In eastern Finland, the ELSP-funded Koitajoki Watershed project led by Snowchange Cooperative is restoring ecologically important peatlands, rivers and forests while helping to renew cultural connections to the landscape. The region is also renowned as a centre of Karelian culture and rune singing, the oral tradition that inspired the Kalevala.
Rune singing, or runolaulu, is one of the oldest forms of oral poetry in northern Europe. For centuries, singers passed down thousands of verses through memory, using a distinctive poetic metre to preserve stories, myths, incantations, lullabies and songs connected to everyday life. These songs expressed a worldview in which people lived in close relationship with forests, waters and wildlife, often invoking natural forces, offering thanks for a successful catch or harvest, or recounting the origins of elements such as fire and iron. While the tradition declined during the twentieth century, its legacy remains deeply embedded in the cultural identity of Karelia and eastern Finland.
Musician and cultural guide Katja Malinen is the third ELSP artist-in-residence with Snowchange. Based in Ilomantsi, she has explored local rune-song archives from the village of Ryökkylä and created new compositions inspired by this rich oral tradition. At the centre of her residency is a recently restored kantele discovered in the project area, an instrument whose voice connects the stories, landscapes and people of Koitajoki across generations.
In this interview with Liz Ballard, the ELSP’s Artist Residency Coordinator, Katja reflects on the relationship between landscape restoration, cultural memory and music, and explains how an old kantele found in the Koitajoki watershed is helping to reconnect people with the region’s rich rune-singing heritage.
How did your artist residency with Snowchange come about, and what is your connection to the area?
I met Tero Mustonen [Founder and President of Snowchange] and Kaisu Mustonen [Head of Biodiversity at Snowchange] a few times in 2024 at the museum where I work in Ilomantsi, an area where Snowchange are restoring nature and preserving our cultural heritage. I’ve always been interested in environmental issues, and Snowchange are quite well known here, so I was already aware of their work.
The museum is Parppeinvaara Rune Singer’s Village. Parppeinvaara was named after Jaakko Parppei, who was a renowned player of the kantele, a traditional musical instrument. The Bardic Village has been built to commemorate traditional Karelian architecture and bardic culture. The traditions of poem singing, cuisine, nature in Ilomantsi, and the connection between people and their surroundings are brought to life through the exhibitions and restaurant.
Tero visited the museum with partners from all over the world a few times in the summer of 2024. I played kantele for them, and we talked about the oral traditions of the area. At the museum I worked as a guide for Karelian culture and also played the kantele, our national instrument, so that’s how we got to know each other.
Eventually, he brought me an old kantele that he had found in one of the houses in Ryökkylä, where they are doing restoration work. It was in very poor condition and falling apart, and he asked if I could do something with it. I contacted a local kantele builder, who is also the biggest builder and designer in Finland, and we started from there. We met a few times, and then he invited me to take part in the residency.
The kantele is a bit like a flat harp, originally made from wood. It is our national instrument, but it is also played across the Baltic regions. The one Tero gave me is made from very old pine, so it has a beautifully clear, resonant sound.
Can you tell us about the residency: what did you do during your time in the Koitajoki Watershed?
The residency took place between January and June 2025, with work continuing through the summer in the Koitajoki area of Ilomantsi. I focused on researching old runesongs from the village of Ryökkylä, where the kantele was found, uncovering more than 50 song texts and around 10 melodies collected from local runesingers between 1880 and 1910.
My aim was to create new compositions based on this tradition, arranging historical melodies and lyrics while also writing some new verses inspired by traditional language and imagery. Working from our summer cabin in the Koitajoki area, I drew inspiration from the surrounding landscape and composed using the restored kantele, whose clear, resonant sound became central to the project.
Runesongs form an important part of the oral traditions of Finland and Karelia. Preserved through a distinctive bardic metre, they carried stories, incantations, lullabies, wedding songs and knowledge about the natural world. Many reflected a close relationship with nature, whether through hunting, fishing, healing practices or expressions of gratitude and respect towards forests and waters.
These traditions later inspired the Kalevala, Finland’s national epic, compiled by Elias Lönnrot in 1835. Although rune singing began to decline in the early twentieth century, the songs remain a remarkable record of cultural memory and worldviews. During the residency, I created new arrangements that sought to honour and continue this tradition while bringing it into conversation with the present day.
Did you bring in more contemporary voices, sounds, or influences?
Yes, during the residency, I had artistic freedom, but I honoured the traditional music to the best of my knowledge. In terms of instrumentation, I used a rooster whistle and a harmonica. I spent a lot of time listening to what the old kantele seemed to “want to say”, and I noticed that a Lydian scale – one of the church modes – emerged when I improvised. It isn’t very common in traditional songs, so I’ve used it only slightly.
Preserving and continuing tradition was my main aim, as it was for Snowchange. One of the reasons I wanted to work with them is that they recognise the deep interconnection between people and nature. I think one reason nature is being destroyed today is that we’ve lost that connection. We don’t say thank you anymore or enter the forest with awareness and intention. I love to do that, and I think it helps sustain harmony between humans and nature.
