Markku Hakuri

Ten Stories About Existence

Somewhere, Sometime

Without memory, we do not exist. Memory forms the foundation for everything we build, including the future. It helps us recognize, anticipate, and predict. Through memory, we attempt to understand the world, piece together different events, and create some sort of order. We live in the space between the past and the future. It is an essential part of the structure of our minds and the flow of time as we experience it.

“We can never truly know. I simply believe that some part of the human self or soul is not subject to the laws of place and time.” – C.G. Jung

Travel Notes:

A storm arose as we were in the middle of a lake, in a rowboat with two adults and three children. At first, we didn’t realize how dangerous the situation had become. It was the storm of the decade. We kept the boat's bow facing the waves, trying to reach the shelter of a visible island...

We decided to paddle to a small islet in the outer archipelago for a day trip. The weather was warm, and the sea calm. Then, a pale band of mist appeared on the horizon, advancing quickly. Soon, we were enveloped in a sea fog, with visibility reduced to a few dozen meters. We knew we were near a shipping lane. Suddenly, we heard the dull rumble of a motor. The direction of the sound was impossible to determine. We waited. Out of nowhere, a massive shadow rose to our right – a cruise ship...

I was recklessly brave. Paddling across the sea at night is not very wise. The kayak wouldn’t show up on radar, and I would be hard to spot otherwise. The August night was perfectly still, with plenty of light. On the far horizon loomed a dark band, the Porkkala Peninsula. Suddenly, I heard a faint, unusual bubbling sound. I stopped paddling and listened. That’s when I noticed a trail of air bubbles approaching the kayak from the south...

“The universe is made of stories, not atoms.” – Muriel Rukeyser

Shangri-La. Do you remember the film based on James Hilton’s novel Lost Horizon? Frank Capra's movie depicts the search for an idyllic utopia, a haven of peace hidden somewhere beyond the mountains. In the film’s climax, the seeker finds a secret passageway on a mountaintop, leading to a land of happiness. Somewhere, sometime, lies the land of dreams – Shangri-La.

“Life is what happens to us while we are making other plans.” – Thomas La Mance

When Even Trees Die

UKK National Park, 1984

We began our hike from Kemihaara, heading toward the eastern parts of UKK National Park. The forest resembled a park—easy to traverse. The trees were mostly spruces, their short branches awaiting the heavy snow of the coming winter. The scenery shifted as we reached the park's eastern areas. The fells rose up. At Vongoiva's pine grove, we paused to listen to the hundred-year-old trees. The forest brought peace.

Greece, 1993

At dusk, we arrived in Métsovo, a small mountain town in Greece. I was numb from driving. Still, we took a short walk to explore the town center. The scent of wood was everywhere. Wood was used in the buildings, burned, stacked, sawn, and growing all around us. In the town square stood a massive, ancient plane tree. Its trunk circumference must have been about ten meters.

Nuuksio National Park, 2019

Morning is the best time. We went mushroom picking in a forest that hadn’t been logged—a place where old trees still stood, waiting to be hugged. In the afternoon, an unexpected storm arose. Strong winds made the old spruce forest sway like waves. Close by, there was a loud crack and groan, followed by several resounding crashes. Five enormous spruces fell with a thunderous thud to the ground. The gust of wind passed, and silence returned to the forest— even when trees die.

Kuopio, 2021

I traveled by train from Helsinki to Kuopio, spending five hours observing the Finnish landscape. Desolate thickets, thinned-out pine plantations, timber fields, and vast clear-cut areas. The brutal face of consumer society. There are no forests anymore.

Kauklahti, 2021

I waited for the rain forecasted for the afternoon. Next door, the new homeowner wandered around with planks, building a privacy fence. A pair of wood pigeons swooped past the window. I kept in mind the message of the book Ancient Trees. All the while, I stared at the hundred-year-old spruce standing on the neighbor's lot. Its time was almost up.

The Pond is Stirred – or, a Sweaty Afternoon

Science keeps the waters of the pond in order. Art stirs them up.

The Pond is Stirred is based on my experiences as an active orienteering enthusiast. If the pond is given a metaphorical meaning, it might also represent the inner life of the mind. So, what does it mean for the pond to be stirred?

