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Martti Rytkönen loves the U.S; he’s made enough trips here on
behalf of the two companies for which he adores working – Orrefors and Kosta
Boda – to qualify as a goodwill ambassador of sorts. He cherishes the store
appearances and chatting with the crowds, discovering what they like about his
work and what they want so he may grow as a designer of glass. “I breathe in the
atmosphere,” he says, a thick accent failing to mask effervescent joy. “I have
my eyes open all the time to translate what I see and hear. Everything I see and
do here influences my work.” On this particular mid-spring jaunt, Rytkönen
wended his way from the west coast on a three-week excursion that took him
through the plain states east, signing his designs and regaling retailers and
customers alike with an anecdote or two or three. Rytkönen has an arsenal of
tales, all recounted with an arresting bravado and infectious smile. “I made a
conscious decision to understand the U.S. market better,” Rytkönen starts, “so I
come here twice a year talking about me and my product.” It’s been a great
learning experience, the artist affirms. “I see so many different sides here
which is why my work is both contemporary and traditional,” Rytkönen reveals.
Rytkönen is affectingly passionate about his work. “I have absolutely the best
job I could ever have,” he bellows. “It’s like no one else’s. It’s more than a
job; it’s my lifestyle and my hobby and I get paid for it. Isn’t that just the
best?” It’s clearly a question not meant for answering, but the glee with which
it is posed is palpable. Rytkönen’s like a child infectious in his enthusiasm, a
joie de vivre that belies challenging and humble beginnings.
Rytkönen was raised in Ilomantsi – a small town on Finland’s Russian border –
one of seven kids where his what will be, will be philosophy was forged.
“Problems are to solve,” Rytkönen prefaces. “I don’t upset easily.” Perhaps
that’s because he always felt a calling; from an early age Rytkönen’s artist
bent was played out. He remembers using his prized coloring pencils to draw on
the family pillows and sheets, something that didn’t please his mother who while
not encouraging was tolerant of her son’s muse, an anomaly in the workaday
logging town.
continued . . . .
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