Voices 01 2018 by SKANDINAVISK

VO I C E S

VO I C E S 3

Sense of Scandinavia Imagine a great land hidden at the end of a long rocky track. A land populated by silent forests, silvery lakes, secluded islands and mountains of snow. Where nature dominates and seasons dictate. A land larger than Germany, France and Italy but one-tenth of the people. With more boats and bicycles than those owning them, and a border to continental Europe just sixty kilometres long. This is a land that has plotted its own course, shaped a different way of living over centuries. Where community, consciousness and timeless values of trust, equality, respect thrive. Where its inhabitants place the greatest priority on life balance, on fellowship, family and friends, and on everyday moments of shared happiness. Romantic? Idealistic? We think not. It’s genuine. And it’s something everyone should experience.

VO I C ES 0 1

Five years after launching with a home fragrance collection celebrating the unique balance of nature and living in Scandinavia, we introduce our first fragrances for the skin this spring. A collection of hand care products designed to nourish and protect from harsh climates, three perfume oils to brighten up even the greyest Scandinavian day, and some Danish happiness thrown in for good measure. As part of our journey to truly reflect what it means to live Scandinavian, we also invited four voices from the region to share their own stories. From the southern islands of Denmark to the forests of Sweden, the fjords of Norway to the urban bliss of Finland’s capital, the stories they tell only serve to emphasise the harmony with nature and focus on the small things in life that we so admire of the Nordic people.

V E L KOM M EN . VÄL K O M M EN . T ER VET U L O A

O R Ø . D EN M AR K

ON THE TRANQUILITY OF ISLAND LIFE M A RI E M ONRA D G R AU N B Ø L . ED I T O R AN D ST Y L I ST

Each time I reach the ferry berth, I get an immediate sense of tranquility; I breathe more freely, and my mind seems clearer. Blame it on the light that in early spring will cast a supernatural, pink haze over the treetops on the other side of the narrow stretch of water separating the island from the mainland. Or the fact that most often I greet this stunning scenery on a late Friday afternoon, exhausted from a week’s work and longing for a welcome respite from the turbulence of the city. Life slows down at Orø, magically starting with the mere expectation of it while waiting for the ferry to arrive to bring us to our weekend cottage.

It has not always been like that. When my husband and I bought the cottage, it was the

run-down holiday retreat of an elderly couple who had never bothered to tend to the garden or mend the roof. The very foundations of the house were rotting away, and the first couple of summer vacations were spent en route between what was supposed to be our very own paradise on Earth and the local builder’s merchant on the mainland. We had to replace everything inside the tiny A-shaped structure of the building, and, though I hated every minute of our endless arguments about the maintenance of the gutters or how we would get the water pump to work, I know now that it has tied us closer to the place. Gradually, we made the house and the surrounding garden our own. We came to know all the little signs of the changing seasons, the loud, terrifying noises of the pines swaying dangerously in the storm, and the true bliss of entering the house to the warmth

of the wood-burning stove mingling with the smell of newly brewed coffee. We found hedgehogs in the thicket behind the blackberry bushes, and we would lie in the hammock outside, covered in duvets, on the first day of spring watching clouds drift by to the rattling tune of birch leaves dancing in the wind. Most importantly, we witnessed how our two daughters got a new sense of belonging, and slowly began to consider the house their second home.

Waking up to the distinct crispness in the air coming from the nearby fjord, while

remnants of the early morning mist cling to the rose bushes at the end of the garden before gradually dissipating, still fills me with infinite happiness. Just like it did 12 years ago when we finally moved in. But, something else equally amazing happens when you’re surrounded by water, cut off from the mainland and your daily life in the city. You gradually – and at first perhaps even reluctantly – accept the fact that you cannot move faster than island life allows. There is no internet connection in the house, only one small supermarket on the island, and the last ferry leaves at eleven at night. Over the years, I have come to the conclusion that, as humans, we sometimes need to be forced to simply stay put; to intentionally exclude ourselves from the many things that distract us in our everyday lives, in order to succumb to a more slow-paced existence. It scares me profoundly that, in the daily puzzle of work, and being a family, I tend to forget the basic pleasure of reading a book, of baking my own bread or just playing with my kids without my attention being diverted every other minute. Fortunately, I have my island life to remind me.

