Staalo Turns 50
For Kielmukka magazine- Oct 2020
In the picture RR holds a plate of peruskurkku voileipä, while M-JP enjoys her coupon
We arrived, as usual, a few minutes late. The room at Käki was poorly illuminated, had a mistreated piano in one corner, theatre props scattered here and there, and the unmistakable smell of self-conscious youth.
On the table there was supermarket pulla cut in pieces, bathed grapes, crackers and a tub of cream cheese sliced through by a table knife. And, of course, coffee, let’s not forget we are the largest coffee-drinking nation per capita of the entire world -we tea drinkers, poor things, have usually no choice but to settle for a random assortment of tea bags with Muumipeikko gadding around imprinted in them. We were welcomed by three vivacious characters called Anja, Tiina, and Pirkko. The year was 2014 and that my first get-together with Staalo.
Tiina’s boy was now playing, now demanding her mum’s attention, now lost forever on the glow of the screen. The meeting at Käki, as the many ones that would follow, took place almost entirely in that odd language with 8 vowels, 15 cases, and no future (tense) occupying every other page of this publication.
In those first meetings I frequently didn’t have the foggiest idea of what was going on, in spite of my efforts at Sirpa’s courses and interminable hours of grammar books in the loo.
To make things worse, I shared my life with a person who didn’t speak proper, but free-jazz suomea. Every now and then I would whisper into Raisa’s ear ‘what they’saying?’ and she would make a succinct summary for me. The waves of laughter bursting now and again would go past my understanding. But the continued use of English, which was the mother tongue of none of us, and a lingo Arne ja Rauni, Eija ja Pentti would have not been able to decipher, was, fair enough, out of question.
I had come to Lapland the previous year following in the wake of Raisa Raekallio, my then girlfriend and now life companion (nope, she’s not Reijo’s daughter, but his brother’s daughter). Perhaps because of her, perhaps because of my good looks, the Staalo group embraced me without reservation. From the very beginning I felt comfortable amongst a like-minded bunch of people. What the local artists would make out, however, of an ulkomaalainen lost in Sirkan kylä, I didn’t dare to fathom... the other day chatting with Tiina in order to gather details to write this, she told me että oli hauskaa, that Staalo was always glad to welcome ammattitaiteilijoita. I appreciated she said that, I must have pretended really well back then.
The tone and mood of the itinerant Staalo meetings from 2014 to 2020 depended very much upon where the meeting was being held, what season of the year we were under the spell of, and who
was in it. If we were lucky, we would gather at Soikkelin talo and then we would enjoy korvapuusteja, konvehteja, in addition to the obligatory kahvia. When we dropped by Kittilä Hotelli for our end-of-year Chrissy gathering we were catered with Joulutorttuja. It comes to mind heaping up my mouth with their still-warm crust, seeking to fill the void of missing out parts of the conversation, which now little by little, and only with great difficulty, I managed to follow.
And then ah! assembling at Galleria Raekallio was like playing with home-team advantage! One was received with hugs and generosity of spirit, that set the mood of the evening, not to mention Maria’s taatelikakku and other delicacies. If the gods’ fortune didn’t happen to befall upon us, we would end up in one of the gas station’s looshi in town, where the kahvit seldom was so profuse, mind you, we looked like a troupe of real artists engaged in ardent conversation -for Finnish standards-, squeezed between the glass window crossed by urban lights and the fuzz of the coming and going of clients, munching cornettos and sipping caffeine, scheming for the fate of culture in the municipality of Kittilä. At the outset of every one of those gatherings, we’d invariably implore Tiina to continue in her role of puheenjohtaja, and Anja in that of sihteeri. As I write this, they are both on the brink of retirement, and the future of Staalo left in peril.
It has always been tricky for me to remain in Kittilä during that first week of late Spring in July, not because of the ferocious mozzies, nor the overpowering wall of green that covers everything, but due to family commitments, professional demands, and this year, a naughty virus. So, in all these years I have had the opportunity to make it to the Kesämarkkinat only once, when I sat behind an easel ready to sketch a portrait of anybody who dared to sit for it.
