The Process of the Sacred Artist of Finland and Karelia

Introduction

Robert Layton argues that it is only through knowing the ‘ontology’ of a shamanic culture—its “indigenous theory of how the world works”—that are we able to interpret the sacred art that it produces. (1) Antti Lahelma has transformed this insight into a method of interpretation.  He uses elements of ontology derived from the ethnography of early Saami and Finns to address questions of authorship and meaning of the rock paintings in Finland and Karelia, that were made by the Neolithic ancestors of these two populations. (2)

Elk rock painting person, Kolovesi National Park, Finland

Building on Lahelma’s work, I have selected a subset of three key elements of the “indigenous theories”—that together I call the ‘ontological frame’—in order to strengthen the basis of the interpretive method. The elements are presented below.

I identify two ontological frames in Finland and Karelia.  One frame, the Arctic-Saami, originated predominantly in the Arctic area of Fennoscandia in the Mesolithic Age and its most recent expression is the Saami shamanic institution of the historical period.  The second frame, the Uralic-Finnic, predominantly originated in the Uralic culture of Central Russia, also in the Mesolithic Age, and found its final institutional expression in what that Siikala calls “Finnish shamanism”, that persisted until the Iron Age in Finland and Karelia.  (3) I will be attempting to form as complete a picture as possible of the two ontological frames in forthcoming posts.  

In order to expand the scope of the interpretive method based on ontological frames, I have chosen to apply it to all sacred art forms of  early Finland and Karelia, not just rock paintings. My initial use of it in this way can be seen in an interpretation in an earlier post of the faces of sacred drums of noaidis, who are the shamans of the Arctic-Saami institution. 

In the current post I expand on my analysis of the artistic process of the sacred artist.  For example, I have previously referred to ‘conversation with spirit’ as part of the artistic process, but have not directly explored it.  As another example, I have not addressed how a work of sacred art attains ‘personhood’, a key category of animist ontology.  I will attempt to clarify my understanding of these and other major elements of the sacred art process, as I will frequently refer to them in forthcoming posts. 

Sacred Arts

Recall that I use the term ‘sacred arts’ to refer to the products of art mediums that are empowered with the agency to help enable communication between human and other-than-human persons, as part of shamanic rituals.  In Finland and Karelia of prehistory, they included, among others, rock carvings and paintings; drums; stone and wood carvings; ceramic pots and figurines; and sung poems and laments.  

Clay figurine person, Jokiniemi site, Vantaa, Finland

How is ‘empowered agency’ imparted to objects and performances? I have suggested that it is through the action of artists when, in conversation with spirit, they create forms, designs, patterns, and ornamentation that are guided by the ontology, or theory of being, that is implicit in their shamanic institution”.  Let me unpack this.

Guided by the Ontological Frame

I identify three elements of an ontology that I consider key for the subsistence of the wilderness foragers of Finland and Karelia, that I call the ontological frame.  They are [1] the form of spirit persons of the other world, particularly the guardians of game, [2] the nature of social relations with them, and [3] the locations in sacred geography where the social relations were carried on.  These elements provide broad guidance and direction to the sacred artist in creating objects and performances that support on-going communication of the shaman with spirit persons.

First, regarding [1], the sacred art products and performances are designed to help enable shamans to alter their style of communication to match that of spirit persons, to help them ‘see as spirit persons do’.  This matching is made possible through deep understanding by the sacred artist of the forms taken by the spirit persons who guard the game of a local area.  I have argued that these forms vary considerably between the Arctic-Saami and Uralic-Finnic shamanic institutions. That is, while the local guardian spirits persons of the Arctic-Saami complex were visible in the landscape as stone sieidis, those of the Uralic-Finnish complex, haltijat, were normally invisible and without a home in ‘this world’. 

The works of sacred art accommodated the forms of these spirit persons.  For example, the Arctic-Saami shaman’s joik, or ritual vocalisation, was well suited to communication with sieidis, with calls and responses echoing off of the rock cliffs where they dwelled.  For the foragers of the Uralic-Finnic institution, animal-headed turus—carved animal heads on staffs—were suited to attracting the free-ranging haltija of game.

