Sam Vanni • Tove Jansson's teacher, beloved, and friend

01

FRIENDS IN ART AND LIFE

Sam Vanni was an artist and academic born in Vyborg and a pioneer of Finnish abstract art. To Tove Jansson, he was a teacher, a lover, and a friend with whom she had enriching conversations about art. In her text below, art historian Tuula Karjalainen shares the notes she received from Tove Jansson regarding Sam Vanni’s art instruction.

In the mid-1990s, I organized an exhibition and wrote an accompanying article on the art of Sam Vanni (1908–1992). Known as Samuel Besprosvann until 1941, the artist was a central figure in my dissertation, which I had written a few years earlier, so I knew him and his work very well. Sam was a legendary and beloved teacher of his time; he taught at the Finnish Academy of Fine Arts from 1949 to 1965 and at the Free Art School from 1943 to 1957, as well as occasionally at the Helsinki University of Technology. He had also been Tove Jansson’s private tutor, as well as her friend and lover. Even after the romance faded, their friendship endured, and he became a good friend, just like many of Tove’s other former lovers. For many decades, Sam was a friend, a role model, a trusted and private art critic, and above all, an important person in Tove’s life.

While researching Sam Vanni, I noticed that a few of his works created in Italy were almost identical to some of Tove Jansson’s. According to Sam, the works were created during a trip to Italy that he, his then-wife Maya Vanni, and Tove took together. I now wanted to know more about this trip and, above all, about Sam’s teaching methods. Sam himself had already passed away a few years earlier, so I wrote to Tove Jansson and asked for an interview. I was afraid she wouldn’t have the time or energy for it. To my surprise, she invited me to her atelier, and I interviewed her about everything under the sun—especially what kind of teacher Sam was, what he had emphasized in the practice of art, and what Tove had learned. But of course, I also asked about the friendship between these two artists.

Samuel Besprosvanni, known as Sam Vanni from 1941 onwards.

Studying at Academy of School Ateneum in Helsinki on March 7th 1961. Student Göran Augustson is getting instructions from painter Sam Vanni.

Sam Vanni was an artist and academic born in Vyborg and a pioneer of Finnish abstract art. To Tove Jansson, he was a teacher, a lover, and a friend with whom she had enriching conversations about art. In her text below, art historian Tuula Karjalainen shares the notes she received from Tove Jansson regarding Sam Vanni’s art instruction.

In the mid-1990s, I organized an exhibition and wrote an accompanying article on the art of Sam Vanni (1908–1992). Known as Samuel Besprosvann until 1941, the artist was a central figure in my dissertation, which I had written a few years earlier, so I knew him and his work very well. Sam was a legendary and beloved teacher of his time; he taught at the Finnish Academy of Fine Arts from 1949 to 1965 and at the Free Art School from 1943 to 1957, as well as occasionally at the Helsinki University of Technology. He had also been Tove Jansson’s private tutor, as well as her friend and lover. Even after the romance faded, their friendship endured, and he became a good friend, just like many of Tove’s other former lovers. For many decades, Sam was a friend, a role model, a trusted and private art critic, and above all, an important person in Tove’s life.

While researching Sam Vanni, I noticed that a few of his works created in Italy were almost identical to some of Tove Jansson’s. According to Sam, the works were created during a trip to Italy that he, his then-wife Maya Vanni, and Tove took together. I now wanted to know more about this trip and, above all, about Sam’s teaching methods. Sam himself had already passed away a few years earlier, so I wrote to Tove Jansson and asked for an interview. I was afraid she wouldn’t have the time or energy for it. To my surprise, she invited me to her atelier, and I interviewed her about everything under the sun—especially what kind of teacher Sam was, what he had emphasized in the practice of art, and what Tove had learned. But of course, I also asked about the friendship between these two artists.

02

A STRICT BUT FAIR MENTOR

Sam Vanni was Tove Jansson’s teacher at art school, and he continued to mentor her in his spare time after they became lovers and friends.

Tove told me about Sam’s great significance to her and recalled that Sam had taught her more about painting than anyone else. Even later, Sam often came to advise, view, and critique Tove’s works. He was strict, but always fair. Although Sam wasn’t, in Tove’s view, overly encouraging, he nevertheless managed to inspire a desire in her to try again and again.

