For the uninformed passenger, like yours truly, spending 20 minutes watching Chiba’s video was an enlightening experience.
Naoko Chiba, 'Seaside Town' (Second edition), 2019
Physically placed on the other side of the room from Chiba’s video -and culturally in the antipodes of the East-West spectrum- Amanda Billberg’s and Daniel Pherson’s video-works shimmered on a plasma tv set. All three videos ‘I’m Not Afraid of Anything’, ‘I Don’t Dream Anymore’ and ‘I’m Never Satisfied’ present kitsch animal figurines (the ones you might find in a 1-euro shop or receive as a tasteless gift) engaged in metaphysical digressions and deep existential chats -at times bordering the comical and absurd. I was immediately sold: Billberg and Pherson’s ploy of making fake animals display the insecurities and anxieties belonging so pointedly to our species is a powerful, clever (and funny) device to put a finger on the neurosis that plague humankind today (beware, perception might require involvement!).
Amanda BILLBERG & Daniel PHERSON, 'I’m Never Satisfied', video, 2019
The second room of ‘Spirit of North’ also houses a short film by photographer/filmmaker Jukka Tarkiainen documenting artist Helena Junttila’s journey in Japan in 2015, and her black and white paintings’ engendering process as a result of that trip.
I stepped into the third and final room of the exhibition eager to encounter Helena Junttila’s latest paintings. There I found, sure enough, the poker-faced woman and the chunky dark bear the Lapland artist is well-known for. The characters are in my eyes timeless actors in the dance between the gentle, sensitive, vulnerable part of our human nature and the hidden dark instinctive forces also lying within us. However, Helena’s large-format, oil paintings in the show take a new and unexpected dimension. They radiate immediacy and honesty, and a sense of bewilderment amplified by the scale of the works: they say something very clearly, just that you’re not exactly sure what it is.
One work in particular, ‘My Experience of Feelings’ (2019), takes us with a minimum of elements, a reduced palette and an attitude of restraint (nothing superfluous inhabits the picture) to as much lyricism as one can ask from a painted surface. At the opening night, I bumped into Helena’s son, he was staring at one of her paintings. I asked him what he reckoned of his mum’s new works. ‘These are her best paintings so far!’ he declared warmly. ‘Mmm, that’s a big call...’ I thought, bringing to mind Helena's extensive career. But then again, maybe not, maybe they actually are. (Certainly Finns are anything but notorious for tying to impress their interlocutor).
As I was paying attention to Helena’s paintings I could sense a disquieting presence at the back of my neck: it was performance and installation artist Tokio Maruyama’s creature made out of scrap papers lurking on the ground, ready to gobble up the distracted visitor.
Helena Junttila, ‘My Experience of Feelings’ (2019)
I enjoyed the show tremendously. During my visit I noticed that some of the labels accompanying the works at the museum displayed red dots (known to represent sold works in the arena of commercial art galleries and fairs) and I couldn’t figure out the purpose of them being there. I leave the following question ‘is it pertinent for public institutions to display red dots?’ blowin’ in the wind, as the poet once said, as an invitation for a conversation. Thank you.