It was a summer day, a sweaty afternoon (Dog Day Afternoon, Sidney Lumet). I decided to navigate from one pond to another, taking the opportunity to cool off in the water along the way. I discovered a secluded little pond, a depression filled with groundwater. Surrounded by earthen ridges and dense trees, the water in the pond was crystal clear. In perfect stillness, the surface of the water was invisible. The sky reflected in the pond, and the earthly horizon disappeared from my mind. Staring into the pond, I felt as though I were floating freely in space, beyond the walls of surrounding reality. Microorganisms drifted in the void. My body felt immaterial. A stranger stared back at me from the pond’s reflection. I forced myself into the water, and everything shattered. Movement broke the stillness of the surface, stirring muddy eddies up from the bottom. In an instant, the enchantment was replaced by an ordinary pond, its waters stirred.

I won’t dissect the metaphors of the pond.

Still, I must ask:

• How can the universe be boundless yet finite?

• Are calmness and silence siblings?

• What is life, summed up in one sentence?

• Is perfect happiness possible?

• What is the morality of the market?

• What is the true difference between speech and silence? ‘

• What kind of time is eternity?

• Is the universe one person’s life?

• Why is light different for everyone?

• Is still water always clear?

The Mountain of Good Wishes

Of course, there can be so many good wishes that they form a mountain. Yet I don't quite understand why I ended up associating good wishes and mountains in the same thought. Perhaps humanity is built on good wishes and intentions. Perhaps it's about that oftenmentioned triumph over oneself. Climb the mountain and see the light!

Ideas arise in moments, through insights and images, as associations produced by chance. I make space for the mountain. Memories, experiences, something concrete. First, Hitchcock’s film North by Northwest and Mount Rushmore come to mind. Four U.S. presidents carved into the mountain. The film's climax takes place on the presidents’ faces along the mountainside. A late evening. Bluish-gray light.

Then there’s The Magic Mountain, Thomas Mann’s novel about an alpine sanatorium, its relationships, and the societal changes left in the shadow of the mountain. The next mountain is the Matterhorn, the archetype of mountain peaks, a symbol of mountaineering and Toblerone chocolate, much like Warhol’s Marilyn.

And then, the mountain of all mountains, Mount Everest – in Nepal, "the forehead of the sky," in Tibet, "the mother of the universe." Once, I was planning a trip to Mount Everest. Not to conquer the peak of the world’s tallest mountain, but to join an international group organizing a cleanup of the mountainside – clearing the highest landfill in the world. That wish never came true.

There are also paintings that hold good wishes and often rise from my visual memory. Bruegel’s The Tower of Babel, Hokusai’s Mount Fuji, and, above all, Caspar David Friedrich’s Wanderer Above the Sea of Fog.

Finally, there is the most distressing subject: the garbage mountain. Instead of good wishes, it’s a heap of humanity’s greed, disregard, and consumerist frenzy. Good wishes fade into the background, a lightly drifting cloud-like mountain of mist. Reality and wishes do not meet.

The Edge of the World – again and again

I remember a saying from my childhood: “That has been done since the edge of the world” – even fatty gravy has been eaten throughout time. This saying was used to describe societal matters, customs, and behaviors tied to culture. Wars have always been fought. Often, the saying is associated with the fear of change and the desire to continue doing things in the same way as before.

In my childhood’s post-war world, community and shared codes of behavior and values were strongly present in everyday life. A neighbor’s aunt could discipline a poorly behaving child, and my parents would surely think it was deserved. When I received a beating after a backyard fight and complained about it to my mother, her comforting response was: "Children have been fighting forever, since the edge of the world. Just learn from it."

The "edge of the world" is also a convincingly dismissive and negating comment for those who enthusiastically share their observations or opinions. When used this way, it’s a saying meant to demonstrate superiority over the conversation partner; that’s how it has always been since the edge of the world, always done that way before!

Or perhaps, it could be that the edge of the world describes our limited understanding of the universe, its size and age (not the Earth, which was a pancake). Perhaps, from the edge of the world, everything has changed and continues to change. The world is a process, a totality formed by various events. Since time immemorial, stars have been born and extinguished, the cosmos has changed its form.

