Sarpaneva warmly recalled his childhood summers at Säviäntaipale in Pielavesi at his mother Marta’s home. His mother’s father was a local man of note, the respected village blacksmith Abel Hujanen. He made the farming implements and forged locks, hinges and keys. At a very tender age, young Sarpaneva was able to help his grandfather out at his smithy. His job was to work the bellows. Not even the sparks ricocheting off the bare knees of this smith’s apprentice would distract him from his grandfather’s focused work as the man conjured forth all manner of shapes from the glowing iron in the gloom of the smithy. Sarpaneva later said that he felt at home in the hot incandescence of the fire. His favourite workplaces – foundries and glassworks – seem like a natural continuum of the time he spent in his grandfather’s smithy.

Sarpaneva’s teacher at the Institute of Industrial Arts was the legendary Arttu Brummer, who was the mentor to the entire post-war generation of designers.
Brummer saw an exceptional talent in Sarpaneva. Sarpaneva also admired his Renaissance-like teacher. Serving as an assistant to Brummer gave Sarpaneva a front-row seat to everything happening at the school. As a sign of the mutual admiration and respect the two men had, Brummer did not let anyone sit in Sarpaneva’s old place after he graduated from the school, instead keeping the chair empty. As an adult, Sarpaneva recalled something Brummer had said that left an indelible impression on him: “Renaissance people are great in their virtue, powerful in their sin.” Sarpaneva seems to have taken this advice to heart…

Young Sarpaneva earned money for his studies by spending many summers working at logging camps in North Karelia. Floating logs was backbreaking work, requiring fearsome skill in moving about on top of slippery logs and breaking up logjams gathering in eddies. Despite this, Sarpaneva described his days as a river driver at the Meteli log sort as “perhaps the best time of my life”. During his free time, Sarpaneva painted landscapes and did portraits of his workmates, depicting them as, for example, well-seasoned and work-toughened Siberian lumberjacks. They would very co-operatively and patiently sit as his models. When he finally finished, they would come to carefully scrutinise his work, barely uttering a single word. Some of the watercolours he did during this time have survived.

Timo Sarpaneva was a conscientious log driver, eventually rising through the ranks to become a “crew boss” (Kymppi in Finnish). He relished this title. Later in his life, he would be celebrated twice as an honorary doctor, an academic and a professor. He was also granted several orders and decorations. But in his stories and memoirs, the title Kymppi was always at the top of his list.

During his student days – and after – Sarpaneva entered a variety of design competitions, which were held very frequently in Finland after the Second World War. The Friends of Finnish Handicraft organised several art textile design competitions, in which Sarpaneva won numerous awards. An international glass design competition hosted by the Riihimäki glass factory in 1949 was a turning point for Sarpaneva’s career. Riihimäki had invited, among others, Arttu Brummer to participate in the competition. Brummer was Sarpaneva’s teacher, with whom he was very close. Others invited to participate in the event included architect Aarne Ervi, ceramicist Toini Muona, sculptor Essi Renvall and artist Helena Tynell. All were notable figures of their time. Young Sarpaneva entered the competition under the initial “O”. Arttu Brummer won the competition and Sarpaneva took the silver medal. Later, he said that winning second place felt like a victory to him, as he thought first place should naturally go to his teacher.

Sarpaneva’s high placing in the competition earned him a visit with the then director of the Riihimäki glass factory, Roope Kolehmainen, who led Finland’s most important glassworks with an iron hand. The young artist travelled to Riihimäki by train. A black car with a driver were waiting for him at the station, which was not far from the glassworks. The driver dropped Sarpaneva off in front of the factory gate. Nervous, he opened the door and stepped in. After waiting for a few moments, he was summoned to the director’s chambers. Inside, sitting behind a monumental desk, was a large, dark-complexioned and somewhat dour-looking man. Sarpaneva timidly presented his sketches to the man. The counsellor nodded approvingly and offered Sarpaneva a design job. Just what he had hoped for! At last, he would have a chance to work with this fascinating and multifaceted material! After a brief discussion, Sarpaneva cautiously asked Kolehmainen about the salary he would be paid. After all, compensation is generally paid for work performed. The industrial counsellor shot the young artist a cool stare from behind his desk and flatly stated that he would not be receiving any salary. Instead, they would make the artist famous. And that was the end of the discussion. Sarpaneva was about as poor as poor can be and desperately needed money to earn a living. Fame would not fill his belly. Unhappy about this unfortunate turn of events, he took his folder of sketches, buttoned his coat, thanked the director and left. Outside, there was no black car waiting for him. Driving rain pounded down on the muddy highway and the despondent artist as he walked toward the train station, which now seemed light years away.

