“I feel like I have a never-ending project in collaboration with the land” – An artist interview with Lada Suomenrinne

Lada Suomenrinne (born in 1995) is a Sámi visual artist with roots in Northern Russia. Suomenrinne holds a master’s degree in photography from Aalto University and their works have been exhibited internationally, including group exhibitions Even Better than a Real Thing – Whitney Biennale (2024), Gálgat mohkiid, duogŋat gokčasiid – Kunstnerforbundet (2024), Earthworks – Bergen Kunsthall (2024), Søsterskap – Les Rencontres d’Arles (2023), and Landscapes of Belonging – Kindl Berlin (2022). Their works are also included in prestigious collections such as those of the Finnish Museum of Photography and the Finnish State Art Commission. In October 2024, Suomenrinne spent a month in Kirkenes in residence organised by Pikene på Broen and the Finnish-Norwegian Cultural Institute.

Could you introduce yourself in your own words, Lada Suomenrinne?

I’m an artist who grew up in the Deatnu river valley in a village called Njuorggán (Nuorgam), but I was born in Murmansk, Russia. I recently moved back to Sápmi as a revolutionary act against the capitalistic art world, but also to attest that I can succeed in my career even though I choose to live in remote areas. A little fact about me is that I love photographing the stones in my homeland.

What inspired you to pursue artistry, and how would you describe your artistic practice?

My art mediums are photography, film, and text. In my art practices, it’s most important that I explore the possibilities of how non-traditional art practices such as photography can be used in accordance with a Sámi philosophy or worldview. I’m a deeply intuitive artist, so I never really plan in advance what kind of images or film scenes I need to produce for the projects. Therefore, I would say that my inspiration really comes from the process itself as I perceive my current emotions or from what I see in the landscapes. Through my work, I enjoy asking questions both of myself and of the invisible audience. I constantly try to find methods or practices that I can implement in my artistic practices that I’ve learnt at non-Indigenous institutions so that my actions become experiments in decolonialisation. My tension in artmaking is always to think about how things like utopia, queer, or the end of the world become more like a practice of now than as being goals to reach. I truly believe those methods give plenty of different approaches, perspectives, or alternative outcomes of our futures. They’re also key to exploring and using western art techniques in more of decolonialising way. A while ago, I was deeply inspired by Gloria Anzaldúa’s work called Borderlands/La Frontera: The New Mestiza, because for me, the concept of the borderland and being a borderland artist offer hope and possibilities to transform and change my appearance in the self-portraits and tell the stories from alternative perspectives where humans are not the dominant element anymore, or where the borders in Sápmi no longer exist.

You’ve proposed that landscapes mean something more than merely the physical environment. Could you elaborate on the theme and how you explore it in your work?

When I portray or take an image of an environment, I ask permission. In my mind that action of respect already creates the idea that landscape, land, earth, and living beings become something more than just physical; the landscape becomes something that you communicate with. In my art practices, this is shown as how I behave in nature and how I communicate with the land. It’s quite basic, and I would expect everyone to behave the same in nature, but not everyone does. While completing my master’s degree on photography at Aalto University, I explored how to photograph at the end of the world; it was then that I felt that Anthropocene photography was what I didn’t want to practice. I felt that asking permission wasn’t enough, but it also had to do with what or when you can photograph. Anthropocene photography might produce hyper-beautified images of mining areas, water disasters, deforestation – all without asking permission. For me, photographing environmental catastrophes is the ultimate no-go. From my point of view, those landscapes are presenting an Earth that is hurt, full of pain, and grieving. While I photograph in nature, I think of every corner of land and living beings as being my relatives or as something that holds the spirit of my ancestors. If they’re hurt, then I don’t photograph them. It’s part of the body-land-trauma thinking that is a strong basis of my art practices.

This October, you participated in a residency programme in Kirkenes. During the residency, you worked on a project that will be shown at the international art festival Barents Spektakel in February 2025. What can you tell us about the project?