Taatsi sieidi (photo: Janne Maikkula)

Element [2] spells out the key social relations of shamans with spirit persons that the sacred arts must support.  Anticipating my upcoming post on the ontological frame of the Arctic-Saami shamanic institution, I identify the key social relations as discovery and identification of the sieidi; worship of and supplication to the sieidi; joint creation and enforcement of a contract with the sieidi; and replenishment of vital force of the sieidi through sacrifice. In a later post I will present the key relations of the Uralic-Finnic institution. 

Each of these key social relations involves communication with spirit persons, as supported by objects and performances of the sacred arts.  Jordan refers to these objects and performances as “media of communication”—“animate artifacts” that are “charged with life forces”—supporting an “unfolding dialogue between humans and supernatural beings of the lower, middle and upper worlds.” (3) For example, in a previous post we explored the noaidi sacred drum, an animate being on whose face or drumhead were drum drawing persons who supported the noaidi in rituals of communication with the sieidi deity. 

Finally [3], the element of sacred geography, refers to where communication with spirit persons takes place.  Geography is a discipline that refers to the physical characteristics of the earth, whereas ‘sacred geography’ refers to the ontological landscape of both the middle world in which we dwell, and of the other world.  Aikas says , “A sacred place is a link between the natural and the supernatural, a kind of contact interface between deities and humans.” (4)  Here, between the worlds, it is possible to carry on communication with, and make transitions to, the other world. 

Liminality

Another word that is used more or less interchangeably with sacredness as related to landscape is liminality.  Aikas explains that the term liminality originated with the Latin word limen, meaning threshold. (4)  In the ritual life of animist hunter-gatherer-fishers, a liminal place is where cosmological worlds meet. Lahelma uses the term to describe the nature of a rock painting site located on the shore of a lake.  Here the three cosmological realms of earth, water and sky come together, making a liminal place. (2)  

Ekaterina Kashina has put forward the concept of liminal “zones”.  (5)  As she uses it, the term includes places in the landscape, such as caves, but broadens the concept of liminality to include non-topographical spaces, such as the lips of ceramic pottery, where the worlds can also come together.  She uses the example of bird figures that have been impressed into the surface of a pot, becoming guardians of this liminal space from harmful otherworld forces. 

Kashina identifies what I would call a guardian person, a bird or human figure on a shard from the lip of a pot from the Chornaya Guba IX site in Karelia. 

It is a product of the Pit-Comb Ware culture associated with the Uralic-Finnic shamanic institution.

When liminality is expanded beyond just topographic formations to include objects and performances of sacred art, a more complete ‘map’ of sacred geography is possible.  For example, in a previous post I referred to a particular object of sacred art—the reindeer skin head or face of a noaidi drum person on which drawing persons dwell—as an ‘animated island’ that is a source of support for the noaidi in his rituals. 

The concept of zones of liminality extends as well to performances. Music is a main category of performance.  The shamans of both the Arctic-Saami and the Uralic-Finnic institutions used drums and song to achieve altered states, and it is believed that those of the Uralic-Finnic institution later used the zither-like instrument called the kantele for this purpose.  Below is an image of Väinämöinen playing a kantele, harkening back to the shamanic practice, and a photo of two 19^th century players in Eastern Finland carrying on the tradition.

Väinämöinen and the players in the above graphic are singing ‘runes’, oral poems that were performed as song.  According to Pentikäinen, “A primary aspect of the shamanistic tradition is the shaman’s journey to the other realm in the form of an animal during a trance state.”  He continues, “Ecstatic chanting seems to have been a significant aspect of this and took the form of ‘runon laulaminen’ (rune singing).” (7) Runes are a form of what can be called ‘animate speech and vocalisation’. 

Hautala says, “poetry has at some primitive stage…regularly had the function of magic. It was thought that the performance of a poem or song had, in addition to everything else, the power to genuinely accomplish or generate something.” He connects this with animism (“It has been thought that notions and actions of magic can be explained by animism.")  He observes that animists consider all things to have souls.  He says, “It has been suggested that in magical thinking a word can be construed as its subject’s soul.” (8) I take this to mean that words can embody the essence of a phenomenon, and can stand in for it.