But the edge of the world, throughout time, is also a concept that stretches across time. To one person, it might mean human evolution, to another, the ways of ancestors. Time is relative, and as Italian physicist Carlo Rovelli wrote: "Time is the feeling of time – we are time."

Tomorrow Never Comes

The clouds of this moment are the rain of tomorrow. The rain of tomorrow is the clouds of the day after tomorrow.

Utopias exist, but they never come true. Utopia is good fuel to keep people going and satisfied while striving for an unattainable goal. One example among many is the Soviet Union, which encouraged its people to continue efforts for the communist utopia. Achieving the communist utopia was always just around the corner, but it never materialized. People were promised material good in the future, if only they could work hard and sacrifice for the future in the present. Tomorrow everything would be different. Utopias collapse, but dreams live on. Utopias are built on concrete action. Dreams are playthings of the imagination.

Thinking about tomorrow often stirs conflicting emotions. Contemplating the future involves expectations, fears, fantasies, hunches, and generally a variety of feelings, depending on the content of the expectations – "Tomorrow he will come" (Samuel Beckett).

Thankfully, there is today. With regard to tomorrow, one can only do today’s work. Doing is a process in which the past and future are involved. The past is a memory that lives its own life and connects us to a series of experiences through which we try to find the meaning of existence. Tomorrow sets goals and assumptions, which constantly change as we act. Tomorrow, as such, will never come.

Sitting and working in the studio is the most interesting moment of the experience of time. While working, the past is present as knowledge and experience. The future intermittently appears on the painting surface, only to disappear again, out of reach. Doing has concretized a thought that, upon realization, disappears and transforms into something else – the future. That’s why the solution is always a surprise, or rather, something different from what we imagined.

The past, the present, and the future are one and the same time. Time is made of events, and we are its gauges. Life is the events between the past and the future, in the constantly changing flow of time.

The Lightness of the Moment

Seize the moment, life is the best time for a person. The unbeatable combination of two philosophers of life, Horace and Matti Nykänen.

I love the moment. Its absoluteness. Its transience and its concreteness. The moment is the time when all sensory perceptions are real and perceptible. The moment is an insight and understanding of the meaning or meaninglessness of existence. The moment contains everything. It is the culmination of time, where the past and future meet. It is the event horizon of time, from which there is no return to the past, no access to the future.

For over thirty years, my studio was an old storehouse. A magpie’s nest heated by a stove. In winter, after five hours of heating, the temperature barely reached ten degrees. I worked in overalls, with market vendor gloves on my hands and a cap on my head. I’d get up at six in the morning to heat the shed. Wood was consumed. Looking back now, it was a nostalgic time, but still – the difficulty of working there was a constant source of grumbling. Often, my workday ended at midnight, tired and frustrated. Why did I choose this path?

One winter night, after a long and exhausting workday, I turned off the lights in the studio and stepped into the winter night’s frost. Looking up at the sky, the Milky Way shimmered. I stopped to stare at the starry sky, the unbelievable distances, the universe. In that moment, everything was self-evident and clear. This is how everything was supposed to be. A deep sense of certainty, happiness, and lightness lasted for a moment, but it contained everything: understanding and insight into the world and existence.

Everything is Always

The world is exactly as we imagine it to be, always, every moment... that’s why imagination is everything. (Sexus 2, Henry Miller)

Have you ever gotten lost? Really lost, so that you don’t know where you are – in the forest, the desert, or a big city. First comes wonder, astonishment. How did this happen? Then comes fear. How do I find the right path, the road that had to be walked? The yellow brick road.

Sometimes, when moving through the wilderness, I’ve briefly experienced the miracle of getting lost. The experience always follows the same mental process. Irritated wonder, fearlaced astonishment, and finally, surrendered relief. Nothing has happened. I’m somewhere on the map. The world still spins. Everything is always.