1951

Sarpaneva had a humorous recollection of his first entry at a Milan Triennale in 1951. “It was a hell of a nice tea cosy – a rooster head. I drew the plan and my mum sewed it up. And she embroidered it with expensive silk thread.” That same year, Sarpaneva had won his first award in the Friends of Finnish Handicraft “Tea Cosy Decorating Competition”. His brother Pentti had come in third, but Sarpaneva had also won fourth place. Inspired by his victory, he decided to enter his Kukko (Rooster) tea cosy in the Milan Triennale. The Italians could not quite figure out what a tea cosy was for. When the Triennale hosts asked what the purpose of the piece was, Tapio Wirkkala, who was serving as the exhibition architect, pulled the tea cosy onto his head and announced that it was a Finnish carnival cap. The Kukko tea cosy received the silver medal as a Finnish carnival cap.

1954

The 1954 Milan Triennale was Sarpaneva’s debut on his way to international success. Together with experts from Iittala Glassworks, he had improved upon the steam-blowing method, which had been used as early as the 1880s, creating a collection of pieces with technical and artistic skill such as had never been seen before. Many of the pieces from that collection are, to this day, rarities highly prized by collectors that fetch princely sums at international auctions. These include, among others, Kajakki (Kayak), which is mentioned in the 1991 Guinness Book of World Records as the most expensive piece of modern glass art in the world.

1957

Finnish design continued its triumphal march at the 1957 Milan Triennale. A broader range of Finnish expertise and talent was showcased at the exhibition. This included lamps, textiles, furniture, ceramics, glass etc. “Everything was winning”, recalled Sarpaneva. The decisions were made by an international panel of judges, which consisted of ten members. Timo Sarpaneva served as the exhibition architect at the 1957 Milan Triennale, receiving the Grand Prix for his work. His “colour edge” plates, Nukkuvat linnut (Sleeping Birds) and Karelia textiles also won awards.

Between 1958 and 1965 Timo Sarpaneva worked as the architect for the Finnish Society of Crafts and Design’s exhibitions. The exhibitions toured, among other places, Asia, South America and the metropolises of Europe. Sarpaneva planned not only the placement of pieces but also designed the exhibition structures and lighting. He oversaw their erection and overall completion, right down to the smallest detail. “When we set out to design the exhibitions, the fires were lit! Everyone jumped in. Ceramicists, textile artists, furniture designers – everyone! Industrial plants let us design and make pieces for these exhibitions. Structures, lighting – the whole thing was seamless, brilliant, dazzling! That’s when Finnish design finally made itself known to the whole world. This was an unprecedented show of force by such a small nation – this is how we can penetrate markets and sell our goods to the world.”

The first cast iron products were brought to market in 1960. The product line was youthful and modern. The Rosenlew workshop was a traditional master in top-quality household ironware.

The roots of the cast iron pot disappear into the mists of ancient history. The pot is initially seasoned by cooking fat into the iron. The application of intense heat forms a durable, matte-black surface. However, failure to keep the pot seasoned will cause it to rust. This can be corrected by re-seasoning the pot, thus making it like new again. The pots designed by Sarpaneva are coated with enamel, thus preventing the formation of rust. In order to preserve the traditional appearance of black cast iron, Sarpaneva chose a matte black from the samples submitted by a Danish enamel powder supplier. In Denmark it was found that the sample in question was faulty, and the company’s employees did not know how to make the enamel chosen by Sarpaneva after all. Eventually, however, the secrets of the enamel were revealed and the Sarpaneva pots were given the finish chosen by the artist.