I do, however, keep a distinct memory of that Staalo micro-world generated at the aula of Kittilä’s lukio: the yearly exhibition of works by Staalo artists, to which, despite my physical absence, I have every year religiously entered some painting; the aroma of the art café, attracting Kittilä’s bohemia; the mythical stand of Kielmukka magazine; the open mic stage welcoming eager poets and wandering musicians; the vote-eating box for the people’s choice art prize, time and again going to Anja or Reijo; the tons of work required on the preceding days to make all this happen; and above all, the 2 euros slips of paper for the pika-arpajaiset -that year red and green laput from Tiinan Tori, but usually handmade pieces of paper prepared by Pirkko- with the promise of some treasure generously donated by Staalo members and local shopkeepers; Rauni’s black, red and white ahman askel-vanttuut, reminiscent of our kunnan vaakuna; and magnets, postcards and posters from Särestöniemi-museo.
Speaking of the devil... it comes to mind an exceptionally beautiful soirée at Särestö, part of the Kittilän kulttuuriviikko a few years back, where the audience was captivated by the gift of Elina’s velvety, otherworldly voice, moved by Anja, Pirkko and Maarit’s well-aimed arrows of poetry,
registered for keeps by the slithering click of Juha’s camera, and enlivened by the colourful presence of the Mandoliinimiehet. I was also there, wax oil crayon in hand, making a drawing in front of Reijo and company: the line graciously dancing on the paper to their cheerful tunes. If I remember well, that day we got there hastily and left in a rush, hence we didn’t get to have any herkkut.
On a different occasion, however, painting with Raisa at the museum during the opening night of Staalon Teatterifestit I think it was, we were offered mansikkahillokermakakku, kiitos, and worked outside together on the same piece of canvas bewitched by the twilight, the chill, and the ever present spirit of Reidar, almost palpable in the ether.
'So nice painting when your system is full of mansikkahillokermakakku.'
In time, Staalon Teatterifestit withered and Staalon Festit cropped up in the same meadows of mid Autumn. The festival’s headquarters were located at Kittilän Työväentalo, with its patina of old person’s undershirt aroma. The experiences of those Staalo festivals intermingled with the memories of the old-days: markkinatanssit, juken disco, ambulant leather sofas vendors, political rallies, vappujuhlat... Now, what excited me most about those festive days was the lunch coupon you would get in the quality of invited participant: a piece of paper with the magic formula ‘keitto, sämpylä, kahvi ja pulla’ written on it.
The lunch itself, normally jauhelihasoppa, a plate of perus kurkku and sekamehu was okay, depending on how hungry one was and who was behind the counter, but the promise of a meal in exchange of art is something that always fiddles gently with the cords of my soul. Truth is, that while the kids were enjoying workshops and exhibitions of their drawings with a first-class jury, and the grown-ups theatre plays, museum tours, book presentations, thought-provoking talks and spiritual meetings between Timo K., Kalervo and Reidar, Raisa and I were exposed (not only once, but for the last two editions) to the inclemencies of October’s weather -and the obscene noises of a squirrel!- painting at Getsemane yard, where lived, did whatever he had to do in this world and kicked the bucket Kittilä’s anti-hero Kalervo Palsa.
So, as for the present, Staalo is turning 50 this year and this may very well be its last birthday. And you know? it might not be such a bad thing. Cultural activities in Kittilä are nowadays going strong, thriving. Many of us from Staalo Association have been, still are, and will surely continue to be involved in Kulttuuriviikot, Staalon Festit, Kesämarkkinat, taiteiden yöt, Taikina collective enterprises, a new-born Sirkka Arte Biennale -where in its last edition, our neighbour Sabine, a French kondittori, prepared desserts for everyone twice every day: macaronseja, chocolate bavarois, sitruunamarenkitorttua, aprikoosikakkua, et al.- and other jazzy events in the Kittilä region.
We are in a good place, I feel, to let go of the Staalo label, at least for a while, who knows, and keep honouring its spirit and purpose by delving into, sharing and enjoying our creativity together. Everything in life is transformed.
Let us raise our drinks for the Giant’s half-century-long journey. Long live the love for arts and culture in our community!!
