Magic made visible

Yesterday I was in Porvoo, a small coastal town in Souther Finland, founded in the 14th century. It is one of our biggest tourist attractions and I definitely understand why; the historical parts of the city are very beautiful and well-preserved (despite the city being burned down a few times, both by accident and on purpose); the church is one of Finland’s finest; the little villages around are very attractive as well as the nature just outside the city centre. To me Porvoo is much more than that – I spent there a lot of time as a child since my grandmother lives there and my family from her side is from that area. Grandmother’s place was basically my second home for a few years when my mother had a three-shift job in Helsinki. We still visit granny and the lovely Porvoo frequently and I’m always more than happy to go there.

Enough with the introduction.

Yesterday we spent most of the time walking around the old town, dropping by little shops and booths in the marketplace. Right next to the river running through the city there was a wonderful shop located in an old shed. It was something in between a museum and a second-hand shop and the things in there were fantastic: old furniture, paintings, tableware, books, everything. Many amazing things there were that caught my attention but one item I really fell in love with. It was a small painting that sort of seemed to be made of gypsum or something like that but I’m not sure – shamefully I know nothing about art nor materials used to create it. However, the surface of the painting was rough, three-dimensional-looking and very lively. In the picture there was a girl sitting in fetal position facing right, her head bowed, her face buried in her hands. It seemed as if she was sitting on water, her robe becoming one with the waves, her hair flying in the wind. The picture was white with the palest touch of blue in the water, slightest blush in her skin. How beautiful it was! It was utterly ethereal, delicate and enchanting, when I first saw it I couldn’t tear my eyes away. Had it been just a little cheaper I would have bought it without hesitation. Luckily the kind shop owner told me I could take a picture of it which I gladly did – a picture I won’t post here. It would feel unfair, not knowing who the artist was and so on. I’ve described that wonderful thing as well as I can and yet I feel I’ve said nothing at all. Perhaps that is the very core of beauty.