Libraries. It’s never just about the books.

Although perhaps libraries are in some ways far more valuable than banks and military fortifications, they have always been overlooked by the majority, appeared distant to the majority and simply been physically inaccessible for the majority. That must also be the reason why our perception of libraries is coated in stereotypes topped with a pinch of negativity. People never seem to ‘just go’ to a library – it is a love or hate relationship. Some find libraries more frightening than their dentists and only step inside when the necessity forces them. Others see these buildings as sanctuaries; the gates to a magical world which offers everything the reality denies and therefore willingly retreat among these stacks of books. But libraries have come a long way and the core concept of a public reading space has changed a lot over the past century alone.

Radcliffe Camera, Oxford University Library (1748)

Kaisa House, Helsinki University Library (2012)

At the very beginning of its existence, library was more of an archive than anything else. In many places throughout Africa and Mesopotamia these archives were established in order to organise and ease the government’s work as they contained various legal documents such as laws, receipts, contracts, and agreements.¹ Very often the library was not even a separate building but rather a room or a designated space within a temple or a palace, which implies that these written texts were ‘none of the average person’s business’ since they could only be accessed by the king, the priest, and a limited number of other people.

The only point in history, when a library seems to have been a welcome and reasonably integral part of the society, was during the time of three civilisations – Ancient Egypt, Ancient Rome and Ancient Greece. The Library of Alexandria (Egypt), which was established around 295 BCE and later lost in a mysterious fire, was a predecessor to all modern libraries, containing an exceptionally comprehensive collection of texts and books that was accessible to a much larger part of the society than at any other library at that time or before.² Greeks did not seem to be very keen on establishing large public libraries, however, private home libraries were very common in the Greek Classical period which reflected in the fast-growing level of literacy and the high demand for books (especially poetry and plays).³ It is the very Hellenic culture with their love for literature and the great care with which they collected and organised the books that is said to have inspired the Romans to do the same. In Rome, there was a different problem with libraries – there were too many. A lot of these were publicly available, but because of the buildings being located in various places all over the city and because of the Romans also preferring small home libraries, the collections provided by these libraries seemed almost limited compared to the Library of Alexandria.⁴

However, one thing nearly all ancient libraries had in common was the purpose behind their construction which had little to do with the king’s or emperor’s wish to make literature more accessible to people. It was simply the need to express one’s power over the rivaling empires and cities. The very design of the library buildings in the ancient world was based on the same principles as temples. There would be colonnades, complex staircases, paintings, sculptural depictions of Gods, and everything else that would emphasise the amount of knowledge owned by the library’s commissioner.⁵ Essentially, library still remained an archive – a divine archive which was not meant to be disturbed for too long by the presence of the little insignificant human being.

The scale of the ruins of the Roman Forum gives a small idea of how large were all the public buildings, including libraries, in the Ancient Rome

What happened after the disintegration of these ancient empires and civilisations, we all know – the world pretty much went downhill until the Age of Enlightenment. Of course, libraries never ceased to exist at any point in time. They retained their importance and main functions, and grew along with the developments of printing techniques which suddenly allowed making new copies of books much easier and quicker. Although many types of libraries existed in the Medieval Ages, for a long period of time the church and monastic libraries were the dominant ones, meaning that, once again, there was a limited part of the society which had access to certain books and collections.⁶ Despite that, by the 17^th century the number of public libraries around the world had significantly increased, but library was still only the house of and for books.

At the beginning of the 20^th century the idea of a library as a social institution was finally born and the temple of books seemed to regain its popularity and appeal. Nevertheless, after centuries of existing as a plain and dark storage space for books which is mainly concerned with expressing a certain political or religious message rather than looking after the wellbeing of its day-to-day users, the organisation of the library had to be changed. Particularly worrying was the fact that even a term Library Anxiety was introduced and quickly accepted by many.⁷

Here I could insert 5 more paragraphs about the library development throughout the 20^th century, but that is not why I intended to write this blog post. I simply want to know what does the word library stand for today and what notions are behind the designs of these buildings.