As an enthusiastic student, Tove had jotted down the main points of her teacher’s instruction immediately after the teaching sessions. She promised to seek out one of these texts she considered especially important, granted permission to print it in the exhibition catalogue, and asked her life partner, Tuulikki Pietilä, to translate it into Finnish. Pietilä knew Sam well and, according to Tove, was therefore able to adapt the text’s rhythm to match the man’s peculiar way of speaking. Tove recalled that the note dated from 1935, when she sat as a model while Sam painted a work with the working title “Portrait in Overhead Light.” I actually received the text from her in both Swedish and Finnish, and it was published in both exhibition catalogues for the Sam Vanni exhibitions I curated.

A portrait of Tove Jansson painted by Sam Vanni in 1935, "Portrait in Overhead Light."

Sam Vanni was Tove Jansson’s teacher at art school, and he continued to mentor her in his spare time after they became lovers and friends.

Tove told me about Sam’s great significance to her and recalled that Sam had taught her more about painting than anyone else. Even later, Sam often came to advise, view, and critique Tove’s works. He was strict, but always fair. Although Sam wasn’t, in Tove’s view, overly encouraging, he nevertheless managed to inspire a desire in her to try again and again.

As an enthusiastic student, Tove had jotted down the main points of her teacher’s instruction immediately after the teaching sessions. She promised to seek out one of these texts she considered especially important, granted permission to print it in the exhibition catalogue, and asked her life partner, Tuulikki Pietilä, to translate it into Finnish. Pietilä knew Sam well and, according to Tove, was therefore able to adapt the text’s rhythm to match the man’s peculiar way of speaking. Tove recalled that the note dated from 1935, when she sat as a model while Sam painted a work with the working title “Portrait in Overhead Light.” I actually received the text from her in both Swedish and Finnish, and it was published in both exhibition catalogues for the Sam Vanni exhibitions I curated.

03

THE COMPLETE GUIDE TO STILL LIFE PAINTING

Tove Jansson kept notes from Sam Vanni’s teaching sessions, in which he shared insights on still life painting. Sam spoke with great enthusiasm about the use of light and shadow, and the temperature and boldness of colours.

From Tove Jansson’s text, it is clear that making art was almost sacred to Sam, and, as with all demanding rituals, one had to prepare for it both mentally and technically. At the same time, the text is also a fairly complete guide to still life painting:

“Sam was cheerful and talkative; he placed a blank canvas on his easel and said:

We’re going to do a still life. Now let’s see how we can paint it. Two silly pots in almost the same shade, but mind you, only almost. You must observe them separately and very carefully, and ask God for forgiveness before you start painting. The first brushstroke is perilous; it determines everything. You mustn’t start with the light, or you’ll make it too dark in relation to the other elements and the whole thing will look cold. Nor should you start with the shadow; choose a mid-tone that protects you against all eventualities.

Look at the green cloth against the pot here; you can see it’s more violet in the light. Take a green-violet tone that you can then pull in whichever direction you like, but don’t mix them together – it’ll look muddy. Apply them separately, side by side, like this. There you go.

You start by working with three tones against each other, not with objects, you hear – with colours. And you’re thinking all the time, you’re thinking, what on earth is the colour of that shadow? It’s yellow, it’s warm. But there’s violet in there too. I don’t use black, I use umber. It looks more refined. A touch of umber, then, a bit of green. Yellow. Well, that didn’t turn out well. The light’s cold today, as you can see. It might change in an hour, but you decide from the start how you want it. And carry it through consistently. The part where light and shadow meet is the most alive and interesting.

….

You have to use your brain all the time and not just paint according to a theory.

And look here – not all shadows are clean and vivid. This one, for example, where one pot casts a shadow onto the other, it’s dirty. Purely stupid. Nonsense. That’s how it should be. See, now it’s right. But at the edge, that’s where it gets interesting again. That’s where it’s bloody difficult.

Here’s the warmest spot in the painting. Just don’t overdo it. Work honestly, just as it is. It’s not dangerous; the inspiration will come in a moment, and then you must paint according to it. Now it’s become too warm. A touch of violet, then. I’m just going for it, as you can see. There’s tempera, after all.