For Kielmukka magazine- Oct 2020
In the picture RR holds a plate of peruskurkku voileipä, while M-JP enjoys her coupon
We arrived, as usual, a few minutes late. The room at Käki was poorly illuminated, had a mistreated piano in one corner, theatre props scattered here and there, and the unmistakable smell of self-conscious youth.
On the table there was supermarket pulla cut in pieces, bathed grapes, crackers and a tub of cream cheese sliced through by a table knife. And, of course, coffee, let’s not forget we are the largest coffee-drinking nation per capita of the entire world -we tea drinkers, poor things, have usually no choice but to settle for a random assortment of tea bags with Muumipeikko gadding around imprinted in them. We were welcomed by three vivacious characters called Anja, Tiina, and Pirkko. The year was 2014 and that my first get-together with Staalo.
Tiina’s boy was now playing, now demanding her mum’s attention, now lost forever on the glow of the screen. The meeting at Käki, as the many ones that would follow, took place almost entirely in that odd language with 8 vowels, 15 cases, and no future (tense) occupying every other page of this publication.
In those first meetings I frequently didn’t have the foggiest idea of what was going on, in spite of my efforts at Sirpa’s courses and interminable hours of grammar books in the loo.
To make things worse, I shared my life with a person who didn’t speak proper, but free-jazz suomea. Every now and then I would whisper into Raisa’s ear ‘what they’saying?’ and she would make a succinct summary for me. The waves of laughter bursting now and again would go past my understanding. But the continued use of English, which was the mother tongue of none of us, and a lingo Arne ja Rauni, Eija ja Pentti would have not been able to decipher, was, fair enough, out of question.
I had come to Lapland the previous year following in the wake of Raisa Raekallio, my then girlfriend and now life companion (nope, she’s not Reijo’s daughter, but his brother’s daughter). Perhaps because of her, perhaps because of my good looks, the Staalo group embraced me without reservation. From the very beginning I felt comfortable amongst a like-minded bunch of people. What the local artists would make out, however, of an ulkomaalainen lost in Sirkan kylä, I didn’t dare to fathom... the other day chatting with Tiina in order to gather details to write this, she told me että oli hauskaa, that Staalo was always glad to welcome ammattitaiteilijoita. I appreciated she said that, I must have pretended really well back then.
The tone and mood of the itinerant Staalo meetings from 2014 to 2020 depended very much upon where the meeting was being held, what season of the year we were under the spell of, and who
was in it. If we were lucky, we would gather at Soikkelin talo and then we would enjoy korvapuusteja, konvehteja, in addition to the obligatory kahvia. When we dropped by Kittilä Hotelli for our end-of-year Chrissy gathering we were catered with Joulutorttuja. It comes to mind heaping up my mouth with their still-warm crust, seeking to fill the void of missing out parts of the conversation, which now little by little, and only with great difficulty, I managed to follow.
And then ah! assembling at Galleria Raekallio was like playing with home-team advantage! One was received with hugs and generosity of spirit, that set the mood of the evening, not to mention Maria’s taatelikakku and other delicacies. If the gods’ fortune didn’t happen to befall upon us, we would end up in one of the gas station’s looshi in town, where the kahvit seldom was so profuse, mind you, we looked like a troupe of real artists engaged in ardent conversation -for Finnish standards-, squeezed between the glass window crossed by urban lights and the fuzz of the coming and going of clients, munching cornettos and sipping caffeine, scheming for the fate of culture in the municipality of Kittilä. At the outset of every one of those gatherings, we’d invariably implore Tiina to continue in her role of puheenjohtaja, and Anja in that of sihteeri. As I write this, they are both on the brink of retirement, and the future of Staalo left in peril.
It has always been tricky for me to remain in Kittilä during that first week of late Spring in July, not because of the ferocious mozzies, nor the overpowering wall of green that covers everything, but due to family commitments, professional demands, and this year, a naughty virus. So, in all these years I have had the opportunity to make it to the Kesämarkkinat only once, when I sat behind an easel ready to sketch a portrait of anybody who dared to sit for it.