O R Ø . D EN M AR K

Made in Scandinavia Cold air, harsh wind, low humidity, dry and cracked skin. The Scandinavian climate can be unforgiving, and for hands - the most exposed part of the body - this problem is even more acute. Whether gripping the handlebars, steering the tiller, or hiking between settlements, gloves are not the only requirement for protecting the skin up north. Our hand care collection is produced locally, on either side of the Øresund strait, in Denmark and Sweden. We use natural ingredients and extracts that absorb quickly, helping moisturise and protect, and combine them with our familiar soft fragrance impression.

MOISTURISING HAN D C AR E FR O M SC AN D IN AVIA WIT H NAT URAL EXT R AC T S, D ESIG N ED T O N O UR ISH AND PROT EC T EXP O SED SK IN

ÖL S D AL AN . SWED EN

ON FINDING PEACE OF MIND FR ID A ED LUND . PHOTOGRA PHER

I was never into horses as a young girl. I saw no charm in riding schools, and I just did not get it when the other girls were fighting like crazy over their favourite pony. But when I moved to Ölsdalen as an adult, my uncle would pass by my house every morning on horseback, with no saddle. After a few weeks, my curiosity finally got the better of me, and I asked if I could join him. At first, I was terrified. Clearly, the horse did not approve of me on his back. If I felt tense, he would feel the same; if I was distracted, he would just stop and refuse to move. Friendship seemed unlikely to happen, but something inside me wanted to keep trying. And then one day we found that special flow. My first gallop was one of the happiest moments ever; it was like our hearts were beating as one. I had never felt so alive.

Before I moved here, my whole life was in Stockholm, and – like horse riding – living

in an old schoolhouse in Ölsdalen, literally in the middle of nowhere, was not part of my plan. I was working as a fashion photographer and, as part of the job, I was travelling a lot. After a particularly intense period of work, I returned to my apartment from a trip to New York, and something had suddenly changed. Inside me there was this void. I had no energy to keep going; I simply saw no point. What used to fill me with great joy and give professional fulfilment and a desire to constantly develop creatively had been drowned in a massive overload of work, and pressure, and expectations, and self-criticism, and I had completely ignored all the signs of my own emotional crisis in the process.

At first, I thought I could just leave the city for a month or two, cancel a few jobs and take

a pause to reflect a little, and I would be my good old self again in no time. First step was to visit my parents, who own a classic Swedish faluröd house just down the road from here. Even though they had lived here for years, and I had visited many times, this was the first time I could really sense nature – the distinct smell of moss after the rainfall, the fog lying like a heavy duvet over the meadow in the early morning, the immense feeling of peace when floating in the nearby lake, face to the sun and without a care in the world. I gradually learned that time is not something you can chase or win; basically, there is only this instant, and as humans we will end up unhappy and worn out if we do not at least try to be present in our lives, right here, right now. In this process of rediscovering who I was and what I wanted from life, I realised that I needed a far more radical change than a vacation at my parents’ house.

Today, I know that what I was experiencing back then was a stress-induced breakdown. A

year has passed, I have witnessed the seasons changing, and somehow a circle has been completed. I have rediscovered my passion for photography, I have started travelling again, and I have found a way to live here and still keep in touch with my friends in the city. And even though I am a rare bird in the tight-knit community of local workers and farmers, I feel at home here – in the woods, on the lake, on the back of a horse. Nature has taught me how to breathe again.

ÖL S D AL AN . SWED EN

Escape Escaping to nature is something Scandinavians embrace enthusiastically. Long drives on empty roads, disconnecting from the material world, to hidden houses deep in the landscape, reconnecting with mother nature. Journeys of such psychological importance, they are akin to a religious pilgrimage. Our new rollerball oils capture three very personal escapes and represent our first perfume for the skin.