Well, how did it turn out? Now it needs to dry, and then you can start painting.”¹

Sam Vanni, Still Life, 1937, oil on canvas

Tove Jansson kept notes from Sam Vanni’s teaching sessions, in which he shared insights on still life painting. Sam spoke with great enthusiasm about the use of light and shadow, and the temperature and boldness of colours.

From Tove Jansson’s text, it is clear that making art was almost sacred to Sam, and, as with all demanding rituals, one had to prepare for it both mentally and technically. At the same time, the text is also a fairly complete guide to still life painting:

“Sam was cheerful and talkative; he placed a blank canvas on his easel and said:

We’re going to do a still life. Now let’s see how we can paint it. Two silly pots in almost the same shade, but mind you, only almost. You must observe them separately and very carefully, and ask God for forgiveness before you start painting. The first brushstroke is perilous; it determines everything. You mustn’t start with the light, or you’ll make it too dark in relation to the other elements and the whole thing will look cold. Nor should you start with the shadow; choose a mid-tone that protects you against all eventualities.

Look at the green cloth against the pot here; you can see it’s more violet in the light. Take a green-violet tone that you can then pull in whichever direction you like, but don’t mix them together – it’ll look muddy. Apply them separately, side by side, like this. There you go.

You start by working with three tones against each other, not with objects, you hear – with colours. And you’re thinking all the time, you’re thinking, what on earth is the colour of that shadow? It’s yellow, it’s warm. But there’s violet in there too. I don’t use black, I use umber. It looks more refined. A touch of umber, then, a bit of green. Yellow. Well, that didn’t turn out well. The light’s cold today, as you can see. It might change in an hour, but you decide from the start how you want it. And carry it through consistently. The part where light and shadow meet is the most alive and interesting.

….

You have to use your brain all the time and not just paint according to a theory.

And look here – not all shadows are clean and vivid. This one, for example, where one pot casts a shadow onto the other, it’s dirty. Purely stupid. Nonsense. That’s how it should be. See, now it’s right. But at the edge, that’s where it gets interesting again. That’s where it’s bloody difficult.

Here’s the warmest spot in the painting. Just don’t overdo it. Work honestly, just as it is. It’s not dangerous; the inspiration will come in a moment, and then you must paint according to it. Now it’s become too warm. A touch of violet, then. I’m just going for it, as you can see. There’s tempera, after all.

Well, how did it turn out? Now it needs to dry, and then you can start painting.”¹

04

HENRI MATISSE INSPIRED THEIR USE OF COLOUR

The friends Sam and Tove painted numerous portraits of each other. They also shared a fascination with colour and painted somewhat similar subjects, each in their own style.

The great significance of colour was something Tove Jansson and Sam Vanni shared. During her bouts of depression during World War II, Tove lamented that the colours in her work had died, but once her depression passed, she always found them again and again. The guiding light for both of them in their rich colour palette was Henri Matisse, whom they both adored and whose influence is evident in their works. Sam’s influence is also evident in Tove’s choice of subjects, and perhaps vice versa. In addition to Italian landscapes, they created many cityscapes of Helsinki together and separately, and still lifes interested both of them. Sometimes their works even depict the same objects. Both painted their friends, many of whom they had in common. Above all, they painted each other.

In the portrait Sam painted of Tove in 1940, Tove holds a pencil, has a sketchbook on her lap, and a pot of paintbrushes beside her—her artistic nature is clearly highlighted. The predominantly blue work is one of the most beautiful portrait paintings of its time, and one can sense that it was painted with love. One of Sam’s portraits of Tove pleased Tove so much that she drew a copy of it and long regarded her copy as a kind of public self-portrait. Tove also drew a portrait of Sam, which hung in a prominent place in her atelier on Ullanlinnankatu for a long time. Tove also painted a rather striking portrait of Maya Vanni, in which the woman is seated, nude from the waist up.

A painting of Tove Jansson by Sam Vanni, 1940

A painting by Tove Jansson of Maya Vanni, Sam Vanni's wife, 1938

The friends Sam and Tove painted numerous portraits of each other. They also shared a fascination with colour and painted somewhat similar subjects, each in their own style.