This interpretation by Hautala relies on the conceptual tools of the ‘old animism’.  I would take a different stance based on my interpretation of the relational ontology of the ‘new animism’.  That is, during the performance of a runic song by a shaman who is in an altered state, the song becomes a living being operating relatively independently of the performer in a liminal zone between the worlds, fully aware and capable of interacting with the human and other-than-human persons who are present.

The category of ‘animate speech and vocalisation’ encompasses performances of poem persons such as sacred runes, and also of joik persons, story persons, and lament persons.  All of them can include both words and vocalisations, such the ‘channeled’ calls of animals.  

Liminal places, objects, and performances open up spaces for contact with spirit persons.  Through this capacity, the sacred arts ushered the other world into the intimate lifeworld of foragers.

Conversation With Spirit

I will now address the nature of the ‘conversation with spirit’ as a critical part of the process of sacred art and the interpretive method of ontological frames. To describe the way that spirit persons are engaged in the production and consumption rock art, I lean heavily on Robert J. Wallis and his work on the Neolithic rock carving tradition in Britain, including the site of Ilkey Moor. (9)

Badger Stone, Ilkey Moor, Yorkshire, cited by Wallis

In his analysis, Wallis borrows from the postmodern philosophers Deleuze and Guattari the biological concept  of the ‘rhizome’, as they apply it to social groups.  This biological rhizome is “the usually underground, horizontal stem of a plant which sends out roots and shoots, nomadically, from its nodes, leading to the growth of new plants.” (9)  An example is a mushroom mycelium, that can cover a wide underground area and carpet a forest floor with mushrooms. 

As applied to a rock art site, the concept of the rhizome positions the artist as only one “node” in a non-hierarchical, a-centric “meshwork” (a decentred ‘network’) of communication and negotiation, that encompasses both human and other-than-human persons, including spirit persons.  Every node is connected to every other node by “lines”.  Within this meshwork, the other-than-human persons can function, along with human persons, as both producers and consumers of rock art.  Wallis says, “Rock sites, their art, and associated non-human people, may, I argue, be viewed as intentional agents in the creation and negotiation of their own meaning.” (9)

I would suggest in general that in these rhizomic ‘conversations’, the human artist would have been in a mode of adjusted style of communication, allowing the artist to ‘see as the others do’ in the “meshwork”.

Because it is not unified or systematic, the rhizomic “meshwork” has no ‘executive’ directing it.  However, when it is involved in the creation of sacred arts, it has an ‘executor’ in the human artist, the only node, or ‘rhizomic person’, who possesses physical hands with the capacity to fashion objects and to materially inscribe on them. 

While current academic researchers of rock art see the art as being ‘made’ solely by these human artists, “the art may have been produced as a result of communication with/the negotiated assistance of other-than-human agents.” (9)  In fact, the humans would not have viewed themselves as the leading figures in the rhizomic group producing and consuming rock art. “The ‘artist’” can be seen as “a medium/mediator of the imagery” and “other-than-human people may have been perceived as the originators of the images.” (9)

A rock carving at Ilkey Moor. Does it suggest a rhizome?

Regarding the engagements between what Wallis calls “human-persons and stone-persons”, the sacred artist and the stone who receives the carvings, “may be seen as two-way and relational.”  Wallis provides the example of stone persons who were “honoured” by being “dressed” by the art, “may have guided the hand of artists” in order to convey and enhance their own identities.  (9) This is an example of a two-way inscription of meaning.

In Wallis’s words, his rhizomic metaphor provides “a non-hierarchical approach to agency, de-privileging humans and permitting greater fluidity of personhood…” (9)   Although Wallis presented the concept of the rhizome using the example of rock art—I believe that it applies as well to description of the process of what I termed the ‘conversations with spirit’ of all sacred artists, regardless of the medium in which they work, including object-based ones such as painting, carving, clay work, as well as performative, language-based ones such as singing, poetry, and lamenting.

