Paris—it’s still pretty mind-blowing what you can do and see in this city, just like that, on a whim, or almost. I’d seen a poster in the streets for an exhibition on Pekka Halonen. And suddenly, I was back in Helsinki, visiting that incredible place, the Ateneum Art Museum, Finnish National Gallery. There, I discovered his work, as well as that of Akseli Gallen-Kallela and Helene Schjerfbeck, whose art left me spellbound—and many others I invite you to explore.
So, Finland has come to Paris, and the exhibition is at the Petit Palais. Not far from my studio. A ten-minute bike ride, and I’m there. But I always put off these kinds of projects, and like many, I often react too late—either there’s too much of a crowd at the end, or the exhibition is already over, and extensions are too rare to hope for a second chance. The urge struck me in the middle of the afternoon. I’d just finished a project and wasn’t yet inspired to start the next. No excuse not to head into the halls of the Petit Palais.
When I arrived, the sky was low. Gray. Indistinct. Like nature’s invitation to step into another landscape. Into someone else’s eyes. That’s what I thought at the time. Daylight is for our eyes, night for dreams or spectacles of light like stars or cinema, but the gray sky neutralizes our gaze, blurs it, so we can turn toward other skies. In short, that’s what was on my mind as I entered and discovered the first paintings. I felt my heartbeat slow, my steps grow softer. No more hurried city stride. I was in the Finnish snow. It was a total emotion.