With the establishment of architectural movements such as Rationalism, Functionalism and Modernism suddenly the focus shifted from ”what are we going to design?” to ”who will be using this building and what do they need?”. That question is particularly important to ask if a public building with a function to that of a library is planned to be built. The temple-like structures, sky-high vaulted ceiling, massive colonnades and dimly lit rooms are acceptable if the library was meant to remain primarily an archive. But on the inside these elements together create such a hostile environment that no living being would willingly spend their days in there. In the Ancient Rome many libraries would have gardens attached to the main building because it was expected for a person to pick up a book from the library and read it outside or recite the text to a larger crowd.⁸ The laws and the social norms of the 21^st century would probably stop most from standing on the library doorstep and shouting their just learned Shakespeare poems to the passersby, but the idea that a reading space should be directly connected to the outdoors (instead of resembling a secluded dungeon) or at least imitate some motifs found in the nature has survived and become widely popular. Probably for psychological reasons which there is even no need to explain for any sensible person.

Turku Library by JKMM Architects (2007)

Turku Library by JKMM Architects (2007)

Library is no longer an ”in between space”, or a pick up point for books, or even more depressing – a dedication to a god or a deceased king. It is designed to become a second home, to become a place a person relies on, feels safe in and knows that they can always return to. The most important fact about contemporary libraries is that they are accessible to absolutely everyone, emphasising that it does not matter who you are or where you come from – you still have the right to acquire the same kind of knowledge the most respected doctors and scientists have. The welcoming atmosphere in the libraries encourage people to use these spaces for work in the most informal and peaceful environment.

Rovaniemi Library by Alvar Aalto

Turku Library by JKMM Architects

The desire (or the need?) to show off power and wealth through architecture remains just as important today as it was in the ancient world, however, most libraries seem to have successfully avoided the burden of functioning just as shiny but empty shells. Nowadays behind library designs there are often deep and personal stories of an entire nation. These buildings can be inspired by vernacular architecture, local landscapes and materials, or even folklore. One of such examples is the new National Library of Latvia which was inspired by the concept of the castle of the light – a metaphorical expression, used in a poem (1875), which today could symbolise the rebirth of the knowledge and the intelligence that has risen since the country gained back its independence.

Looking back on the entire history of libraries, it seems at first that these buildings have evolved in a linear way. I see it more as a circle which has now been twice completed and is about to (maybe in a century) enter the third round. There is no doubt that literature’s highest point in history was the time the Ancient Greece, Egypt and Rome flourished, but after many centuries we seem to have reached more or less the same position again, if not already passed by it. The reason why I see a new regression is the age of digitalisation. It is scary to realise how many people have already given up hard copies of books and are now walking around with only their Kindles. It is not really a question of whether the libraries will exist in the future because it is clearly visible that they are now transforming and adapting to the modern age which is being warmly welcomed and accepted by people. The question is – what is going to be that new type of building once the transition is complete?

1. ”The Beginnings,” History of Libraries, accessed February 27, 2016, http://eduscapes.com/history/beginnings/index.htm

2. Bivens-Tatum, Wayne. Libraries and the Enlightenment. Los Angeles: Library Juice Press, 2012.

3. ”Ancient Libraries: 300s BCE,” History of Libraries, accessed February 27, 2016, http://eduscapes.com/history/ancient/300bce.htm

4. Bivens-Tatum, Wayne. Libraries and the Enlightenment.

5. ”A Brief History of Roman Libraries,” The Illustrated History of the Roman Empire, accessed February 27, 2016, http://www.roman-empire.net/articles/article-005.html

6. ”The Medieval Library”, History Readings, accessed February 27, 2016, http://www.historyreadings.com/uk/med_lib/index.html

7. ”Library Anxiety: A Grounded Theory and Its Development,” College and Research Libraries, accessed February 27, 2016, http://crl.acrl.org/content/47/2/160.full.pdf+html

8. ”A Brief History of Roman Libraries”.

