The term “story circle” was new to me until about three years ago. At first, it seems quite straightforward— get a bunch of people together in a room, seat them in the circle, and start asking them questions. Yes, that's the idea. .  . but there’s a lot more to it than just that. My understanding of story circles is based  on the work of Cornerstone Theater Company and  the  community events I participated in as part of my fellowship with the company in 2012. I learned a lot from that experience-- the work often begins WAY before the actual event takes place. The work is in every phone call, email, and conversation leading up to the gathering and the success often depends on the spirit, motivation, and sincerity of the initial invitation and willingness of the partners. Story circles are more than getting people together in a room. They are a process of listening, surrendering assumptions and clearly defining expectations.  

Story circles are an essential component of SISU is in the Heart. Prior to my arrival in Finland, I worked with Esa Honkimaki, the cultural director of Vanhu Paukku Cultural Center to arrange several story circle events in the Lapua region. One with a group of youth leaders, another with  a senior group interested in genealogy, and a third circle/puppet making session with a group of teenagers interested in art and theater. I also set up a few story and song sharing events with extended family members in the home of my great-grandfather’s brother in Kauhajarvi and the surrounding areas. From the beginning, a goal of this project has been to encourage inter-generational conversation, so I wanted to make sure I talked to people of all ages on my visit to my ancestral homeland. 

I asked many of the same questions I had asked in the circles in Fairport Harbor earlier this year-- What do you know about your great-grandparents? What values are most important to you? What would you include in a play about your community? 

I had been warned (a few times) to expect a certain kind of reticence: 

"Finns are quiet."
"It may be difficult to get people to talk." 
"Don’t worry! I’ve got some things written down just in case no one wants to speak."

But I didn't find this to be the case at all. The sessions were fun and lively and other than a few hiccups related to misunderstandings with translation from English to Finnish, the circles were a huge success and many people told me how much they enjoyed the chance to talk to one another and to get to know their peers and relatives.

I am struck by many things from the circles-- the importance of faith and education, the Finnish distinction between family and relatives, a perceived technological divide between youth and seniors, and an uncertainty about the future. But mostly, I am blown away by the similarities between Lapua and Fairport Harbor. I heard many of the same struggles, hopes, and  concerns on my visit to Ohio.  It is becoming clear to me that while this a project about family, it is also very much a project about place. There is an element of sisu that is linked to location, in the same way that people, words, and actions shape a community.  There are many possibilities for what will happen next and if my work with Cornerstone taught me one thing, it taught me that the answers are always right there in the room. 

Many thanks to those who accepted the invitation and joined the circles in Finland this past week!

-PC 

Check out more photos of the family events at: https://www.facebook.com/groups/419867471434183/

If YOU could include one thing in a play about Lapua or Kauha, what would it be?  

Email me at SISUisintheHeart@gmail.com, or click the Share Your Stories link at the top of the page.

I am in Helsinki, in a private studio apartment on the 7th floor of the Lallukka Artist Home, an incredible functionalist style building built in 1933 as a refuge for artists. Today, the 51 units are filled with visual artists, composers, and performers. It is a symbol of the dedication and a lifetime commitment to art in Helsinki.

I arrived two days ago and was greeted by my relative, Antti Ojala (his grandfather was my great-grandfather’s brother—bonus points if you can figure out what that makes us!), and his wife Tuula. They have welcomed me into their home and life for a week. I had arrived by bus from Turku, where I attended the TIP-Fest (another blog post forthcoming). We sat and talked for a bit about my first visit to Finland in 2006, my plans for the project, and how we would collaborate with Tuula’s help translating. Simply put-- I would pick the colors and he would paint.

