In 1976, I was almost seventeen when Mom got me a part time, weekend/summer job at a boutique where she worked in Cleveland Heights.
Design Corner had recently undergone an expansion, and it was now a stunningly wide open, bi-level space selling modern housewares and clothing. It also was the only store in the region licensed to sell Finnish Marimekko products, including their fabric, which sat in large bolts behind the desk area.
A few of these bold, bright patterns were cut from those bolts and were hung maybe 12 to 18 feet high in the two-level window displays. With an expert eye for good design, Mom loved to work on the displays, carefully choosing interesting salad bowls, pitchers, small tables, and clothing to add to the Marimekko backdrop.
I worked at the desk and rang up purchases, but I also ironed the clothes when shipments arrived from Bali and India, and beyond. The job description included a little dusting, too. I stayed away from cutting the fabric, though. I don’t remember if I said I didn’t want to do it, or they wouldn’t let me. Cutting it incorrectly could be costly. I was anxious about that.
It was fun to see when new patterns arrived. Mom once brought home a design named Tuuli, which was tame by Marimekko standards, as the pattern was not really abstract and its colors were only black and white. It hung from our ceiling to almost the floor by the front stairs. This memory even appears in the first few pages of my work-in-progress memoir.
“I would get out of bed and creep softly down six steps to the landing and stand on the top step of the lower half to watch Dad. From my vantage point, I could look down and to the right, past the enormous hanging of that modern Marimekko fabric; separating the stairs from the living room. It was a repeating pattern of large black tree branches and leaves hanging downward, set against a grainy white. My mind saw it as an opening scene from a fairy tale.”
The essence of Marimekko made such a lasting impression on me that when I moved into my first home, I purchased some of their fabric, a pattern of oversized Lily pads, and stretched it tightly over a large wooden frame (stapling the fabric into place) and hung it on the upstairs wall by the staircase. I loved the shade of green in it.
There’s just something about Marimekko. It’s a happy place for me. The oversized flowers and shapes dipped in bright, bold colors bring on some serious soul-stirring, partly from nostalgia and partly because they exude an incredible magnetic positivity.
It doesn’t happen often, but if, by chance, I receive a Marimekko present; it is always the exact right gift. I have Marimekko note cards, potholders, placemats, and a coffee mug, too. Most are in different patterns. I was thrilled when the company had a licensing deal with Target to sell certain houseware products a few years ago, but it was only for a year; maybe two. I hope it returns someday. Otherwise, these items can be a little challenging to find.
It’s possible that readers caught a story about Marimekko two Sundays ago on CBS Sunday Morning. I almost dropped that Marimekko coffee cup when I saw it. It was fascinating to learn that the translation for Marimekko is “Mary’s dress or a girl’s dress”, and that they print almost one million yards of fabric a year in their Helsinki headquarters. I also learned that the idea for the company came from a desire to “inject a little color into post-war Finland.” And did they ever. Finland has never quite been the same. As one Finnish designer (not connected to the company) said, “It’s a Marimekko universe we are all walking in.”
I was traveling with a friend recently, and I purchased an appealing, inexpensive bracelet. I wanted my friend to pick out something too as an overdue gift, which she did, and we discussed our new jewelry as we rejoined our husbands; admiring the bracelets on our arms.
Honestly, I didn’t think about my choice in that moment, but she remarked, “You know those flowers on your bracelet look a lot like Marimekko,” and she was 100 percent correct! I find this quite amusing. My brain is wired to “see” a Marimekko pattern, even when it’s not.
It was great to see the CBS story. Marimekko is still here and thriving. I hope it carries through into the next several decades. I want to continue living in a Marimekko world.
Find the full CBS story here:
https://www.cbsnews.com/video/the-distinctly-finnish-designs-of-marimekko
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