Puu-Käpylä. Then and now.

A few months ago I wrote about Puu-Vallila, a small and idyllic 1900s’ wooden district located in the northern part of Helsinki. As I was learning more about its history, the name of Vallila’s younger sister Puu-Käpylä came up, and as soon as the term garden city appeared, I was determined to visit this place right away. These two districts share nearly the same history, the same purpose, the same architectural styles, and many more aspects. However, they both have entirely different and unique identities; something very specific about each one of them that is difficult to describe, but can be immediately felt once you arrive there.

Puu-Käpylä, like Puu-Vallila, was born out of the pressing necessity for new housing that would provide the working-class families with a higher standard of living conditions at the beginning of the 20^th century. Located even further out of the city centre than Vallila, the construction of Puu-Käpylä began in 1920 under the supervision of the project’s main architects Akseli Toivonen and Martti Välikangas.¹ Five years later the number of buildings in this neighbourhood had already reached 168. Although the presence of nature in Finnish culture has always played a significant role, the concept of a private garden used for growing food (particularly in such urban environment) was something rather new.

During the 1950s and 1960s when various new Finnish suburbs emerged along with new large housing projects and master plans, the area was facing serious demolition threats. These wooden houses could no longer compete with the new level of comfort and sanitation that the modern suburbs provided (the dwellings in Käpylä, for example, had outdoor toilets), and many of them had already been badly damaged or destroyed in the Second World War.² In 1960 Ahti Korhonen and Erik Kråkström won the architectural competition organised by the city’s officials. They proposed a new plan for the area which suggested replacing the old wooden buildings with new two-storey stone houses, changing the overall street layout, and turning some of the green areas into parking spaces.³ Even though Käpylä would still remain a Green Suburb (emphasis on green), the sense of community that had grown very strong over the previous decades would have been completely destroyed. For many years an ongoing debate continued between those who supported and those who were against the new plans. Finally, in 1971 an official report, made by a special committee who had investigated the actual conditions of the houses as well as the economical differences between the area’s redevelopment and renovation, declared that the restoration is possible and the buildings are of a historical importance, therefore Puu-Käpylä acquired the status of a conservation area.⁴ The most significant renovation works took place until 1977, lead by architect Bengt Lundsten.⁵

 

The wooden houses in Puu-Käpylä also belong to Nordic Classicism, but compared to the buildings in Puu-Vallila these dwellings appear a lot simpler and more modest. Instead of having the sophisticated and playful gambrel roofs which are very common in the Vallila district, here the houses are often finished with plain gable or hip roofs, while the weatherboarding is covered in darker and earthier tones. These buildings are said to resemble the traditional rural life in Finland, which is quite unlike some of the other examples of Nordic Classicism that try to stand out and impress with their boldness.⁶

One element that does stand out, however, is the ornaments above and below the window surrounds. These decors help to identify and distinguish the houses, as well as making you admire the craftsmanship of their makers.

Puu-Käpylä feels a lot more spacious than Puu-Vallila, which, of course, is a result of the amount of green space that surrounds the houses. The buildings are aligned in a very straightforward rectangular grid, but the trees and the greenery seem to ignore these boundaries and rebel against the bold geometry, which is probably a lot more noticeable in the summer. Also, the terrain in Vallila, although being far from flat and boring, feels somewhat more tamed than here. From certain hill tops it is possible to overlook nearly the entire neighbourhood, while the bottom of that hill protects a small and fragile fruit tree from the North wind. It is almost as if the wilderness had managed to survive and resist the urbanisation and is now holding onto every little piece of land where the human has not yet placed a concrete foundation.

