On the second floor of Kiasma, one of Finland’s leading contemporary art museums, I was greeted by the familiar romantic sounds of Beach House’s “Somewhere Tonight” softly playing in the second gallery room—a warm welcome to the first museum I visited after arriving in Helsinki. The music pulled me past the first room and into the second, where a trio of captivating photographs by Finnish artist Maarit Hohteri were mounted on the wall. In each, loved ones are captured in a deep sleep within the comfort of their own unpolished homes, a tender glimpse into an undisturbed moment of being. All three photographs are part of Hohteri’s work, Between Us, a photo book showcasing important memories, people, places, and relationships in the artist's life.

To me, an international student 5,500 miles away from my home, racked with feelings of guilt and homesickness, and transfixed by culture shock, this exhibition felt like a warm welcome. Finland is home to roughly 5.6 million people, around 89% being of Finnish descent and 10.2% being individuals of foreign origin (1). In 2023 alone, 73,236 people immigrated to Finland (2). An influx of migrants from bordering countries like Estonia, Russia, and Ukraine, and further countries like China and Iraq has significantly shifted the demographic makeup of the country.

Since my arrival, conversations on the closing and opening of borders, as well as of asylum seeking individuals from countries like Ukraine, were sparked with individuals who call this place their home. In 2023, 5,372 applications for asylum were received and 1,281 were accepted. Needless to say, the increase in immigration is gradually causing a shift from a more ethnically homogenous country to a more ethnically diverse one, which is reflected in Feels Like Home.

AL-Nawas was born in Baghdad, Iraq, and the cutlery in the video made the journey from Iraq to Finland along with the artist’s family. The art label that accompanies the work discloses that the silverware, a common heirloom passed down between families, was almost sold on their journey here, an act demonstrating the frequent sacrifice of valuables that preserve familial history—an unfortunate loss that often occurs in migration. One of the Latin definitions of hostis is “stranger” or “foreigner”, a label disclosing the identity frequently attached to individuals who leave their homeland. Departing from one's homeland often entails renouncing aspects of life such as career, friends, hobbies, and potentially even religious practices—elements that are essential to one's identity and crucial to developing a sense of belonging. Upon arriving to a new country, these elements must be searched for and may never fully be recovered.

Language is another aspect of culture that preserves familial history and memory. Brazilian artist Cildo Meireles turns to language and music to tell us of his upbringing and how language both unites and alienates. His grand sculpture “Babel” (2001) consists of hundreds of radios stacked upon one another, all tuned into different stations that sing and speak over each other.

As I walked around the tower, news broadcasts, weather forecasts, and catchy melodies in different languages rang through, a series of interruptions devoid of unison and comprehension. The title of the work refers to the biblical Tower of Babel from the book of Genesis, a mythical tower which is said to have been tall enough to reach the heavens. Walking around the tower evoked the same awe and wonder I imagine a biblical archeological excavation of the actual Tower of Babel would, a towering structure that presents human history in a mystifying way. The structure forces one to listen to the sounds of an interchange of languages that mimic the array of languages one hears walking through the streets of Helsinki.

The second half of the exhibition holds the untitled installation by Belgian artist Berlinde de Bruyckere. In the corner of the gallery room, three beds stand beside each other, each layered with hundreds of quilts and blankets that have been pierced through, their giant holes revealing the many layers of cloth. Similar to the silverware in Ahmed AL-Nawas’s “Hostis,” the beds and blankets are closely tied into memories of home, the place many Finnish immigrants fled from, yet one which also holds feelings of tenderness and nostalgia. Impaired beds set against the dull gray backdrop of the gallery room conjure thoughts of war and loss—the loss of one’s home and/or loved ones.

Feels Like Home began with moving photographs of Maarit Hohteri’s friends and family sleeping in their homes, one in the comfort of their own bed, which – when revisited after the end of this exhibition – comes across as a luxury. The warmth and familiarity of these images juxtaposes the three beds I was met with towards the end, devoid of any warmth and stained with memories rooted in suffering and displacement.

The selected artworks tell just a few of the many stories of those who fill the streets outside of Kiasma. Feels Like Home can be interpreted as a cross-cultural exchange of narratives that often clash, but encourage discussion. When space is made for individuals to share their stories and inform us of their history, it gives a voice to often unheard and misunderstood communities, bringing them closer to finding a sense of belonging in a foreign land.


Resources
1. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Demographics_of_Finland 2. https://stat.fi/tup/suoluk/suoluk_vaesto_en.html