The great significance of colour was something Tove Jansson and Sam Vanni shared. During her bouts of depression during World War II, Tove lamented that the colours in her work had died, but once her depression passed, she always found them again and again. The guiding light for both of them in their rich colour palette was Henri Matisse, whom they both adored and whose influence is evident in their works. Sam’s influence is also evident in Tove’s choice of subjects, and perhaps vice versa. In addition to Italian landscapes, they created many cityscapes of Helsinki together and separately, and still lifes interested both of them. Sometimes their works even depict the same objects. Both painted their friends, many of whom they had in common. Above all, they painted each other.

In the portrait Sam painted of Tove in 1940, Tove holds a pencil, has a sketchbook on her lap, and a pot of paintbrushes beside her—her artistic nature is clearly highlighted. The predominantly blue work is one of the most beautiful portrait paintings of its time, and one can sense that it was painted with love. One of Sam’s portraits of Tove pleased Tove so much that she drew a copy of it and long regarded her copy as a kind of public self-portrait. Tove also drew a portrait of Sam, which hung in a prominent place in her atelier on Ullanlinnankatu for a long time. Tove also painted a rather striking portrait of Maya Vanni, in which the woman is seated, nude from the waist up.

05

A TRUSTED FRIEND

Through Sam Vanni, Tove Jansson gained an interesting insight into an artist’s married life and its challenges. When a feverish artistic flow struck, Sam lost all sense of place and time and was unable to be sufficiently present for his wife, Maya Vanni, who also became a good friend to Tove.

Sam Vanni and Tove were each other’s confidants and shared even their most intimate problems. After Sam’s marriage to Maya Vanni (b. London), Tove and the young bride became friends, and both the husband and wife sought Tove’s help with their marital problems. A telling example is a letter Tove wrote in 1945, in which she describes how Samuel (Sam Vanni) rushed into her studio in despair. His wife had left him and gone to Sweden, unable to bear his emotional absence any longer. The reason was his intense creative period, during which he could think of nothing but his art. Now Maya was in Stockholm and Sam himself in Helsinki, driven mad by loneliness, wondering if the paintings were worth all this pain.

Tove described the marriages of creative people and their difficulties as colourful. It may be that the problems in the marriages of these artist friends deterred her from seeking a similar emotional dependence. She was particularly interested in the difficulties of Sam’s marriage, and the man’s demand that a woman must love her husband’s work more than herself or even her husband, seems unreasonable, at least from a 21st-century perspective. Perhaps that played a part in shaping Tove’s own attitude toward marriage:

”Samuel was reproaching himself in all sorts of ways. Talking about how he works, deaf and blind, in a kind of frenzy, for weeks on end. And while that lasts, nothing else exists for him. Not Maya, nor his friends. Perhaps his talent lies precisely in that single-track intensity of his. The heedless fury that’s driven all the geniuses’ wives to despair. I can understand them! (And, may the muse have mercy on me – I understand their husbands, as well.) To scarcely get a word, a friendly sign, a caress – to scarcely dare tell him dinner’s ready. Sitting alone in a silent house, week after week, maybe for months, waiting for her husband to relax, a reaction period in which he notices she exists again! To put up with that, Samuel said, she has to love my work more than herself, more than me. But I’ve seen her eyes go black with hatred…”²

Excerpt from a letter by Tove Jansson to Eva Konikoff.

Through Sam Vanni, Tove Jansson gained an interesting insight into an artist’s married life and its challenges. When a feverish artistic flow struck, Sam lost all sense of place and time and was unable to be sufficiently present for his wife, Maya Vanni, who also became a good friend to Tove.

Sam Vanni and Tove were each other’s confidants and shared even their most intimate problems. After Sam’s marriage to Maya Vanni (b. London), Tove and the young bride became friends, and both the husband and wife sought Tove’s help with their marital problems. A telling example is a letter Tove wrote in 1945, in which she describes how Samuel (Sam Vanni) rushed into her studio in despair. His wife had left him and gone to Sweden, unable to bear his emotional absence any longer. The reason was his intense creative period, during which he could think of nothing but his art. Now Maya was in Stockholm and Sam himself in Helsinki, driven mad by loneliness, wondering if the paintings were worth all this pain.