It may be that many people would have benefited more if Puu-Käpylä was redeveloped in the 1960s. It may be that the area would have had a completely different importance today. It is very easy to look at a photo of an old building, say that it probably has no use anymore and quickly think of a more profitable way to exploit the site. But it takes a lot of effort to see past that weather-beaten surface and willingness to find the ways in which it is still superior to some of the contemporary buildings rather than emphasising what it lacks. When I look at these pictures now, I, too, see only old wooden houses. But I have been there. I have stood next to them and I clearly remember that intangible uniqueness this area possesses like no other place in Helsinki. And that is the only way to understand the meaning of such places. You have to get familiar with them.

1. Clark, Peter, ed. The European City and Green Space: London, Stockholm, Helsinki and St. Petersburg, 1850-2000. Aldershot: Ashgate Publishing, 2006.

2. ”Puu-Käpylän kaavoituskiista – Kulttuuriympäristöön kohdistuvien asenteiden muuttumisesta 1960-luvulla.” Rakennusperinto.fi. Accessed February 14, 2016. http://www.rakennusperinto.fi/kulttuuriymparisto/artikkelit/fi_FI/Puu_Kapylan_kaavoituskiista/

3. Clark, The European City and Green Space: London, Stockholm, Helsinki and St. Petersburg, 1850-2000.

4. Rakennusperinto.fi. ”Puu-Käpylän kaavoituskiista – Kulttuuriympäristöön kohdistuvien asenteiden muuttumisesta 1960-luvulla.”

5. ”Käpylän puutaloalueet ja Käärmetalo.” Museovirasto. Accessed February 14, 2016. http://www.rky.fi/read/asp/r_kohde_det.aspx?KOHDE_ID=1566

6. Quantrill, Malcom. Finnish Architecture and the Modernist Tradition. London: Taylor & Francis, 1995.

The story of Turku

Meet Turku – the oldest city in Finland which has been officially existing on the map since the 13^th century; has played the role of Finland’s capital until the Russian invasion in the 19^th century, when these duties were taken over by Helsinki; and has always been and still remains a significant link between Finland and the Western Europe.¹ I got to visit this living and breathing history book during the most peaceful time of the year when the river Aurajoki (or Aura in English), which splits Turku in half, was asleep under a thick layer of ice, while the surrounding forests and hills were covered in white snow blankets.

Although almost two thirds of the city were turned into ashes after the Great Fire of Turku in 1827, some of the historic structures remained intact or at least survived partially. Like the Turku Castle, which has experienced destruction, burning and bombing at different times during its lifetime.

As a result of these past disasters that have torn the city apart many times, today the central part of Turku mainly consists of developments which have been built during the last two centuries. Due to the great demand for new housing and the need to quickly improve the traffic infrastructure in the middle of the 20^th century, the streets are mainly dominated by rather common and standardised functionalist and modernist buildings that have taken the place of the previous wooden houses. These residential and commercial blocks are often so indistinguishable that you can very quickly get lost among them if you are not paying attention to the street name signs. The promenade along the River Aura has gradually turned into a phenomenal chronological timeline which physically demonstrates the development of Turku’s built environment throughout the centuries. Here examples of National Romanticism, Classicism, Functionalism, Modernism, and Post-Modernism are placed side by side, creating a very diverse cityscape.

I would be lying if I pretended I had no clue about the link that exists between Turku and Alvar Aalto. Between 1927 and 1933 Aalto lived and worked in Turku before moving to Helsinki since it provided more work opportunities.² As the testimony to his time in Turku, three Aalto’s buildings can be found in the city: Standard Apartment Building (1927-28), Southwest Finland Agricultural Co-operative Building (1927-28), Turun Sanomat newspaper office (1928-29).

These buildings are examples of Aalto’s early style – the very rational, straightforward functionalist who seems to have kept a certain distance between himself and his designs. Today all of these houses are still in use and appear to have blended in with their neighbours so well that it would be easy to miss them if it were not for certain details and signs.

One of the things I enjoyed most about Turku was that among those monotone and repetitive blocks here and there a sudden breathtaking or intriguing surprise would appear out of nowhere. The impressive National Romantic style building (1904) designed by Gustaf Nyström is one of such examples. This astounding structure, which is also a home to Turku Art Museum, in the darkness probably looks like something just stepped out of a Gothic horror film. Located on the top of a hill, it overlooks the street that disappears in front below, making the building appear even more grand and respectable.