Our work started the next morning. I showed Antti the figures I had carved of his grandparents, Kustaa and Hanna, and my great-grandparents, Johannes and Maria, carved in the likeness of vaivaisukot, or pauper statues, an image that has influenced much of Antti’s 25 year career. We started by priming and sanding the heads and preparing them to paint. In the afternoon, Antti showed me a folder of reference materials that he had prepared to inspire our work together-- a study, a lithograph, and a block print of the Allanen, the homestead of our mutual relatives. I am quite sure these will inspire the scenic design of the performance. Mostly we talked, and looked, and contemplated in broken English and Finnish.

When I entered the studio the next morning, Antti had pinned up four quick charcoal studies of the heads, so that we could begin planning the colors. Together we decided on skin tone, hair, and eye color. We discussed what was accurate, but also what would look best in terms of contrast. Then we started to paint -- quickly, roughly, imperfectly and mostly in silence. When Tuula joined us for afternoon tea and coffee  she translated, “Antti says it is important to paint imperfectly. It can be messy like they would have been outside of churches.” We ended our work early so I could meet cousins for dinner.

I am just now waking up for our third day together. It is a little before the sun has come up.There will be just less than six hours of light today before the sun disappears again. It is a big day. A filmmaker is coming today to document our work together. Antti is also expecting the delivery of a finished wooden doll he commissioned inspired by a toy  he remembers from his childhood that Kustaa carved.  It is unclear to me what he intends to do with this figure, but has said a few times, “We can cast it in a lighter material for your purposes”. I will see what this means soon. . . This evening Antti will attend a  black tie event to celebrate the 125 anniversary of the Finnish Artist Association. 

Our work has lasted only a few days, but it feels connected to many lifetimes. 

-PC

7 hours ago I was boarding a plane at JFK airport. Now I am in the Amsterdam airport waiting for my flight to Helsinki. I can't help but think of my great grandfather and his journey across the ocean in 1900. He traveled from his tiny village of Kauhavjarvi to the port at Vaasa, across the ocean, into Canada and then down through the Great Lakes to Fairport Harbor, Ohio.  His trip was much, much longer than mine. He was 23, and he was leaving his family forever. I am 32 and leaving my family for only a month. He was leaving what he knew, and heading towards an unknown future. For me this travel is full of certainties - I will be able to communicate with the immigration officials, there will be English alongside Dutch and Finnish in the airports, and I even know what the rooms look like of the airbnb where I am staying and can virtually walk down the street using Google maps. But here's the one that gets me -- he was saying goodbye for his entire life. I can pick up a device and talk directly to my wife and even see her face any time, including when I am above 10,000 feet in an airplane.

I have been thinking a lot about goodbyes this year. I lost my mom in March. I had time to say goodbye, but the words were difficult to find. A goodbye for life. Even in writing this the words feel weird and look wrong on the page.  "Lost" seems harsh. Perhaps I should pad it in some way to be more correct? But death is harsh. Should I just say, "is no longer with us"? No, because my mom is still with me in so many ways.  She is with me as I travel, for sure, and on every step of this project. 

I'm wondering if the words for the goodbye I'm searching for are even necessary. I feel my conversations with her continuing each day, I hear her voice-- both before and after her sickness unraveled her syntax. It is a scary thing to welcome those sounds back, but I am trying to challenge myself to be okay with it.

This is a project about shortening the distance between "here" and "there" -- between the U.S. and Finland, between the towns where my great grandfather was born and a village on Lake Erie, practically unknown to him when he left home. But perhaps that is too simple of a way to look at it (of course it is). The "here" and "there" are also all of the uncomfortable spaces between these difficult moments-- the time between saying hello and goodbye, the years between a diagnosis and hospice, the lag in a conversation between relatives you don't know very well, the silence of water in a Finnish lake, and the space in between the beats of our hearts. 

So, as I write and wait for my plane, I am trying to prepare myself to say hello-- to embrace the unknown, despite all of the familiarity that surrounds me in this shiny modern airport. My task is simple: to go to Finland, to listen, to search, to be present.  I am not searching for the words to say goodbye to my mom, but instead, how to say hello again.

-Park