L Y SN IN G Forest Glade Mosses & lichens, pine needles & cloudberry

H EIA Heathland Heather & thyme, bearberry & leaf sap

R O S E N HAVE Rose Garden Alba rose & elderflower, blackcurrant buds & lily of the valley

O SL O . N O R WAY

ON LONGING FOR THE FJORD M E T T E M O R T EN SEN . FO O D ST Y L I ST

I grew up in a small community, just outside Oslo. At the end of the road from my parent’s house was the fjord and, one way or another, my most intense childhood memories are all about the sea. We were a small gang of friends from the neighbourhood who would go sailing together whenever we had the chance. Mid-water, we would tie our small motor boats together and, while drifting, we would hang out just like city kids on a street corner. All summer, the boys would try to impress us, racing by in their boats or diving from the tallest rocks, doing all sorts of crazy acrobatic tricks in the water. And we would be sitting on the dock by the boat houses, with freckled cheeks, dressed in shorts and nylon swimming suits, laughing and gossiping all day long. In the winter, the fjord would freeze over, and we would break every rule, and cross the ice on foot to get to a nearby island without our parents knowing about it. The sea was our playground and, although I had immense respect for the power of nature, I do not remember ever being scared of the water. On the contrary, growing up so close to the fjord, and the wooded mountains above it, filled me with a sense of security, and I took to the water without fear or hesitation.

When I was in my mid-twenties, I left Oslo for London to study communications at

Goldsmiths and, after my degree, I got a job as a runner in a film production company, and later I worked for a lifestyle magazine. However, as much as my hunger for adventure had drawn me to life in the big city, I never really felt at home. There was always this frustrating ambivalence.

One moment, I would love the hustle and bustle of the city and be fascinated by the pace and creativity; the next, I would feel claustrophobically confined by the tall buildings and ever-present crowds of people, the harsh smell of dirt and smog, and the fact that nature was something you would go the park to experience. Hardly the great outdoors! The liberating feeling of being swallowed by water – body and mind – was suddenly a memory that evoked a sense of restlessness. I missed the sea. The freshness of the air, the rhythmic sound of waves, and the freedom to escape by boat to be by myself. Undistracted and free; drifting in the wind with no purpose or set destination, just like when I was a kid. Eventually, that unarticulated, almost physical aching, that longing for the water became too strong to be ignored. I had to leave London to go home – to Oslo and the fjord!

It was only when I returned after seven years abroad that I came to realise the idyllic

circumstances of my childhood here, and how different my life and sense of self would have been without having known those endless summers on the dock, that sensation of wind in my hair, the taste of salt-cracked lips after a full day’s sailing, and that cold rush of feeling so very alive when taking the first dive in early spring. Most importantly, I had not known that I could miss clean air that much. Today, I am aware that I need to be able to breathe in fresh air in order to be happy. The briny smell of the fjord early morning when I go for a run, or in the late afternoon after work when I pack my gear to go windsurfing, is a source of infinite bliss to me. It is as simple as that!

O SL O . N O R WAY

T HE 10 HAPPIE S T CO UN T RI E S I N T H E W ORL D ( 2014- 2016) SOURCE : WO RLD HAPPI NE S S RE P ORT 2017

1. NORWAY

(7.537)

2. DENMARK

(7.522)

3. ICELAND

(7.504)

4. SWITZERLAND

(7.494)

5. FINLAND

(7.469)

6. NETHERLANDS

(7.377)

7. CANADA

(7.316)

8. NEW ZEALAND

(7.314)

9. AUSTRALIA

(7.284)

10. SWEDEN

(7.284) 0

Explained by: GDP per capita

Explained by: generosity

Explained by: social support

Explained by: perceptions of corruption

Explained by: healthy life expectancy

Dystopia (1.85) + residual

Explained by: freedom to make life choices

95% confidence interval

Lykke Danish for ‘happiness’ Everyone carries some familiar stereotypes of Scandinavia and its people – the dramatic nature and fairytale capitals, the endless summers and frozen white winters, the beautiful blonde inhabitants and progressive approach to governance. The Scandinavian countries are consistently ranked as the happiest, with the best quality of life, the most liveable cities, and the most timeless design. It’s a real-life Valhalla that surprisingly few outsiders truly experience. But what is it that makes Scandinavians so happy? We think it is in their ability to create intimacy, fellowship and cosiness around the smallest everyday moments. The kind of moment originally borne from the region’s exposure to extended cold and darkness and the need for people to come together around a source of heat and light. But it’s the way they have evolved this rather functional need into an instinctive art that sets Scandinavia apart - the magic of turning any everyday situation into a moment to savour and draw pleasure from, especially those shared with friends and family around the illuminating glow of a flickering candle flame.

