Lämmin Sade

Saturday, September 9. 2006

I met Juhani Pallasmaa yesterday.

I was late—and wet, having gone the wrong direction on Tehtaankatu towards the sea in search of a small triangular park opposite which I was to find his office. As luck would have it there are three triangular parks on this street and the sea wraps from the west to the south. The rain had let up and the skies held until abut two minutes to five, the hour of our appointment, and in the ten minutes I required to reorient myself and walk back enough rain fell to render my umbrella superfluous as my coat sent sheets of water to my thirsty wool trousers. Marita, his office manager, met me at the door, welcomed me warmly and took my dripping coat. She led me to a long room made of books excepting the deep window at the furthest end. Several low lamps hung over a glass table set for two with wine, coffee and biscuits. She invited me to sit but before I could assess which chair I should take Juhani had made an enthusiastic entrance and was shaking my hand. Still damp and apologetic I tried feebly to tell him how pleased I was to meet him.

We talked for well over two hours, interrupted only once—his wife calling to say he should come home and make some food with her. Talking for ¾ of an hour beyond her request, the conversation punctuated by his sudden and frequent exits to fetch another book we’d been discussing from his office library of over seven thousand volumes. Of which one really only needs very few, he said, telling me he could survive with about six. He gave me the names of four. The pearls rolled off his tongue in rapid succession with an understated ease. We shared the same list of names, mine of admired authors, his of brothers and friends. He told me of the dinner shared by Groucho Marx and T. S. Eliot and their mutual respect. Brodsky, Pound, Borges, Pessoa, Husserl, Sartre, Perez-Gomez, Wilson, Tintoretto, Michelangelo, Lewerentz, Libeskind and Barragan and apes. Faithfully and without exception he reads what his friends recommend. He said one only learns from failures, success teaches nothing. And he told me that he was not a believer in theoretical starting points, that architecture requires a certain attitude and a sharpness of perception. He told me there was no meaning without touching some existential core, but that once you’d done that… He said “Architectural meaning comes before language, language is not the primary condition.” leading us into a discussion of Levi-Strauss, Chomsky, Husserl, Wittgenstein and pre-reflective meaning.

He sent me away with two books, one mine to keep and another to borrow. He offered his library and space to work and told me my time in Finland would be very important for me. I wished him bon voyage for his trip to the south of France, an escape with his family from the 70th birthday next week brings and he kissed me once on each cheek and walked me into the hallway, now chatting again telling me of the two flats he’s designing in the extra office space he no longer requires.

The rain had stopped. Early Friday evening in Helsinki is quiet.
And so very beautiful.