The most well-known product was the Sarpaneva pot with the removable wooden handle, which won the silver medal at the Milan Triennale in 1960. The entire cast iron series won the prestigious International Design Award three years later.

Porin puuvilla Oy (Pori Cotton Mill)

Sarpaneva served as the artist and artistic director for the largest cotton mill in the Nordic countries, Porin puuvilla, from 1955 to 1965. The importance of colour in textile design became a key element. The colour chart he created included hundreds of tones, which the artist used with careful consideration in his stripe and colour field patterns. The colours used in the first fabric collections were darkish earth tones. In later collections, the colour scale became brighter and lighter. The first export line that enjoyed wide acclaim, the Karelia collection, included fabrics for both interior design and clothing applications.

“Pohjanlahti” rugs

Sarpaneva served as the artistic director at several textile mills in the Nordic countries during the period 1955-1970. The “Pohjanlahti” rugs (traditional Finnish ‘ryijy rugs) were made in co-operation with textile engineer Betzy Wegelius in 1960. The old traditional technique of rugmaking was updated: the Pohjanlahti rugs were produced semi-industrially. The colourful, long tufts made of intertwining wool yarns form a soft, uniform surface. The Pohjanlahti rugs lack the “striped” surface of rugs made using the traditional knotting technique. The colours of the abstract patterns, heather, moss, rock, etc. fade gently in and out of each other.

Ambiente fabrics

“You have to think of the machine and the product as a single whole. By studying and living beside the machine, you learn its creative capacity. You have to know how to listen to machines – they’ll tell their own story, show you the way.” Sarpaneva, 1965

“The Ambiente technique allows me to paint fabrics with a machine! No more slavish reports, no print films – just a big machine brush!” Sarpaneva had developed a new printing technique, in which paper and fabrics could be printed in rotary printing presses, much the same way as newspapers are printed. There was no need to stop the machine to change colour settings or templates. Printing could be done uninterrupted. In this process, the fabric passed between two rollers. Dyes were pumped through nozzles, which were mounted on a rail. The nozzles were bendable and could be directed as desired. Nozzle valves were used to control the amount of dye and fabric patterning. Compressed air was used to disperse the dye being sprayed from the nozzles, thus making it possible to create interesting new patterns. Because the dyes were pressed through the fibres, both sides of fabric looked identical. Up to 60 nozzles could be mounted on the moving rails, which allowed for designs with very narrow stripes. The dye was fused to the fabric by heat treatment, which was done immediately after dyeing. After washing, the fabric was finished and ready for use. The technique had virtually no dye waste and offered a uniform, consistent result. It saved as much as 50% in costs compared to film printing. In Finland, four mills produced fabrics and art papers using the Ambiente technique at the same time.

The Ambiente technique was granted a global patent in 1965.
Ambiente fabrics received the International Design Award in 1969. (American Institute of Interior Designers)
Ambiente art papers received the Eurostar for Packaging Design award in 1965. The Eurostar is the most prestigious packaging award in the world.

Finlandia sculptures (Iittala)

In 1963, Sarpaneva did some glassblowing tests with hot shop master Reino Löflund at the Iittala Glassworks. Various metal objects, such as band saw blades, cables and chains, were placed in the wooden mould. The purpose of these tests was to see whether this would produce some sort of surface pattern in the glass. When the test blows came out of the annealing oven, Reka sent one of the models to Sarpaneva in Helsinki. As soon as he had received the model, Sarpeneva called him, positively bursting with enthusiasm: “What have you gone and done now?” Reka, who thought that the piece of junk he had produced was a miss, replied that the end result did not turn out looking like much. “That’s not what I’m taking about – look at the other side!” There had been a knot in the wood mould to which the glass had fused, producing an exact reproduction of the wood’s surface. “Can we make these?” asked the artist. Reka replied, somewhat doubtfully, that they would see when Sarpaneva came back to the glassworks.

