Is Finland even in Scandinavia? Is it Scandi Chic?

Geographically, Finland is not a part of Scandinavia. However, Scandinavia is a term generally used by outsiders to describe Denmark, Finland, Iceland, Norway and Sweden. Only the two latter nations of Norway and Sweden are actually situated on the Scandinavian Peninsula and, technically, Scandinavia comprises those two countries and Denmark.

However, Finland, together with Sweden, Norway, Denmark and Iceland are part of the Nordic countries, known in Finnish as Pohjoismaat. To complicate things even further, the Nordic Council also includes the autonomous territories of the Faroe Islands and Greenland and the autonomous region of Åland.

Map courtesy of Brittanica.com

It is more common to hear people who live there refer to the region within the five countries as Norden or literally The North. If you omit Iceland in the North Atlantic, the other four countries extend 1,900 km from the Danish-German border right up to the northernmost part of Norway. Their combined land area is astonishingly large, at about 1,165,000 sq. km. In fact, its land mass is greater than Britain, France and Spain put together. However, they are not as heavily populated, as vast expanses of northern Sweden, Norway and Finland are well within the Arctic Circle and are given over to mountains and forest. In Iceland, much of the volcanic island is uninhabitable. In 2024, the populations of the Scandinavian countries (Denmark, Norway, Sweden) were as follows: Denmark: 5.96 million, Norway: 5.55 million, and Sweden: 10.55 million. The total population of all eight Nordic countries (including Iceland, Finland at 5.6 million, Greenland, Faroe Islands and Åland) was 28.2 million.

That is the geographical and political position. Now that I have outlined that Finland is definitely not in Scandinavia, unless of course you decide it is, the next big question is whether Finland and Finnish designers should be included in what is considered to be Scandinavian design. The reality in this case seems to be that when we refer to Scandinavian design, it is generally accepted that this includes (in alphabetical order) Denmark, Finland, Iceland, Norway and Sweden. If you are a pedant, you can of course refer to it as Nordic design.

Perhaps more than anywhere else in the world, designers in Scandinavia appear to have nurtured a democratic approach to design that seeks to enhance the quality of everyday life through appropriate and affordable products and technology. From its birth around 1920, modern Scandinavian design expresses its beauty in simplicity and functionality. When we think of interior decor, it mixes whites, neutral colours, and natural woods. Simple lines are combined with a clean and fresh aesthetic to create cosy and light interiors.

The roots of the design, it is argued, can be traced to Lutheranism, the state religion throughout Scandinavia. Lutheranism stresses truth and reason and it teaches that 'salvation can be gained through honest work that benefits one's fellow man.' The Lutheran churches I visit here in Helsinki are beautiful in a simplistic, stripped-down manner. There is none of the ornate decor and outward display of wealth that is to be found in churches of other religions.

In the distant past there was serious inter-Nordic conflict, but the nations of Scandinavia have now achieved peace with one another for a period of almost two hundred years. The region has moved away from tyranny towards a social order where the efforts of the individual play an important role in the maintenance of prosperous, democratic nations. But one of the most pervasive traits of the Scandinavians is their practicality, and nowhere is this more apparent that in their design. In a harsh climate, where self-sufficiency was often an economic necessity in remote rural communities, it is not surprising that Scandinavian designers have tended to concentrate on the production of functional yet attractive wares for the home which reflect their craftmanship and essentialist principles.

In their book Scandinavian Design, Charlotte and Peter Fiell contend that the long and rich traditions of craftmanship and folk art allowed Scandinavian designers to produce high-quality objects that were suited to industrial manufacture. Whether a product —chair, coffee pot, mug, vase, storage jar — is hand-crafted or machine-made, its design should provide an emotional comfort. The aim is to create truly useful and relevant objects or brukskunst (useful art), as it became known. They point out that though the designers were largely influenced by the principle of Modernism, they seem to have understood that 'an overtly industrial aesthetic can alienate.' Thus, they often incorporate that other Scandinavian concept of hygge in their designs, a Danish word that implies a very special charm, a warm and comfortable feeling, probably most closely related to our word cosy.

I believe that if my West-Cork born and bred husband were to send off his DNA to ancestry.com (and I will never ever encourage anyone I know to do this because of all those skeletons in family cupboards), it would be discovered there is a strong Scandinavian streak in him. He is the first person in my life who talked to me about clean surfaces, sources of light, decluttering, neutral shades, pops of colour and buying one good potato peeler. When I come home from the charity shop with a bag of 'stuff', he asks me very calmly as to what I will be putting in the bag to take back. We have moved house four times and each time his aim is to downsize and declutter. He doesn't always succeed. He despairs at my sentimental streak where I try to hold on to some birthday cards, concert tickets, match programmes and gee-gaws, but, as I get older, I am coming around to the idea that the wealth is in the memory. I know without a doubt that when we pop our clogs, our two very practical, unsentimental children will put it all in black sacks anyhow, so I am really trying to not lift the roof off the house with more 'stuff.' Here in Helsinki we live in a small, functional one-bedroom apartment and can get by without the clutter.

I digress! In a previous blog post I alluded to the taciturnity and emotional reserve of the Finns. I described how, unlike the Irish, they are happy to hear the sound of silence in everyday communication. It is interesting for me then to observe the Finns’ use of design as a means of their creative expression. I think that, like the Irish, their long struggle to become a nation state has bred a strong desire in Finnish people to assert their cultural, political and economic autonomy.

When I first started visiting museums and galleries in Helsinki, I constantly saw references to an epic poem called the Kalevala, which appears to have inspired so many Finnish writers, artists and designers. To my shame, I had never heard of it before. It was written in 1835 by Elias Lönnrot. From what I have read, it is based on an oral tradition of ancient poetry, ballads and songs. The Kalevala (Land of Heroes) proved that the Finnish language could be used for lyrical compositions comparable to other great epics of the classic civilisation and this mythological poem seems to have become not only a symbol of national consciousness and patriotism, but also the single most important cultural influence on Finnish art and design. Its publication also led to the acceptance of Finnish as the official national language.

The synthesis of the national and international is now an important defining feature of modern Finnish design. The authors Charlotte and Peter Fiell point to the fact that in the early 1900s the development of Finnish design was greatly assisted by government support and craft organisations which actively encouraged young artists to collaborate with industry to raise the standards of everyday goods. Enlightened Finnish manufacturers sponsored design competitions in order to attract talented young designers who developed products to be exhibited internationally. This led to the production of exquisite, one-off pieces alongside the more democratic mainstream products.

My quest now is to discover one of these 'art' pieces in the local second-hand shop nearby. And then to hide it from my husband.