I do, however, keep a distinct memory of that Staalo micro-world generated at the aula of Kittilä’s lukio: the yearly exhibition of works by Staalo artists, to which, despite my physical absence, I have every year religiously entered some painting; the aroma of the art café, attracting Kittilä’s bohemia; the mythical stand of Kielmukka magazine; the open mic stage welcoming eager poets and wandering musicians; the vote-eating box for the people’s choice art prize, time and again going to Anja or Reijo; the tons of work required on the preceding days to make all this happen; and above all, the 2 euros slips of paper for the pika-arpajaiset -that year red and green laput from Tiinan Tori, but usually handmade pieces of paper prepared by Pirkko- with the promise of some treasure generously donated by Staalo members and local shopkeepers; Rauni’s black, red and white ahman askel-vanttuut, reminiscent of our kunnan vaakuna; and magnets, postcards and posters from Särestöniemi-museo.
Speaking of the devil... it comes to mind an exceptionally beautiful soirée at Särestö, part of the Kittilän kulttuuriviikko a few years back, where the audience was captivated by the gift of Elina’s velvety, otherworldly voice, moved by Anja, Pirkko and Maarit’s well-aimed arrows of poetry,
registered for keeps by the slithering click of Juha’s camera, and enlivened by the colourful presence of the Mandoliinimiehet. I was also there, wax oil crayon in hand, making a drawing in front of Reijo and company: the line graciously dancing on the paper to their cheerful tunes. If I remember well, that day we got there hastily and left in a rush, hence we didn’t get to have any herkkut.
On a different occasion, however, painting with Raisa at the museum during the opening night of Staalon Teatterifestit I think it was, we were offered mansikkahillokermakakku, kiitos, and worked outside together on the same piece of canvas bewitched by the twilight, the chill, and the ever present spirit of Reidar, almost palpable in the ether.
'So nice painting when your system is full of mansikkahillokermakakku.'
In time, Staalon Teatterifestit withered and Staalon Festit cropped up in the same meadows of mid Autumn. The festival’s headquarters were located at Kittilän Työväentalo, with its patina of old person’s undershirt aroma. The experiences of those Staalo festivals intermingled with the memories of the old-days: markkinatanssit, juken disco, ambulant leather sofas vendors, political rallies, vappujuhlat... Now, what excited me most about those festive days was the lunch coupon you would get in the quality of invited participant: a piece of paper with the magic formula ‘keitto, sämpylä, kahvi ja pulla’ written on it.
The lunch itself, normally jauhelihasoppa, a plate of perus kurkku and sekamehu was okay, depending on how hungry one was and who was behind the counter, but the promise of a meal in exchange of art is something that always fiddles gently with the cords of my soul. Truth is, that while the kids were enjoying workshops and exhibitions of their drawings with a first-class jury, and the grown-ups theatre plays, museum tours, book presentations, thought-provoking talks and spiritual meetings between Timo K., Kalervo and Reidar, Raisa and I were exposed (not only once, but for the last two editions) to the inclemencies of October’s weather -and the obscene noises of a squirrel!- painting at Getsemane yard, where lived, did whatever he had to do in this world and kicked the bucket Kittilä’s anti-hero Kalervo Palsa.
So, as for the present, Staalo is turning 50 this year and this may very well be its last birthday. And you know? it might not be such a bad thing. Cultural activities in Kittilä are nowadays going strong, thriving. Many of us from Staalo Association have been, still are, and will surely continue to be involved in Kulttuuriviikot, Staalon Festit, Kesämarkkinat, taiteiden yöt, Taikina collective enterprises, a new-born Sirkka Arte Biennale -where in its last edition, our neighbour Sabine, a French kondittori, prepared desserts for everyone twice every day: macaronseja, chocolate bavarois, sitruunamarenkitorttua, aprikoosikakkua, et al.- and other jazzy events in the Kittilä region.
We are in a good place, I feel, to let go of the Staalo label, at least for a while, who knows, and keep honouring its spirit and purpose by delving into, sharing and enjoying our creativity together. Everything in life is transformed.
Let us raise our drinks for the Giant’s half-century-long journey. Long live the love for arts and culture in our community!!