The first fixed-blown wooden mould glasses were produced in 1963. The birth of this new production method had a major impact on glass manufacture throughout the 1960s and 1970s, even where attitudes toward the material were concerned. In industrial mass production, fast-wearing wood is not the most suitable choice of materials for mould-making. Moulds began to be made of graphite and then iron. “The surface died”, said Sarpaneva, examining how the industrial process had eliminated the effect of his delicate, living technique. Eventually, the artist’s interest also waned and the technique disappeared for decades. In 2013, something amazing happened at the Iittala Glassworks: young glassblowers were given an opportunity to experiment and produce large Finlandia sculptures based on the old models! This resulted in a small but unique collection of pieces, of which many of the originals, such as the Suuri Gladiaattori (Great Gladiator), have since disappeared.

A friend in need is a friend indeed…

It was April 1965. The big day had arrived. At eight o’clock that evening, the big Finlandia sculpture exhibition at Milano’s Galleria dell´Arte would make its grand premiere! Sarpaneva had spent six months at the Iittala glassworks, working almost non-stop the entire time. During these closely scrutinised months, he produced nearly 50 wood mould-blown glass pieces, eight of which were very large, monumental sculptures made specifically for this exhibition. At 3:00 p.m. on the opening day, the exhibition collection was unpacked from its crates. The plates and goblets had all arrived intact, but the monumental pieces were shattered! The premiere guests would be arriving in just five hours. Sarpaneva stood silently among the glittering shards of glass. The perfect silence that had fallen over the room was quickly broken. Many of the people who were there said they were absolutely shocked by what they saw. Sarpaneva lifted his gaze and gave his command, although there really was no choice at this point. Pi Sarpaneva called Birger Kaipiainen in Finland, who organised an efficient–and, more importantly, fast–rescue operation: everyone who had received a large sculpture from Sarpaneva as a gift was asked to loan them to the exhibition. When she hung up the phone at 4:00 p.m., there were only four hours left until the exhibition. In Finland, taxis raced about, phones rang and Finnair made the necessary preparations for the emergency delivery. When the sculptures had arrived at the airport, the cargo doors of the plane had already been closed. As a result, six passengers, whose names have faded into the mists of time, boarded the plane carrying large packing cartons. Just before the premiere was to open, a few taxis pulled up in front of the Galleria dell´Arte, discharging the six men. Each of the men was carrying a gleaming glass sculpture. The premiere could now begin.

Working with a new material requires gaining a familiarity with it from an experienced designer. For Sarpaneva, steel posed a new sort of challenge: products would be made from steel plate. He spent long periods of time at foundries and glassworks, where the material being produced was molten and plastic. The products were primarily formed in moulds. Moulding techniques in and of themselves often played a key role in designing a one-of-a-kind production. But this required a different approach.

Sarpaneva began his new design work as he normally did – by acquainting himself with the factory’s machine stock, materials and staff. Then, based on his sketches, he picked the brains of the factory’s technical experts: What is possible? What are the material’s limitations? How much will the material stretch and tolerate rounding? What about surface treatments? Matte? Glossy? His questions sometimes inspired more careful consideration, but there was still a solution for everything. The design work got off to a flying start.

The experienced “man of steel”, Onni Tuominen, guided Sarpaneva. He committed details and semi-finished blank form to memory. The factory manufactured, among other things, machine wheels, which were, in Sarpaneva’s opinion, beautifully dimensioned. The completed steel saucers and plates, with their polished finishes and softly turned edges, were hardly reminiscent of the austere machine parts that had inspired the artist.

Within a few years, this work resulted in an extensive collection of household steelware for use at home and even commercial kitchens. Sarpaneva gave the mirror blank of the steel a soft, sensual form.

In order to protect the easily-scratched metal surface, he designed wooden serving and cutting boards that fit into two of the plate sizes. The carefully selected wood and finished details make the wood inserts, on their own, practical and stylish utensils. When combined with the steel plate, the end result was elegant and festive.

Design work on the Suomi dinnerware collection took five years. For a large part of this time, Sarpaneva lived in Selb, Bavaria, which was the site of the Rosenthal porcelain factory. The design of the collection, oversight of plaster mould production and joining of steel handles to porcelain were all a challenge for Sarpaneva – the very kind he relished. He worked on each item one at a time. Every single detail was honed to the umpteenth degree. No compromises were made. Plaster models were produced by two model masters – only one was approved by Sarpaneva. “Herbert Schäller has the right design sense – we see things the same way”, said Sarpaneva upon his appraisal of the models. Joining a steel handle to the porcelain proved to be a technical challenge. Philip Rosenthal, who supervised product design at his factory, refused to give up: “We have to solve this problem!” Tests were conducted and the results were shelved. Finally, a solution was found that satisfied everyone. The shiny, bright flat of steel combined with the very best white porcelain and timeless form of the Suomi collection resulted in something entirely new and unprecedented.

