Camilla Vuorenmaa: “I’ve learned to observe people closely in order to understand what they’re thinking.”

Camilla Vuorenmaa, Denim Medium, 2020, mixed media: painting and carving on wood, 115 × 120 cm. Photo: Jussi Tiainen

Visual artist Camilla Vuorenmaa emphasizes the importance of writing and dialogue in art education. For her, the most difficult part of being a student was learning to articulate her own thoughts about her work.

What is the most important thing you’ve learned in art school—and what do you want to pass on to your students?

“Deepening the content of one’s work through writing and conversation, and learning how to navigate life as a professional visual artist. These are the two areas I’ve tried to emphasize equally in my teaching.

For me, the hardest part during my studies was putting my thoughts into words—I didn’t see the value in it at first. I didn’t understand its importance. But when I finally forced myself to write, I realized that writing about and reflecting on my work actually helped move it forward and added new layers to it.

By ‘practical matters,’ I mean the everyday realities of being an artist: organizing exhibitions, establishing studio routines, applying for grants, and so on.”

Why do you paint?

“Because I simply can’t not paint—it’s an inner compulsion. I first said I wanted to be an artist when I was around seven years old, without even really knowing what it meant. Maybe it’s a built-in way of seeing the world that just took over.

I’ve never left myself a backup plan. I’ve done other jobs, but I never sought to progress in them. I call myself a visual artist, though I identify most closely with painting if I have to choose.

For me, painting often involves carving into the base material and combining it with other techniques, light, and spatial elements. My process is very physical, and I work on large-scale pieces and installations. In a way, I’m always striving to create a space that draws the viewer into the painting.”

What does painting mean to you?

“Painting is the royal discipline of the visual arts—ancient and incredibly difficult to master, despite its seemingly simple two-dimensionality. A still image that magnetizes its surroundings.

A good painting can bring me to tears, while also creating a kind of emotional pressure in my chest—in a good way. And it always stimulates the brain: every time I look at it, I discover something new.

You can quickly tell if a work has been made with intention—whether it engages with art history, contemporary issues, and so on. Professionals stand out.

At the same time, I think it’s incredibly important that art is also made simply for the joy of making. I truly believe there would be less violence in the world if everyone had a creative hobby and a means to express themselves alongside everyday life.”

Where do you find inspiration for painting?

“There are many sources, but some include popular culture, horror films, fairy tales and urban legends, animals, cemeteries, family drama films, and biographies of professionals from different fields. I’m fascinated by the recurring patterns of history and how changing values are reflected through them.

I’m especially interested in stories—and the storytellers behind them. By observing certain professional or value-based groups (such as athletes, circus performers, fishermen, and more recently, spiritualists), I’ve tried to explore social hierarchies, group identity, and dynamics.

I think both my national and family background have shaped this tendency. Growing up in a quiet region and in a troubled family, I became used to closely observing people to understand what they were thinking. Most often, the figures in my work are depicted alone, focused on an activity or absorbed in a moment.”