However, it is not just the historical aspect of Turku that is interesting. As much as the city emphasises and cares for its history, it has also got a forward-looking and innovative side to it, which already has attracted a lot of attention. One of the noteworthy projects is the famous (I say famous because it kept reappearing in so many of my researches for various university projects throughout the entire course) Pudelma pavilion in the park next to the Turku City Hall.

Designed in 2011 by students and professionals from the University of Columbia, Oulu University and Aalto University, the pavilion was dedicated to Turku’s nomination as the ”European Capital of Culture 2011” and the events hosted as a part of the cultural programme.³ This experimental structure combines traditional timber construction techniques and modern computer-based design methods. It is not just an eye-pleasing object, dropped in the middle of a courtyard – the atmosphere inside it is also quite unique, especially with the snow filling in the voids and creating a feeling that you have just entered a weird igloo hybrid. The fact that this (I presume initially – ‘temporary’) pavilion is still standing 5 years after its construction shows how open-minded the city is and also how much it appreciates non-traditional design.

The other major project is the new building of Turku Main Library, completed in 2007 by JKMM Architects. The building has received numerous awards, all of which are well-deserved. The project must have been a difficult challenge not just because of its central location and dense urban surroundings, but also because the structure had to be linked to the old library building, which had been completed in 1903.

The new library makes a rather modest first impression, compared to some of the other recently finished libraries in the same region as well as in more distant places. But it fits. It fits so well that if the building was placed right next to Aalto’s Southwest Finland Agricultural Co-operative Building, which is only a few blocks away, you would think that half a century later the same architect has been reborn and designed the second building next to his first work. By that I am not trying to say that the new library is a copy of some of its older neighbours, but it definitely feels like a natural continuation of its surrounding environment. And there is absolutely no need for the new library to scream for the attention – people seem to be visiting it very frequently and willingly. Because once you will have experienced the warm and inviting atmosphere of the reading rooms inside this building, you will find your legs bringing you back there already the next day.

And that is a brief overview of Turku. There is certainly a lot to cover when you are trying to capture the essence of an entire city, but I hope this will do. I imagine Turku is one of those places you have to visit at least once in every season to fully understand how everything comes together and functions as a whole. The city’s growth seems to gradually continue and not just above the ground. The Medieval Turku is also rising back from the underground (literally) as the archaeological excavations take place underneath the Aboa Vetus & Ars Nova – the museum of history and contemporary art. You can always trust in people and places that are proud of their ancestry and maintain a strong connection with their history because you know that they are real, that they are in touch with themselves and the place from which they originate. And if you have a strong connection to the past, you also have a better chance of creating a meaningful future. That, I believe, is also the case of Turku.

1.”History of Turku,” Nordtek, accessed February 7, 2016, http://web.abo.fi/konferens/nordtek2011/history.html

2. Lahti, Louna. Aalto. Köln: Taschen, 2004.

3. ”Pudelma in the Turku City Hall park,” Turku 2011, accessed February 7, 2016, http://www.turku2011.fi/en/news/pudelma-turku-city-hall-park_en

F*ck the authority. Ai WeiWei @ Helsinki.

From 25.09.2015 to 28.02.2016 HAM (also known as the Helsinki Art Museum) is exhibiting the works of Chinese artist Ai WeiWei. Although my initial reason for wanting to visit this museum was the curiosity about the actual building itself, the artworks displayed inside it were the ones that completely overwhelmed and consumed me.