In 1976, ten Suomi exhibitions were held in Germany. The next year, the collection was exhibited in, for example, Amsterdam, Brussels, the Hague, Geneva, Gotheburg, London, Luxembourg, Copenhagen, Malmö, Oslo, Milano, Paris and Rome.

Held in Finland in the spring of 1978, the Suomi collection exhibition sparked a great deal of debate and discussion. The various phases of the manufacturing process, sketches of the moulds and finished pieces were presented at the exhibition. “People asked me ‘Why are you showing such mundane “household items” in the crypt of the Helsinki Cathedral – such a sacred place?’ I told them it’s because work is scared to me.”

In 1976, the Suomi collection was awarded the Gold Medal of the President of Italy in Faenza, which is the highest award in the world of porcelain and ceramics. It is known in the trade as the “Nobel prize of ceramics”.

“How can anybody even think of trying to sell a professional on something like that?” It was impossible to tell what was going on behind the hot shop master’s face when Sarpaneva shared his ideas with him. “What if we poured the glass into the mould from up high? Would it carry air in with it? Would bubbles or stripes form – or both? We wouldn’t need any soda. What do you say, Reka?” The hot shop master listened quietly, without comment.

“I thought about Timo’s idea. I had a little mould like that in the glassworks – just a cylinder. I dribbled a ribbon of semi-molten glass into it and it did exactly what Timo said it would.” Hot shop master Reino Löflund recalled the event from decades ago: “We had such a strong mutual trust that he never had any reservations about proposing even the craziest ideas. What if I went off and told someone else ‘Now look what he’s come up with’? But there was always something in his ideas that was worth trying – and it often worked! After all, he had learned a lot about glassmaking from us – his ideas really weren’t that crazy.”

The Arkipelago collection was on exhibit for the first time at the Nordic Cultural Centre on Suomenlinna in 1979. The exhibition was almost ready, with just a few finishing touches needed. The guests of honour were expected to arrive right at the moment the large, two-tiered glass table in the main hall crashed to the floor. There were kilograms of smashed exhibition pieces and razor-sharp shards of glass all over the floor. After a few moments of shocked silence, the people on hand swept into action. Few have ever seen such a swift clean up. Exhibition tables that were already set up were taken apart and then reassembled. Sarpaneva showed the impromptu clean-up crew where to put the new tables. When the President of Finland, Urho Kekkonen arrived, everything looked like it should.

In the early 1980s, Iittala Glassworks director Juhani Kivikoski founded a training shop in the glassworks, where the skills of free-form glasswork could be passed down from masters to the younger glassblowers. Like many glassworks directors before him, Kivikoski understood the importance of handing down traditions as a means of preserving and developing glassworking skills. Without preserving these skills, development in the industry would wither and the unique character of Finnish glass would be in jeopardy. The control and shaping of molten glass, using only hand-held tools, are absolutely essential to a glassblower’s professional skill. This skill is only learned through practice and learning, and is a lifelong endeavour. Becoming a maestro is a slow process, involving constant trial and error, and revelation.

For all intents and purposes, Sarpaneva had moved into his glassworks. He worked with three chairs, each of whom worked a normal eight-hour shift. When one shift ended, Sarpaneva was on hand to lead the next one. Sarpaneva worked nearly non-stop, sleeping on a first aid stretcher for around 15 minutes at a time. When he woke up, he ate a piece of chocolate and a few pieces of salt liquorice and then got back to work. This intensive work phase lasted six weeks. A unique collection of art glass, which consisted of 64 different Claritas variations, was produced during this time.

Completion of the book Sarpaneva took publishing house Otava eight years. The artist was not at all satisfied with the stock photos, the chronological narrative or the minimalist appearance of the book itself that was typical of the time. Sarpaneva demanded perfection in everything. Otava strong man Heikki A. Reenpää gave his blessing to the project and publisher artist Markku Reunanen served as co-ordinator. Sarpaneva was given free rein.

