The Defense of the Sampo

The Defense of the Sampo – Tempera on canvas – 48 x 49 inches.

In my last post I wrote about the Kalevala, Finland’s national epic and about Akseli Gallen-Kallela (1865-1931), one of the poem’s most famous illustrators. I mentioned the tale’s major themes: battles, magical adventures, a virgin birth, a miraculous child, and so on, but I didn’t include vengeance, incest, betrayals, jealousy, shamans, murder, blood feuds, suicide, child abuse, shape-shifting, fratricide, magic spells, kidnapping, theft, heroes, incantations, “nameless diseases,” sacred groves, death and resurrection, thwarted loves. And the Sampo.

In this image, Gallen-Kallela has painted Väinämöinen, a godlike shaman, and his crew, defending the Sampo from Louhi, an evil witch from Pohjola, the dark, cold, and dreaded North. (Of course, Pohjola also happens to be the home of beautiful, inaccessible women.) Louhi has changed herself into a predatory bird and, like everyone else in the story, she wants to possess the Sampo.

Why? It’s not a ring like that in Tolkien’s epic, but it is a magical artifact, a talisman, a vessel that confers nourishment, wealth and power on whoever has it. It was forged by a human blacksmith, but it always remains enigmatic. It’s never illustrated because it’s never clear exactly what it is, or looks like.

As you might imagine, not even its magical powers and magnetic attractions for humans can save it from destruction: In the battle painted here, it breaks apart and the fragments sink below the waves, lost forever, like thwarted loves, and other human dreams.

Gods of Gravity

Gods of Gravity: Sketch – ink, watermedia – 7.5 x 11 inches.

“The Kalevala” is Finland’s national epic poem. It unfolds in a harsh and beautiful landscape of dense green forests and snow-covered lakes. Of course, it contains all the elements of epics: shipwrecks, magical visions, the imprisonment of the sun and moon, bloody battles, a virgin birth, a miraculous infant, etc, all flowing toward an inconclusive outcome, like a dream. It exerted a deep influence on J.R.R. Tolkien and it worked its spell on me.

I visited Finland for two reasons: to research the origins of the poem and to see the paintings of Finland’s most famous artist (and illustrator of the epic), Alexi Gallen–Kallela (1865-1931). The artist’s home/studio/museum is located in Tarvaspää, on the outskirts of Helsinki. During one long afternoon, I was its only visitor.

I had admired the artist’s work for years, but what captivated my imagination in the studio was his piano. So I sat with it in silence and then made a detailed sketch in pencil. When I’m drawing I can be wide awake or in a dream, its hard to tell. The piano felt like a magical animal, asleep, like a sphinx, but full of power. There was no candelabra in the room, it appeared from nowhere, in the energy field of the piano. The shoes appeared out of nowhere too, grounding the instrument, even as it rose up from the floor, as light as my breath.

The artist’s home is small, but when I left, exhausted, it had felt like a cathedral. A long time passed before I was able to add the colors. The drawing is still not finished. They rarely are.

Cala Saona

 

Cala Saona, Formentera, Spain – Watercolor, pencil, ink – 5 x 8 inches.

When you draw or paint in public, people become curious. Whether working in a café, or in a waiting room at an airport, or on the corner of a street, you attract onlookers. I’ve been menaced by street thugs in Barcelona, but encounters with onlookers are usually pleasant. Sometimes sad, such as meeting a woman one morning in Valencia. I was drawing the decrepit husks of vacant apartment buildings that were about to be demolished. She told me that the 3rd floor flat of the building I was drawing had been her home. After the structure had been condemned by the city, she had been forcibly evicted by the police. They threw me out onto the street, she told me, “con golpes y patadas,” with punches and kicks.

My usual reaction to people who stop to watch me is to ask, “do you like to draw?” In all the years I have worked in public, I have never yet encountered a child who answered, “No.” With adults, however, the responses are mixed. The funniest exchange happened on the island of Formentera, when I was drawing these cliffs at twilight. The island, with its lively nightlife, transparent waters, clothing-optional beaches and mild weather attracts visitors from everywhere, especially from the less-temperate climates of northern Europe.

I had been working for a while and had been aware of the presence of someone standing behind me. It was an elderly gentleman, quiet and attentive. I asked him the question. Embarrassed, he backed away. “No,” he said sheepishly, “I’m German.”