HAM has found its home at the Tennispalatsi (1938) – a very fine example of Functionalism in central Helsinki, designed by Helge Lundström for the 1940 Summer Olympics which never took place because of the World War II. After its construction, the ‘Tennis Palace’ was never really used for sporting events, with the only exception being the basketball games during the 1952 Summer Olympics.¹ Instead, the building has always appeared to be more suitable for hosting business and cultural events, therefore it comes as no surprise that today Tennispalatsi is known as the cultural centre which accommodates a cinema complex and an art museum. It did sadden me a little to see that the interior has entirely lost the connection with the exterior. The 21^st century’s obsession with ‘automatic everything’ and the use of cold soulless materials has irreversibly torn apart the building’s insides like a lethal disease. Maybe it has to do with the fact that the building never found its true calling in the first place, thus there was no identity to preserve. So if you are looking for a lesson in the history of Functionalism, this will not be the right place. But if you are after some controversial and thought-provoking contemporary art, do go in.

Born in 1957, Beijing, by now Ai WeiWei seems to have attempted almost every possible form of artistic expression – animation, installation art, architecture, photography, music, film, writing. The range of works featured in this exhibition includes various projects from the past three decades. Some of these artworks are WeiWei’s response to global issues while others retain deeply personal meanings, representing certain events and experiences from the artist’s life.

Ai WeiWei has always been very passionate about human rights and the freedom of speech, emphasising the absolute necessity for the truth to always remain exposed regardless of the cost. His other passion for criticising the authority has caused WeiWei some trouble and numerous collisions with the Chinese government. From being banned from travelling abroad as a potential threat to national security, to being held in detention and accused of various crimes for which, of course, no solid evidence could ever be found.² So far none of these events have succeeded in silencing the artist’s voice. WeiWei remains determined to rebel against those who would like to see the world full of scared obedient slaves, which is clearly visible in his artwork.

The wooden handcuffs and hanger symbolise WeiWei’s time spent in detention.

There is only one element that makes a noticeable connection between all of these unique artworks – wood. The use of this organic material somehow softens the feeling in the room where almost every installation can be seen as a metaphorical fist thrusted in the faces of those holding the power. The choice of wood also shows WeiWei’s respect and worry for the traditional Chinese culture and its future which, in my opinion, is best expressed in the White House installation.

The pale ghost-like skeleton has been assembled using the main structural elements of a residential building dating from the Qing dinasty. By covering the structure in white paint and concealing the imperfections of the old timber beams, WeiWei brings attention to the easiness and carelessness with which things with historical importance and value are torn down, taken apart, transformed, and eventually sold as new. It is the first time this installation has been exhibited anywhere, and it seemed quite fitting that the White House has its debut in the Tennispalatsi – the building which ironically has had the same fate as this little Chinese house.

One of the most popular installations (judging by how many people stopped to take a photo of it or sat down to explore it for a while) seemed to be the Tree. Made of various parts from different dead tree trunks found across the South China, it bears a somewhat strong resemblance to the ‘creature‘ from Marry Shelley’s Frankenstein.

You look at it knowing that each of its individual components is dead, and yet, when put together, they manage to form an object which on outside appears to be perfectly fine and functioning – perhaps another reference to the current state of many governments and countries around the world. It made me wonder why this particular installation seemed so appealing; why did everyone, including me, felt so drawn to it. Is it because we all relate to the ”being broken/pretending to be fine” state? Is it because we always automatically start to look for a solution or a fix as soon as something is out of order? Or is it simply because our straightforward thinking minds always get suspicious when we see something that does not look ‘normal’ or ‘natural’?

Those are only a few of the questions I had in my mind as I left the building. Ai WeiWei’s work most certainly makes you think. It draws your attention to what is really important, makes you laugh about the established system, and provokes feelings and thoughts that certain people wish would never cross your mind.

Helsinki Art Museum: http://www.hamhelsinki.fi/en/
Ai Wei Wei: http://aiweiwei.com/

1. ”Tennispalatsi,” Helsinki Hotels, accessed February 2, 2016, http://www.helsinki-hotels.com/museums/tennispalatsi.htm

2. BBC News, ”China Nobel row: Artist Ai Weiwei stopped from leaving,” BBC.com, accessed February 2, 2016, http://www.bbc.com/news/world-asia-pacific-11909470