The author of the text for Sarpaneva had been found in the then still unknown young talent, Kaj Kalin. Working together with him was a lively, inspiring experience. Highly educated and bright, Kalin represented the up-and-coming intelligentsia, which was blazing its own trail. Meetings were held at Sarpaneva’s home, where Kalin often arrived with three Gilda ice creams. Shovelling in spoonfuls of the half-melted treat and engaging in ever higher levels of conversation, the two of them often flew “through the roof”, as Kalin put it. The unrestrained atmosphere allowed for free, creative thinking.

The collection of pieces and photographing them took years. Sarpaneva oversaw each and every take. He made the settings and called the shots where the lighting and backgrounds were concerned. He approved and rejected. The laser scanner, which had just been introduced, made its own impact. Sarpaneva was never satisfied with the colour resolution these devices provided. A complete “dummy” of the book was made using chromalines and typeset sheets. There were no layout programs available at that time. While the book was being printed, Sarpaneva moved to Keuruu, which was the location of Otava’s printing facilities. The first batch of sheets supplied by Ahlström stretched in the presses, thus resulting in a misalignment of the colours in the upper right corner of each sheet. Sarpaneva rejected the entire batch of paper and had a new one produced. Finally, the print work received Sarpaneva’s seal of approval.

Some of the books were bound in leather and numbered. Five hundred copies were signed by the artist himself. English and German editions were also published.

The Retretti art museum was a sensation in its day: a magnificent, mysterious cave gallery complex sunk deep in the bowels of Punkaharju Ridge. The gallery space demanded that the pieces being exhibited possess certain, special qualities. “You can’t put anything ordinary in there. It would just fade into oblivion. The pieces should strike a chord, unsettle. Water reproduces the pieces like a mirror. There is an enthralling sense of danger in the cave. The boundaries of materials must be broken, the impossible made possible,” philosophised Sarpaneva.

He had himself broken from the traditions of glassmaking a few years earlier by working cold glass for his large Lasiaika (The Glass Age) sculptures. He obtained the material for these from the Iittala Glassworks, whose old kilns were replaced with new ones when Iittala modernised its facilities. Sarpaneva had asked Iittala if the glass collecting at the bottom of the kilns being dismantled could be left in place. Once cooled, it would be the perfect material for his new sculptures. Iittala agreed. Sarpaneva worked the cold glass at the Jokinen headstone carving shop in the town of Toijala. The stone carving tools allowed for a bold, new and unprecedented expression.

Sarpaneva’s large, mould-formed pieces, such as Luolamadonna (Virgin of the Rocks) and attendants, and Lasisaaret (Glass Islands) were made by pouring clear molten glass onto a large graphite surface, which was moved by forklift. The glass elements were polished and finished at the Jokinen headstone shop. The pure spectral colours in Virgin of the Rocks were conjured up by means of polarisation film and lighting. The colours are refracted in the clear glass. Without the film and lighting, the sculpture would appear colourless.

Sarpaneva’s Ikonit (Icons) are in a class of their own. This was the name he gave to his glass-steel reliefs, which were made over several days sitting on top of a hot potbelly stove. The heat from the stove warped the steel plate, onto which crushed glass had been poured. The glass melted in the centre of the piece, forming an unusual landscape. The edges of the plate bent into soft contours. The effect was one of a floating, almost lightness of being. The Icons were hung from the cave ceilings in arrangements. Three or even four of the pieces formed a whole.

Paolo Venini, founder of the world-famous Venini glassworks, had first invited Sarpaneva to work in Venice in the 1950s. When asked why he did not jump at the chance, Sarpaneva said that there was so much work to be done in post-war Finland that it had never occurred to him that he should leave.

A new invitation was extended in the late 1980s. Sarpaneva travelled to Italy, along with a number of sketches and wood models. He was positively dazzled by the skill of the Venini glassblowers. The flashed glass Kelo series, objets d’art made using the incalmo technique, steam-blown birds and decorative plates, and the sumptuous Kukinto (Blossom) vases – each piece was done effortlessly. Sarpaneva also experimented with gossamer filigree glass, producing delicate art glass objects for exhibition. This collection differed completely in appearance and colour from his earlier production. The intense colours and geometric, occasionally stark motif reflected a new, different side of Sarpaneva.