H EL SI N K I . FI N L AN D

ON LOVE AND ANTIQUES H E L I T H O R ÉN . P U B L I SH ER

My father’s aunt has always been a great inspiration to me. She worked as a dentist, which was quite unusual in her time. She never married. And even in her eighties, when I was born, she was a real lady, always impeccably dressed in beautiful robes. On special occasions, she would wear an extravagant fur stole that made her look absolutely stunning in the eyes of a little girl. Her apartment in central Helsinki was not very practical by modern standards – lots of small rooms behind a spacious entrance hall. But to us kids, it was the most magical place in the world – the library in particular. Here, she would serve hot chocolate, and we would lean back and let ourselves be absorbed by the gigantic armchairs upholstered with a regal red velvet, facing tall shelves filled with thousands of books with stories of love and war, hope and despair, of the great wide world, and all the adventures we could only dream of.

When I moved into a new apartment not so long ago, the memories of my father’s aunt

were suddenly very present in my mind, even though she had passed away many years ago. I was recently divorced and had fallen in love again, and this was the place for us to merge our lives and make a home for our new family. There are so many things to plan and worry about when renovating and decorating a new place, but by far the most important to me was to get ... a library! Apart from being the logical choice for someone like myself, who works with books every day, I think that, subconsciously, I wanted to recreate the atmosphere of the library that I knew as a child.

It made me feel safe and gave me an immediate sense of belonging – the cosiness of it, the endless rows of books neatly organized from floor to ceiling, the antique lamps, heavily draped curtains and comfortable chairs, perfect for hours of rest and absorption. That feeling of homeliness and wellbeing was something I wanted to pass on to the people I love the most. I think that as humans we carry around memories that are far stronger than we imagine, and I felt eager to create a space where my new-found love and I could gather the kids and just be together: talk, read, play games – and drink lots of hot chocolate.

We are still finishing the library, and I am sure it will be great once we are done. I have

always been crazy about antiques, I am a keen collector and, just like my father’s aunt, I would much rather decorate my home with stuff that has been passed down by generations than new things just in from a factory in some country far away. Finding antiques and vintage items takes a while, and decorating a room is a process that I enjoy and do not take lightly. But one object will surely find its way into our family sanctuary: a beautiful old wooden clock that belonged to my father’s aunt. Inside she has left a small piece of paper, yellowed over the years, with her graceful handwriting describing the history of the clock – how it travelled from Russia, through Finland and ended up with our family. Life would be so empty without such stories. And my new library will be the perfect place to tell them.

H EL SI N K I . FI N L AN D

Translating nature Skandinavisk was started by two English chaps who fell in love with two blonde Scandinavian girls and never left. Our collection is inspired by fifteen years of travels and experiences across the Nordic region. In 2013, when we launched our first scented candles, we made it our mission to bring to life the stories of Scandinavia through design and fragrance – whether the focus be on the local flora, so abundant in summer and frozen in winter, or the thoughtful approach to life common to all Scandinavians. Interpretations of raw nature, and of human nature. My wife’s Copenhagen garden, itself the inspiration for the Rosenhave fragrance, hosts more than one hundred varieties of rose including alba and rugosa roses often found wild in the north, and delicate old French tea and Bourbon roses. The garden is also a haven for temperate-friendly flora such as lily of the valley, elderflower, lilac, peony, apples and berries. Our own growing team of Brits and Scandinavians can be found in Copenhagen, Stockholm and London and we produce everything here in Scandinavia or in the European Union. As we look toward the next five years, we will keep exploring, keep learning, and keep challenging ourselves to bring to life this beautiful and inspiring region. But living Scandinavian is not just which part of the world you come from, it’s also how you think, how you treat others, and what you treasure. We believe a Scandinavian approach to life offers a blueprint for a better future in a world that’s forgetting how to listen to quieter voices. To find out more about our approach, people and products, or to add your voice to our story, contact me at shaun@skandinavisk.com

Shaun Russell, Founder January, 2018

TAK Thank you to all the individuals who contributed to bringing our voices to life. To Marie, Frida, Mette and Heli for opening your homes and your hearts. To Lene for her December roses and Leif Sigersen for finding everything else in mid-winter. To stylist Marie Monrad Graunbøl and photographers Chris Tonnesen, Mikkel Tjellesen, Pia Winther, Frida Edlund and Frederik Lindstrøm.

”Enjoy the little things, for one day you may look back and realise they were the big things” RO B ER T B R AU L T , 1 9 8 5