Photography by Veeti-Eemil Valkama
E: The artistic process began with thorough research on ancient flutes, particularly the Divje Babe flute. I studied the materials and techniques that could have been used and then decided to modernise the approach by using 3D printing technology. This combination of ancient inspiration and modern technology allowed me to recreate the flute with precision. The journey involved not only creating the physical object but also experimenting with playing it and exploring the sounds it could produce. It was a blend of historical research, technical experimentation and artistic expression, culminating in a unique musical piece that connects past and present.
A: You've worked with a lot of different mediums, like photography and 3D printing. Do you have a favourite among them or something you go back to often?
E: I feel like right now, in this discovery phase I’m in, it’s more like planting the seeds; I will try something, put it down and see how it grows, how it resonates with me. Currently, I feel that it might be interesting to combine some of my background with technology and with my interests in art and history. I like these combinations, because it seems like they don’t connect with each other, when really, they can be very connected.
This year, I told myself, okay, I just want to try different things, plant the seeds and see how it goes. I’m still figuring it out and haven’t found the one, like this is my media.
A: Is history a theme that often recurs in your work?
E: Yeah, I have a few works, where the topic is how the problems in history are actually also problems now, just in different ways.
A: Did your interest in history influence your choice of workspace? We are at your workspace, Ateljee10, a shared art space located in the historic Lapinlahti former mental hospital.
E: Yes. This space has a unique atmosphere due to its history and beautiful surroundings. We share the space with 17 artists from diverse artistic backgrounds, which creates a vibrant and inspiring environment. We occasionally organise events here, like the Lapinlahti film festival. When I first came here, I knew the history of the building and I felt this vibe, it’s a bit mysterious. Knowing the building’s history, it spoke to me. I usually like to know the history of, for example, an item, like this cup here. If I know its history, I’m more inclined to buy it. History carries a lot with it.
A: I get it! Like with historical buildings, it’s fascinating to think how many different hands have opened the same windows before and walked the same stairs. You can really get in touch with the past.
E: You feel like you’re living in history and are a part of it. I do feel like sometimes the building inspires me. We think we affect the physical things around us, but I think sometimes the physical things affect us more, especially with architecture. We can tear down a building or try to restore it, maintain it as much as possible... For example, in this room you can see the different layers of paint added on the walls through time. You scratch a bit and find another layer underneath. And in the end the colours fit quite well with each other. That’s a small example of what the beauty of history is physically.
A: That’s a good example of how there has been so many people making their own mark on the building through different times. And now, you people working here are making your own mark on its history as well. You also mentioned that a topic that interests you was the dialogue between Asian and Western cultures.
E: I lived in China for a long time, then nine years ago, I came to Finland. Travelling and living here, I start to look back to my culture. I think before, I felt that Western culture was more interesting and attractive to me, because it was so far from me. You know, it's something beautiful from far away. You want to know more.
But now it’s more that my home is far away, and I would like to go back and see it. That’s how I discovered how it can be so beautiful. It’s something I ignored for ages.
E: My inspiration came from an essay in Mark Nepo's “Things That Join the Sea and Sky”, titled "The Oldest Song in the World." It’s written so beautifully that it just made me want to explore the topic more.
It discusses ancient flutes carved from mammoth bones found in Hohle Fels, Southern Germany, dating back 43,000 years. This discovery sparked my curiosity, and further research led me to the Divje Babe flute, which is even older at 60,000 years. The idea of creating a replica of this ancient instrument intrigued me, as I wanted to experience the sound that might have connected us with our ancestors.
A: Is this sort of audio-based history something specifically interesting to you? It's pretty rare to have sound from when we didn't even have a language in common and usually, we think soundbites are a very modern thing. Is it something that has specifically fascinated you with this project?
E: Nowadays we use pictures as a media to remind ourselves of what's happening. That's why we like to take photos, maybe we don't share them anywhere, but we just keep them and think about the memory brought from the photo. Because through the picture, you can see the details of what was happening. Even when you didn’t notice it during that time. But sound, I feel, is also such an important medium, but we usually ignore it. It's not everyone's habit to take a sound recording. For example, if I make a recording at a party, the music and the noise can be really interesting. I do occasionally make some field recordings. When I listen to it back, I feel like it gives more to the imagination; you have to imagine what is happening especially since there is no picture.
Circling back to talking about these old pieces, when I'm playing the flute, I have notes from a very long time ago. My teacher tells us that you never know how they were played before. The notes only tell you roughly what to play, but the expression and all the small details, how you play it and how long to hold, it’s all lost in time. It gives you a lot of space as an artist to interpret and make it your own. But I like this idea of it passing down, like how we pass down stories through history. Sometimes you might lose something, and it can never be recovered.
This is an excerpt from an article originally published in the first issue of Sælæ on March 29, 2025.
We also publish a selection of Sælæ's content online. The magazine includes this and many other articles,
essays, and works.