Designed by architects Raili and Reima Pietilä, Mäntyniemi, the official residence of the President of Finland, was still unfinished at the end of the 1980s. Sarpaneva walked through the nearly completed structure with Pietilä, listening intently to the architect expound almost lyrically on design and structural details. Pietilä used his expressive hands to sketch images in the air, with his gaze extending through the light-filled spaces. Each door, each window – each and every piece a tour de force of Finnish craftsmanship! Sarpaneva could appreciate this kind of devotion. He had been entrusted with the task of producing all the glassware and silverware for Mäntyniemi.

Sarpaneva and Erkki Ahokas (Major-Domo of the President of Finland) had searched for a manufacturer of the silver collection in several different countries. Among many other places, they visited a silversmiths in Lahti, only to find that their standards were too high. After careful and thorough consideration, Hämeenlinna-based Kultakeskus Oy was chosen as the official manufacturer. The architectural style of the Pietiläs had made an impression on Sarpaneva. The silver collection he designed matched the overall motif of the structure. Sarpaneva had a wood model of each piece made. This allowed him to precisely fine-tune each three-dimensional piece, its form and its dimensions. Masterful silversmith Markku Laulaja hand-crafted each and every piece. The lid hinges form a refined whole. The surfaces vary between matte and glossy silver.

The first automatic machine glass

Sarpaneva’s career as a glass designer spanned decades. In 1998, he began work on something in which he had never shown any interest before: he would design glass for a fully automated machine. He did not like the restrictions that the technique in question put on material thickness and optics. It is precisely these two characteristics that make glass such a unique medium. Designing pieces for an automatic machine required the artist to make compromises, preventing true creative freedom. Things got off to a rocky start. “Maybe we could create a little optical effect here,” suggested Sarpaneva in his Antibes studio, when exploring various approaches. The engineer’s answer was unequivocal: “That’ll be a problem.” Sarpaneva gave in and designed a glass whose production and performance properties were nearly optimal. In terms of production technology, the use of a conical shape was the most sensible approach. The turned-in lip protects it against chipping and the impact resistance of the Arcoroc glass mass is 30% higher than normal. The elegant silicone band wrapped around the glass serves as an insulator and is dishwasher-safe. Upon seeing the first test pieces, Sarpaneva declared exultantly: “My greatest glass ever!”

When visiting Paolo Venini’s daughter, Laura de Santillana, in the 1990s, Sarpaneva noticed a beautifully made glass piece on a side table. He asked her who had made it. Ms. Santillana said that it had been made by a great maestro from Murano who is extraordinarily talented, but extremely difficult and headstrong. “It’s almost impossible to get along with him, but he has golden hands.” Sarpaneva decided right then and there to find this Signoretto. He had already been planning to get into free-form glasswork and now he had found the right maestro.

His collaboration with Pino Signoretto was seamless. The men understood and appreciated one another. During the work week, Sarpaneva lived in Venice in a modest hotel, which was located in the sestieri of Cannaregio, just a short distance by vaporetto to Murano. Work at the hot shop started at eight in the morning. When Sarpaneva arrived, the glass blanks were ready and he began to work on pieces according to the plans made the day before.

Their collaboration, which lasted for years, was fruitful and inspiring. Sarpaneva presented new challenges, which Signoretto and his chair then produced, sometimes after a giving them a few moments of consideration. The Millennium Meum glass sculpture collection was on exhibit in the foyer of the Finnish National Opera at the turn of the millennium, 1999–2000. The exhibition was opened by Finnish President Martti Ahtisaari. Maestro Signoretto and his assistants were in attendance as guests of honour.

In April 2000, Sarpaneva returned to Murano for the last time. His decades of practice and technical virtuosity are crystallised in the simple forms of his swansong collection, Ammiana. Together, Sarpaneva and Signoretto pushed the glassworking envelope, paving the way for future glassworkers.