I am interested in “everyday history,” microhistory, and unwritten history that surround us in our everyday lives. What kind of traces do we leave? What is significant enough to be remembered?
Fabrics of Memory in the Nordic Landscape | Riitta Päiväläinen
Riitta Päiväläinen is a visual artist whose evocative works lie at the intersection of fabric and landscape. Using second-hand fabrics and textiles woven into the fabric of Nordic landscapes, she delves into themes of memory, absence, and lingering traces of the past.
In this interview, we explore how Päiväläinen evokes forgotten stories by merging art, fabric, and landscape, creating a visual language that is both unique and deeply resonant.
Where does your connection to nature and the Nordic landscape come from? Is there a specific childhood memory or moment that influenced your artistic approach?
I was born in a very small village in the middle of Finland with about 150 inhabitants. There were no supermarkets or cinemas back then. My childhood home was surrounded by thick, sheltering forests. I spent most of my time outside, wandering in the forests, climbing trees, building huts and shelters and skiing in the fields nearby.
I experienced nature strongly through all my senses: the smell of rotting autumn leaves, fresh virgin white snow falling, and the fog rising from the fields after the rain. I knew the change of the season was approaching by looking at certain flowers starting to bloom or decay and hearing the sounds of emigrating birds.
All these existential moments that I experienced through the eyes of a small child still exist very strongly in my memories: the feeling of being an equal part of the world, one with nature.
How do you select materials for your installations? What drew you to secondhand clothes or fabrics specifically?
I have a special connection to fabric because of my mother. She made most of the clothing for our family. As a child and teenager, I mostly designed my own clothes. My mother and I would choose the fabrics together. I remember her taking my measurements when I was small. She was close to me, and I could feel her breath. Garments, how they feel, drape, and their texture, have been familiar to me since childhood and carry a special meaning
As a young art student, I bought my clothes from second-hand shops. I also made my own clothes. I spent a lot of time at flea markets and even bought clothes that didn’t fit me. I was just curious and fascinated by them! I found it intriguing to examine, especially the handmade clothes, because they were specially designed for someone. Later, I realised that I had bought several pieces of clothing for my closet without any specific or sensible reason. To understand why, I started photographing them. Since then, I have been ‘on this journey.’.
I trust my intuition when I choose fabrics and places. I prefer handmade clothes and garments without labels, signs, texts or references to specific well-known designs, religious or political population/groups. It can be a small detail in fabric/piece of clothing that draws my attention. Maybe the pattern, cutting, colour, touch of material, and detail provoke my memories and I choose it.
By choosing clothes this way, I wish to keep the interpretation open. When I choose which fabric to use in a specific place, I visualise the result in my mind, decide the colours so that they are in connection with the nature elements and atmosphere, and determine whether the feeling will be lighter or darker in the end.
What significance do fabrics hold for you as a vehicle for memory and a connection to time? In your works, clothes seem to “contain” absent bodies. What does this absence represent for you?
Fabrics are deeply tied to memory and time because they hold physical traces of the past. The fabric or clothes can still carry the scent of a passed relative or childhood home, evoking involuntary memory.
Old fabrics are microhistorical documents, archives from the past. They tell us about the techniques, materials, and traditions. I treasure old hand towels crafted by my now-passed relatives. Handmade fabric with embroidered initials feels like a secret message, a reminder, a greeting from them. I admire old, historical tapestries. It almost feels as though time has woven both the stories of the weavers and the lives of the castle residents into its stitches.
For me, clothes refer to someone who exists or existed. They are documents of personalities and individuals because they carry the signs, faded colours, and wear and tear of life. A cloth without a person also signifies absence and death. So the person is both absent and present at the same time. By using used clothing in my photography, I reference the person who once wore it, their personal history, and life story. I never know the exact ‘truth’ of the person behind the cloth, but I can suggest possible alternatives.
By using old clothes in my photography, I believe I am able to deal with issues that refer to humanity: feelings and emotions. I am able to suggest potential stories and raise associations and memories.
Given that the fashion industry is the third most polluting, with millions of garments discarded each year, how can we establish a healthier relationship with the clothes we wear by understanding their story and impact on the land? Do you see your creative work contributing to this new perspective?
It is important to question your own relationship with garments. Clothes are much more than protection from the cold or heat. They are part of our personality, signals of our choices and values in life. Sometimes, it is good to look back at history. Not long ago, clothes were made by hand. They were designed and crafted to fit a specific person. They were used, cared for, respected for years, and also repaired. This is why old, handmade clothes feel like they have an ‘aura.’
Actually, I haven’t thought much about the fashion industry, mass production, and the pollution of nature caused by the short life cycle of clothes. But this is a very interesting perspective and aspect to consider when looking at my images.