The nature of ‘conversations’ within the meshwork between humans and other-than-humans, and the composition of fellow ‘rhizomic persons’ taking part, vary widely, reflecting the diverse processes of sacred art, from drum making to ceramic pottery.  For rock art, the intentional agents might include, among others, the stones being ‘dressed’, and for ceramics, the array of agents, or rhizomic persons, would have included the clay, that Herva singles out as a transformative substance. (10)

Empowered with Agency

How is a sacred art ‘meshwork’ able to confer personhood upon an object or performance? From an animist perspective, personhood depends upon entering into relationships and interactions in which one shows oneself to be a ‘person’ who is capable of operating in a social way in a larger community of other persons.  This suggests that personhood is conferred by members of a meshwork on, for example, a rock painting, when they interact and form relationships with the painting, followed by reciprocation on the part of the painting—now a painting person—to the meshwork.

How does the sacred art person acquire the ‘empowered agency’ to help enable communication between human and spirit persons, as part of shamanic rituals?  I would say that it is through the sacred artist, as ‘executor’ of the rhizomic group (‘meshwork’), varying the form, design, pattern, and ornamentation of an object or performance to support the key social practices of the band. 

For example, consistent with their ontological form, spirit persons may have the capacity to ‘hear’ human sounds and to positively respond to sonic driving.   Through skillfully tuning drums to match the sensory channels of the spirit person, the sacred artist gives the drum person enhanced potential to help a shaman to establish an ‘adjusted state of communication’ with the spirit person.  In this way, the drum has been afforded the ‘empowered agency’ to help enable communication between human and spirit persons, as part of shamanic rituals. 

Another example is of artists varying the ornamentation of sacred artworks.  As I will explore in some depth as part of a later post, there is evidence that foragers of both shamanic traditions considered the colour red to be favoured by spirits, with its connection to blood and to life force.  Rock paintings were made by shaman-artists with red ochre.  As well, the spirit persons residing on Saami drums were rendered by noaidi-artists in the reddish sap of boiled alder bark.  In both cases, the colour red would have conferred on the artwork-persons an enhanced capacity to mediate communications between the worlds.

Sacred Art Persons

Wallis argues that within the interconnected relational webs of rhizomes, the rock art images that are created can act as other-than-human persons.  He refers to rock carvings as “ ’artworks’ (that) can ‘perform as animate ‘persons’ with their own social intentionality and agentive contribution to community life.”  Wallis also recognises the intentionality and agency of other art objects, including (ceramic) “pot persons” and “story persons”.   They are all “active participants, as persons, in day-to-day social relations.”  (9)

Wallis gives the example of the Wandjina Dreaming beings of the Wandjina aboriginal culture of Australia.  Rock art images of Wandjinas ‘represent’ them, but at the same time the images are themselves Wandjinas, active in the making of and care for the Dreaming landscapes.  As rock art persons, “Dreamings listen, smell, talk, or more generally, intentionally act and react to the presence of humans nearby.” (9)

Wandjina cave paintings, Western Australia

It is usual in academic interpretations of rock art images, such as a Wandjina Dreaming being, that the painting or carving is said to ‘represent’ the subject.  However, the verb ‘ to represent’ falls short of addressing the empowerment of a painting by a meshwork.  To accommodate this animist dimension, I use the verb ‘to reify’,  i.e., to make materially real or concrete.

The verb ‘to reify’ is normally used in a negative sense, as in the charge that someone has improperly imputed ‘thingness’ to what are only abstractions.  For example, nineteenth century anthropologists charged the Saamis with reifying what the anthropologists saw as mental projections—sieidi deities—in the form of what are “mere stones” located by mountains and lakes.  In spite of the history of the word, I wish to appropriate it here for an animist usage.  That is, I would say that Wandjina Dreaming beings may be seen as ‘representations’, but they are also ‘reifications’, i.e., rock art persons who have been made real or concrete as persons in the middle, i.e., material, world by a rhizomic meshwork. 

In a similar way, the rock painting at right, below from the Saraakallio site in Finland is conventionally considered to be a two dimensional ‘depiction’ or ‘representation’. 

However, I suggest that the layer of red ochre paint adhering to the rock and preserved by a silica coating (from the action of rainwater on limestone) is the third dimension—depth—of the physical ‘body’ of a rock painting person.  I would argue that it is a three-dimensional reification of the elk guardian spirit person in this world, in addition to the spirit person’s ontological form in the other world.