Tove described the marriages of creative people and their difficulties as colourful. It may be that the problems in the marriages of these artist friends deterred her from seeking a similar emotional dependence. She was particularly interested in the difficulties of Sam’s marriage, and the man’s demand that a woman must love her husband’s work more than herself or even her husband, seems unreasonable, at least from a 21st-century perspective. Perhaps that played a part in shaping Tove’s own attitude toward marriage:

”Samuel was reproaching himself in all sorts of ways. Talking about how he works, deaf and blind, in a kind of frenzy, for weeks on end. And while that lasts, nothing else exists for him. Not Maya, nor his friends. Perhaps his talent lies precisely in that single-track intensity of his. The heedless fury that’s driven all the geniuses’ wives to despair. I can understand them! (And, may the muse have mercy on me – I understand their husbands, as well.) To scarcely get a word, a friendly sign, a caress – to scarcely dare tell him dinner’s ready. Sitting alone in a silent house, week after week, maybe for months, waiting for her husband to relax, a reaction period in which he notices she exists again! To put up with that, Samuel said, she has to love my work more than herself, more than me. But I’ve seen her eyes go black with hatred…”

06

ABSTRACT ART DROVE A WEDGE BETWEEN FRIENDS

When abstract art became popular in the 1950s, Sam Vanni immediately embraced it. Tove, who couldn’t help telling stories, even in her paintings, was not as enthusiastic about the new wave.

One might, however, argue that their close friendship—which was also marked by a great deal of admiration on Tove’s part—had, in its own way, some negative consequences. Sam, like many other artists, became wildly enthusiastic about abstract art in the early 1950s. For Sam, it became the great artistic love of his life and a watershed moment that transformed his work. Non-figurative art was, in his view, like a Renaissance, a renewal of everything.

Tove was a figurative artist through and through; her works are narrative, and their stories and content are essential elements of the pieces. She felt left out of the excitement generated by this new wave, and her artistic relationship with Sam became strained. This was especially true since it was primarily younger Finnish-Swedish artists—that is, Tove’s own inner circle—who were enthusiastic about abstract art in Finland.

Perhaps due to external pressures or a sense of alienation, Tove began painting abstract works. At first, they appeared abstract, but were in fact quite precise figurative works. Their subjects were cliffs, beaches, or ocean waves. Even in her later, bolder abstract paintings, there is often a figurative element amid simplified fields of colour. It was difficult for the storyteller to let go of the story entirely. Sam Vanni was not a strict abstract artist either; from time to time, he painted entirely figurative works alongside dozens of portraits. In both artists’ abstract paintings, colour was an important—perhaps the most important—element: those radiant, resonant hues of Matisse’s. Neither artist was willing to be a strict abstract artist.

Text: Tuula Karjalainen

Tove Jansson's painting, Abstract Sea, 1953

Sam Vanni's abstract painting, Two Forms, 1966

When abstract art became popular in the 1950s, Sam Vanni immediately embraced it. Tove, who couldn’t help telling stories, even in her paintings, was not as enthusiastic about the new wave.

One might, however, argue that their close friendship—which was also marked by a great deal of admiration on Tove’s part—had, in its own way, some negative consequences. Sam, like many other artists, became wildly enthusiastic about abstract art in the early 1950s. For Sam, it became the great artistic love of his life and a watershed moment that transformed his work. Non-figurative art was, in his view, like a Renaissance, a renewal of everything.

Tove was a figurative artist through and through; her works are narrative, and their stories and content are essential elements of the pieces. She felt left out of the excitement generated by this new wave, and her artistic relationship with Sam became strained. This was especially true since it was primarily younger Finnish-Swedish artists—that is, Tove’s own inner circle—who were enthusiastic about abstract art in Finland.

Perhaps due to external pressures or a sense of alienation, Tove began painting abstract works. At first, they appeared abstract, but were in fact quite precise figurative works. Their subjects were cliffs, beaches, or ocean waves. Even in her later, bolder abstract paintings, there is often a figurative element amid simplified fields of colour. It was difficult for the storyteller to let go of the story entirely. Sam Vanni was not a strict abstract artist either; from time to time, he painted entirely figurative works alongside dozens of portraits. In both artists’ abstract paintings, colour was an important—perhaps the most important—element: those radiant, resonant hues of Matisse’s. Neither artist was willing to be a strict abstract artist.

Text: Tuula Karjalainen