Getting lost and wandering are empowering experiences. One is forced onto side paths, facing the new. Getting lost is not intentional, it’s a coincidence. The world is made of coincidences, unpredictable events, and encounters. Coincidences open new perspectives. They are the salt of art. Intentional wandering within one’s own mind is one way of finding new connections. No additives are needed for this. The best way to open the gates of the mind is through physical activity, working. An artist evolves through their work. Even the samurais said it: Action and knowing are one and the same. During active action, there is no time to control the surprises the subconscious offers.

The world is like a rabbit hole, a web of unpredictable events. The universe, an unorganized mill of events. Immeasurable chaos. Falling into the rabbit hole is surrender, the final stage of getting lost, astonishment, wonder, and trust in the purposelessness of all that exists. The world is a kaleidoscope of various events. Even the smallest movement of an observer or of the world causes a change, a new perspective of the world.

This morning. The theater rehearsals have started. I am sitting on the train. The children and grandchildren are here and there, at work, school, kindergarten. A blackbird is rummaging through the flower bed. The northern windows are misting up. Döner restaurants in Berlin are already open.

Living Dreams

Is life a dream, a daydream, an imagination? Or is now and here reality, but is what just passed or what is about to come already beyond reality, a dream and an illusion?

When I was young, I was an avid astronomy enthusiast. So enthusiastic that I often spent nights on the hill of Myllykallio in Lauttasaari, lying on the ridge, counting meteors and observing meteor showers, which I carefully recorded in my notebook. On cold nights, my then-girlfriend, who would later become my wife, brought me hot drinks for warmth. On one such occasion, I looked down towards the south horizon and saw what seemed like a cluster of stars moving at high speed toward us. As it got closer, it turned out to be a half-arc-shaped cluster of lights that suddenly, at the same speed, made a 90-degree turn and quickly disappeared to the east. The event lasted perhaps 30 seconds. When I returned home, I eagerly told about the observation we had made and recounted the details I had written in my notebook. Laughter and dismissive chuckles sent the stargazer back to everyday routine. But the experience was not a dream but a significant moment that still lives with me as a living dream.

Dreams are the brain’s organizing and cleansing functions. So says research. Dreams are necessary biological activity. Necessary for us to stay alive. Dreams are for the brain, which contains events, observations, and experiences collected from the history of past times. Dreams are part of the process through which we try to understand the world and the contradictory questions of existence.

If we are time, then dreams are the stage of time, a kaleidoscope in which the possibilities offered by the brain interpret our life and our world in a new way. In dreams, we do not learn anything from the sensory information our perceptions produce. In dreams, we stumble through a surreal world where experiences, fears, and imaginations operate as equally strong forces. Dreams are not seen, dreams are experienced.

The House of the Happy People

Prologue

The House of the Happy is made of wood. It breathes oxygen and exudes history. It is a good place. The house has its own life. The materials, the shape, and the location give the house its character. The person living in the house must adapt to the spirit of the house, not the other way around. If you do not listen to the house, you will not find your place there. That is the House of the Happy.

Once Upon a Time

Once upon a time, there was a small family – a father, a mother, and two children. The family lived in a large southern city, on the third floor of an apartment building, surrounded by traffic noise, watched by neighbors, and in the midst of constant hurry.

However, the parents had a dream. They would move with their children far away from the crowds, the exhaust fumes, and the constant noise – to silence, peace, and a small village surrounded by vast forests. There, they could live the life of their dreams, free from all restrictions and the demands of others. So, they bought an old log house from far up north, which they began to restore. It wasn’t easy. Everything new had to be learned through work: building the stove, shoeing the house, building the sauna, etc. The parents did not give up. Once they could get work from the village, meaningful activity, life would begin to flow. There was no work to be found in the village. The southern dialect distanced the small family from the villagers. The family had to return to the southern city. But they returned again, and the following year, and the next, always returning to the remote village to restore the old House of the Happy.

Gradually, the family’s dreams faded, and they gave up the house. Life, work, and goals were found in the large southern city. The house was never fully restored. The family never moved to the village permanently.

Afterword

The House of the Happy had many lives. The winds of the world and the changes in society had shaped the history of the house. After the little family of the House of the Happy gave up their dream, they sold the house to new residents from the south. We do not know their story. One winter night, the House of the Happy burned to the ground. Only memories remained.