Applying the Analysis to Finland and Karelia 

What is the ‘fit’ of Wallis’ rhizomic metaphor for the work of sacred artists of the prehistory of Finland and Karelia?  Here I put forward two examples.  The first relates to the shamanic institution of the Evenks, also known as the Tungus, who were very influential for what Siikala calls the ‘shamanistic complex of the subarctic forested region’, including the Uralic-Finnic institution in Finland. The second relates to a Kalevala metre rune entitled Väinämöinen and Antero Vipunen.

Evenki Rock Paintings

The word ‘shaman’— literally ‘one who knows’—originated in the Tungustic language of the Evenks, a culture that represents the ‘cradle of shamanism’.  Below is a drawing of a costumed Evenki shaman from 1500 A.D.

The territory of the Evenki people of Siberia is indicated in the map below.

Siikala notes Napolskikh’s hypothesis that there was an early link between the peoples speaking Uralic and Tungusic languages.  Siikala refers to what she calls “astonishing similarities between the Baltic-Finnish and Evenk worldviews.” (11)

According to Lavrillier, “In the deep forest, the Evenki … encounter traces of much older forms of marking the land in the form of rock paintings.”  The Evenkis assert that the images were made by the ‘spirits of nature’ or by ‘shamans led by the spirits of nature.”  (12)

  

The rock paintings at left above, possibly made by members of the Evenki culture, are from the Largi River in Siberia, from about 2000 BC.  The paintings on the right above, from Havukkavuori, near Mantyharju, Finland, show a phenomenological similarity to the Siberian ones.

The statement quoted by  Lavrillier suggests a parallel with Wallis’ analysis.  For the Evenkis, there was a collaboration of shamans with spirit persons in making rock paintings, in which the spirit person took the lead and the shaman-artist was the ‘executor’.  We will see in an  upcoming post that there was a socio-cultural exchange network between Siberia and Finland throughout the Neolithic into the Bronze Age that might have brought influences, such as a similar style of the paintings and a similar interpretation of them, to Finland. 

A Kalevala Metre Rune

We do not know the original metre in which noitas, shamans of the Uralic-Finnic shamanic institution in Finland, carried on runic chanting.  However, sometime between 1000 BC and 500 BC—the late Bronze Age and the early Iron Age—it is believed that the runes began to be sung in what is called the ‘Kalevala metre’.  One of the oldest known runic poems in the Kalevala metre is Väinämöinen and Antero Vipunen.  In the view of Juha Pentikäinen, it is of a shamanistic character.  He says,  “Although it is believed these runes belong to the oldest layer of the Kalevala, their motifs may even be thousands of years older than the runes themselves.” (7)

In the rune, Väinämöinen is building a boat by ‘singing’ it into being i.e. through singing of a runic incantation. (13)  Among other interpretations of the rune, it is possible to see in it an account of ‘conversation’ of a sacred artist with a spirit person in order to create and empower a work that enables communication with the other world.

In the rune, as Väinämöinen sings lines of a runic incantation, the boards comprising the boat take hold one by one.  However, he lacks three words of the incantation, so cannot complete the boat.  He consults a salmon, a pike, birds, a squirrel, and a deer, but they cannot help him.  Finally he goes to a long dead shaman, Antero Vipunen, to acquire the words.  Pentikainen says, “Journeying to the grave of a great sage to seek knowledge was an ancient custom in shamanistic cultures.  Some scholars have argued that Antero Vipunen is the depiction of a shaman who died after remaining in a trance for too long; for some reason, his soul was unable to return to his body.” (7)

When Väinämöinen locates Vipunen, he finds that his remains have merged into the natural setting: “on his eyebrows were firs where the squirrels gather, and on his shoulders aspen for boats, crooked alders were on his jaw-bone, willow bushes on his beard.”  (13)

Väinämöinen enters Vipunen’s mouth and goes into his belly, setting up a forge and hammering out an iron rod that he plunges into Vipunen’s mouth.  Vipunen awakes but still refuses to give up the three words. Väinämöinen demands that he be given them before he will withdraw the rod.  Vipunen finally agrees, and Väinämöinen takes away the three words “in the form of a white squirrel or of a gold-breasted marten”.  (13)

With the words, Väinämöinen finishes ‘singing’ his boat into being. 