I think the idea of asking to enter the forest or to go fishing is wonderful – it shows an understanding that you’re part of a cycle. Do you think the people you met during the residency still practise this, or has that changed?
I’d like to think some individuals still do, but largely this way of living has faded as culture has changed. Still, I’m sure many people have their own ways of expressing gratitude, even if it’s done quietly rather than aloud.
Through writing new songs, I’ve also been exploring what it means to be in silence. During the residency, I spent time in a log cabin on an island with no electricity. I put my phone away, cut wood, carried water from the well, and simply sat and listened to the birds. If more people could experience that, I think they would relate to nature differently.
From a place of silence – without the disturbances of modern life – it becomes easier to feel a sense of unity with everything around you.
In my view, the exploitation of nature for industry and economic growth is closely tied to a loss of this deeper connection, and to a shift in worldview and spirituality. For example, in the 18th century, nature was seen as sacred and inhabited by various spirits and entities who were allies in life. Spirituality, gratitude, and reciprocity were part of everyday life: to receive something, you would also give something.
Thinking about spirituality and connection, how did you engage people with your work?
The composing and research are mostly individual, but during the summer I worked at the museum, where I could share the songs and speak with visitors. It’s quite an international place, but also very important locally, and people really appreciate hearing regional traditions.
It was very exciting to share what this project has allowed me to explore more deeply. Previously, I focused mainly on kantele playing and traditional music, with only a little attention to runesongs, so this residency has helped me better understand our heritage – especially local songs from Ilomantsi.
The songs are written in an old, symbolic language, so they can be difficult to interpret. I’ve asked for help from people experienced in working with these texts, but ultimately the meanings are my own interpretations.
For example, one song from Ryökkylä tells of a sorrowful boat that weeps because no one takes it out to sea. Another describes how the first kantele was created by Väinämöinen, a central figure in the Kalevala, from a pike’s jawbone. When he played, all the people and animals were captivated with joy.
How long have you been playing the kantele?
Since early childhood. I started at three years old with a five-string kantele, which is the most traditional type. In primary school, I played a 36-string version. Then I stopped for some years while living in England, but when I moved back at 30, I studied folk music and bought a 39-string kantele.
The old kantele I’m using now feels very different from a modern one – both in sound and in how it’s played – because of its materials, shape, and construction.
Do you know anything about the history of the kantele Tero found?
It belonged to a woman named Sandra Auvinen, born in 1905. She lived in the house where the instrument was found. I recently spoke to her neighbours, who told me she played the kantele, which had been given to her as a birthday present by her daughter.
We haven’t been able to determine its exact age, unfortunately. Some people also said that Sandra and her father were healers, which interests me because I share an interest in healing and herbs.
One neighbour mentioned she carried a small pouch with adder teeth. Traditionally, people sometimes carried parts of animals for protection or power—like bear claws or teeth. That detail helps me imagine her more clearly. I feel that she still speaks through her instrument, and I try to listen for what stories it might want to tell.
Traditionally, the kantele was not just an instrument but a vessel for mental and spiritual wellbeing. It was played both communally and alone. Almost every home in eastern Finland had one, often handmade, leading to many unique shapes and sounds.
Do different spaces affect how the kantele sounds?
Yes, very much. Old log houses are ideal – for example, at the museum, the sound resonates beautifully. In wooden buildings, the tone becomes soft but powerful. In contrast, modern spaces with hard surfaces like stone can feel quite different acoustically.
During my residency, I visited Sandra’s house and brought the kantele with me. I placed it on a table where she may have played it and played for her. It was a way of showing that the instrument had been restored and asking for her blessing to use it. I wanted her to know it would continue the tradition and keep her memory – and the memory of Ryökkylä – alive. I felt a warmth there, and no resistance, which was a relief.
What do you hope people feel when they experience your music?
One aim is to raise awareness and help preserve our oral tradition so it doesn’t disappear. These songs feel like a window into the past. I hope to offer a glimpse of how people once saw the world and thought about it.
It raises interesting questions about how we’ve changed, and what we might still learn from these traditions.
At the museum, we have visitors from all over the world. Even without understanding the lyrics, many people find the songs moving – sometimes they even cry. I think it’s something in the sound of the kantele. It has the power to quiet the mind and bring people into a state of listening and reflection. That stillness allows something deeper to be felt.
Sandra’s kantele is at the heart of this project. Her house and courtyard are being restored by Snowchange. There’s also a rare 18th-century seine barn and a wide variety of protected plants and trees in the area. The landscape has been saved from logging, and once restored, it will reflect something of its former state.
When these traditions were fully alive, the landscape was also rich and diverse. The environment inspired the music, just as the music expressed the environment. Our cultural heritage is deeply tied to nature and place. Even as we recreate these songs today, we must remember they are shaped by a modern perspective in a changed landscape.
Learn more about the Koitajoki Watershed project by visiting their project profile.
The photographs included in this article were taken by Rachel Gartner, Communications Manager at the ELSP, during the 2025 Knowledge Exchange Visit to Koitajoki. During the visit, Katja Malinen spoke to ELSP project staff about her residency in Koitajoki and gave an intimate performance some of the songs she wrote.
