DE EN

Note · 17 July 2026

[ku] 28/26 Art

A day with Terho Aalto in Hämeenlinna.

Older photographer with a black hat and gray beard looking intently at his camera, surrounded by green branches

Yard flea market in the Finnish middle of nowhere, one stop of the day.

Number
J28 / 28/26
Section
Art
Date
17 July 2026

In a foreign town, in a language you do not understand, a person who knows everyone is a gift. And Terho really does know everyone.

A Person Who Seems to Know Everyone

Once again I had the good fortune to be out and about with Terho Aalto, the legendary photographer of Hämeenlinna. In a foreign town, in a language you do not understand, it is a gift to have someone at your side who seems to know everyone. And Terho really does know everyone. Born in 1953, press photographer for the local newspaper for more than three decades, independent since then, sixteen solo exhibitions, reaching as far as Berlin. You recognize him from afar by the black hat he has worn for years.

Older photographer with a black hat and gray beard looking intently at his camera, surrounded by green branches
Terho Aalto at work. No staged setting, observe and catch moments in flight.

To the Printer, to the Frame Maker, into the Middle of Nowhere

The day took us to the printer, to the frame maker, and out into the countryside to a yard flea market in front of a yellow wooden house in Launonen. The house has a story of its own: this is where the painter Seppo Tamminen lived and worked, whose pictures feel like reconstructed rooms of memory. In the magazine I tell more about him.

Light-flooded veranda with muntin windows, plants, rugs, and a red door
The veranda of the painter's house in Launonen, a room made of light.

What I learned that day about his craft, his town, and his way of looking at people, I have written down at length in the magazine.

Read the whole story in the magazine
Next entry
J27
15.07.26 · Art
By the fire in Hämeenlinna, a night without darkness.
In a few days I have met more new people than at home in two years. None of it was chance, more a chain of open doors.