Many of your works evoke the passage of time and the fragility of memory. How do you interpret these themes in your art?
My works and fabric installations are mostly made by intuition, which is connected with memories and subconscious. After the installation is ready, I wait for certain light and a specific moment of wind or movement. I choose a brief, flickering moment when I press the shutter. Photographs have a way of capturing fleeting moments, freezing time while simultaneously reminding us of its passage. A single image can evoke nostalgia, bringing back details we might have otherwise forgotten.
I am interested in “everyday history,” microhistory, and unwritten history that surround us in our everyday lives. What kind of traces do we leave? What is significant enough to be remembered? I often ‘look at the past.’ I am interested not only in my own personal history but also in the past relatives I’ve never met and the collective history we carry. Perhaps my tendency to remember and recall the past is conveyed in the images.
What message do you hope to convey through your work? Are you aiming to raise awareness about the importance of the bond between humans and nature?
I have worked as a photographic artist since 1998 and I have worked with the same issues since beginning. The themes of my work are landscape, place, nature, secondhand clothing, ribbon and fabric installations, memory, remembrance, microhistory, childhood, imaginary meetings, alternative and potential stories.
Without nature, my work would not exist. My childhood experiences have strongly affected me as an individual and as an artist.
A place in nature is always the starting point for my artistic work. Working with landscapes means immersing myself in them—sensing the space. A feeling, a scent, a shape, or a colour in the surrounding nature inspires me. Pristine nature becomes a playground for an interaction between fabric installations, atmosphere and light.
Especially, the series “Shelter” deals with our relationship with nature and how fragile nature can be.
I am drawn to remote, deserted, and marginal places—those without economic or financial significance. Through my photographs, I aim to give a voice to these silent places. For me, the true value of nature lies not in its financial worth, but in humanity’s ability to see it as a source of imagination, dreams, and creation. To me, landscapes are mise-en-scènes, mental, subconscious, and deeply personal mindscapes.
I believe we all should have personal experiences and memories of being one with nature. How else can we know what and why to respect and cherish? Nature shelters us. Do we shelter nature enough?
How do you balance planning your projects with spontaneously interacting with materials and landscapes?
I often say to myself when I start working, ‘Do not think. Trust in your experiences and inner guidance.’ I can carry only a certain amount of fabrics and equipment. I work alone, by myself, so these are my limitations. I have a lot of materials to choose from in my car, but the act of creating an installation is about letting go of your own limiting expectations and doing a lot of testing.
It is also important to be sensitive in the moment and ready for the unpredictable. Working with nature means there is much unpredictability in the process: changes in the weather (rain, wind) and shifts in light, which affect the entire atmosphere of the place. The colour of the fabric and the shape of the installation influence how we ‘read’ the image. While working, I need to be flexible, able to change my plans, and seek alternative ways to complete the image. I often test different colours and shapes before finalising the installation. Sometimes, the installation doesn’t work, but later, you often discover why.
In your works, clothes seem to “contain” absent bodies. What does this absence represent for you?
Absence represents something that was and is still partly present.
The difference between presence and absence is often fleeting. A cloth is so closely associated with a person that its absence also refers to death.
In Shelter, you mention, “Nature shelters us. Do we shelter nature?” How do you interpret the idea of humans ‘sheltering’ nature?
It feels as though we humans have forgotten that we are one with nature, not above it. By destroying nature, we destroy ourselves. We can ‘shelter’ nature by understanding the consequences of our own actions. We should also recognise and respect the essence of nature beyond its financial value. Excessive or unsustainable exploitation leads to serious environmental consequences.
Your art delves into imagination and symbolism. How would you describe the role of imagination in your creative process, and how does it influence the stories we tell about the world we inhabit?
I admire children’s ability to observe the world, for instance, the personification. By making art, I wish to broaden my mind to see new realities and strengthen my inner child.
Once your installations are photographed, what happens to the fabrics used? Do they remain in nature, or are they preserved in some other way?
I never leave fabrics in nature. I collect them and sometimes I use them twice. Mostly I return them back to second-hand shops, or if in good condition after usage, I donate them for handicraft. I have preserved a few clothes because I have become attached to them.
We all live in an interconnected ecosystem, and our stories are inseparable. Do you consider your creations to embody this universal approach?
Yes, definitely. I am not interested in either only the fabric or only the landscape. I am interested in the combination they create together—the dialogue. I am looking for a profound message. This exists in viewers’ minds and can differ because it is interpreted by their inner lives, memories, and earlier experiences.
We all share a common and collective history. Regardless of where we are from, we experience the same basic emotions: joy, fear, happiness, and grief. I hope that when I sense these emotions while creating an image, the viewer experiences them as well.
Words by Riitta Päiväläinen, visit her website for more
Introduction and interview by Virginia Passaro