 In Kirkenes, I was working on a project which I’d already started with my one-year working grant from the Saami Council (Sámiráđđi). The ongoing project was in its early stages when I started my one-month residency period at Pikene på Broen, and it took on a whole other dimension while working there. The current focus of the project is on weather as being representative of my ancestors. It looks at personal experiences of remote areas or the meaning of the term. The visual narrative currently in progress is called Emergency Weather and it explores the idea of reading the weather and understanding the knowledge that is hidden in my backyard in this remote area. The project is itself a portal and explores the importance of knowledge that I might have forgotten while choosing to leave my village as we were generally encouraged to leave the area to make something of ourselves. Through my process, I ask questions like: “How do the photographs become holders of spiritual knowledge instead of just describing physical landscapes?” and “How does the changing weather describe ancestors that I’ve never met?”

In addition to my photographs, I’m working on a video and an essay exploring the concept of remote areas and relationships with my backyard and its ancestors. I’m fascinated by how I can translate the weather and seasons into metaphors of kinship with my ancestors. I’m looking forward to seeing if I can create an emergency weather map to guide me in the storms using my visual and written materials.

What was your experience of the residency?

I’d already had some experiences of Kirkenes as a place to do shopping, a place where my granny lived, and somewhere I passed on my journeys to Murmansk. Yet, I felt like I didn’t really know Kirkenes and its history. For me, it was quite clear from the beginning that it was a mining area, there’s a strong vibe from the architecture and the environment. Nevertheless, I enjoyed being close to the sea and getting new connections with others who are also creative practitioners in this remote area. The oddest thing was the feeling of being close to the border and my past home, which feels so far away emotionally these days.

 The residency was needed to be able to create this bubble around me so that I could think about the specific format that my project would lead me to. I’m also going back there for a few weeks in January and February. It’ll be interesting to see how Kirkenes’ atmosphere will affect my project in its current form.

Your works have often been exhibited in the southern parts of Finland, but at Barents Spektakel, you will have your first exhibition in Sápmi. What does this mean to you?

I feel that most of my works have been traveling outside of Sápmi, and I don’t recall having yet had any exhibition north of Rovaniemi. I’m thrilled to see how my works will become alive in the weather of Kirkenes during the Barents Spektakel festival, as we’ve chosen to show my collection outside and next to the sea. For me, it has always been a challenge to decide in what format I’ll choose to show my works and now it’s also outside where the weather can be unpredictable, so I’m looking forward to seeing the outcome. During the festival, naturally I won’t be showing the entire project since it’s still ongoing, but I often like to show the work in progress like an open notebook. Although exhibiting in Kirkenes is far from home, I’m happy to do it since Kirkenes is a lot closer to my home than other places where I’ve exhibited, and it’s still in Sápmi, which is important to me. I hope I’ll get to show my work more in Sápmi and to our community.

Do you have any other ongoing projects you would like to tell us about?

 I’m currently working with my colleague Jenni Laiti, who is a Sámi artist and duojár. We work on themes like world-making and the eternal winter. Our practices are connected to alternative futures and freedom. Jenni is a person with whom I speak the same language, the apocalyptic and the utopian.

Another project that I’m currently working on is a collaboration with a writer and gardener, Aurora Ala-Hakula, on friendship. We’ve been working on a video essay where we develop our friendships by getting to know each other’s backyards in the Deatnu river valley and in Eura, and exploring other significant areas with their landscapes and living beings. I’m grateful that most of the projects that I work with are very much connected to the Earth and create this strong bodily experience to land as an artistic practice. I feel like I have a never-ending project in collaboration with the land, with endless questions of alternative futures. 

The residency opportunity was offered in collaboration between Pikene på Broen and the Finnish-Norwegian Cultural Institute. Suomenrinne’s art project will take place at Barents Spektakel, which will be held in Kirkenes on 20–23 February 2025. Organised by Pikene på Broen, the festival aims to raise and discuss current issues related to the North and the Barents region. Read more about the upcoming festival here.

The collaboration is part of the pARTir initiative funded by the European Union – NextGenerationEU. pARTir is a collaborative initiative of the Finnish cultural and academic institutes, promoting sustainable international mobility in 2024 and 2025.