In a later rune, Väinämöinen’s Kantele Music, he takes his boat onto the sea.  “Staunch old Väinämöinen pushed the boat into the waters, the hundred-boarded one to the waves.” (13) In the photo above, shaman-artist Johannes Setälä stands with his sculpture of Väinämöinen and his painting of Väinämöinen’s boat.

Frieze at National Museum of Finland, by Aleksi Gallen-Kellala (Photo: Leppä)

In Väinämöinen’s Kantele Music, the boat locates and goes atop the back of a great pike, a powerful spirit being of proto-Finnish shamanic tradition.  Väinämöinen catches and kills the pike, using its jaw bones to fashion a sacred pike-bone kantele for use in runic singing.  (13)

Parallels

The two runes, Väinämöinen and Antero Vipunen and Väinämöinen’s Kantele Music, show parallels with Wallis’ account of the sacred art process, based on his rhizomic metaphor.  That is, Väinämöinen, a shaman-like ritual practitioner, engages in conversation with beings of the other world in order to construct a 'spirit boat'.  He and Antero Vipunen have joint roles in the creation of the boat and its empowerment for mythic travel.  Other ‘rhizomic persons’ who take part include birds, fish and animals, as well as wooden boards from a tree of the other world that Väinämöinen ‘sings’ into position with the assistance of a runic incantation person. The completed boat, a work of sacred art, subsequently demonstrates the agency to help locate and engage with a powerful mythic being of the other world, a sacred pike. 

In these ways, the two Kalevala metre runes of the Iron Age possibly echo the artistic process of the Neolithic Uralic-Finnic shaman-artist. 

Looking Ahead

I have summarised a number of aspects of the artistic process of sacred artists of the Arctic-Saami and Uralic-Finnic shamanic institutions.  In upcoming posts, I will frequently refer back to them.  Looking ahead, after posts on the ontological frames of the two shamanic institutions, I will present a post on personal healing in the Uralic-Finnic mythic context, focusing on my own recent healing experience with Susanna Aarnio and Johannes Setälä.  It will be followed by a post on the rock paintings of Finland and Karelia, in which, among other things, I challenge a current perspective on their authorship. 

Works Cited

1. Layton, Robert. Shamanism, Totemism and Rock Art: Les Chamanes de la Préhistoire in the Context of Rock Art Research. Cambridge Archaeological Journal . 2000, Vol. 10, 1.

2. Lahelma, Antti. A Touch of Red: Archaeological and Ethnographic Approaches to Interpreting Finnish Rock Paintings. Iskos . 15, 2008.

3. Siikala, Anna-Leena. Mythic Images and Shamanism: A Perspective on Kalevala Poetry. Helsinki : Academia Sientiarum Fennica, 2002.

4. Jordan, Peter. The Materiality of Shamanism as a 'World-View': Praxis, artefacts and landscape. [book auth.] Neil S. Price. The Archaeology of Shamanism. London : Routledge, 2001.

5. Äikäs, Tiina. From Boulders to Fells: Sacred Places in the Sámi Ritual Landscape. Helsinki : Archaeological Society of Finland, 2015.

6. Kashina, Ekaterina and Zhulnikov, Aleksandr.Vessel guardians> sculpture and graphics related to the ceramics of North-Eastern European hunter-gatherers. Ljubljana : Ljubljana University Press, 2015, Documenta Praehistorica, Vol. 42.

7. Nieminen, E.-L. and Ruonavaara.Stilisierte Vogeldarstellungen auf Gefiisscherben aus Kiikarusniemi, Gemeinde Sotkamo und Bole, Gemeinde Porvoo. 1984, Fennoscandia archaeoiogica , Vol. 1.

8. Pentikäinen, Juha. Kalevala Mythology. Bloomington : Indiana University Press, 1999.

9. Hautala, Jouko. Tutkielmia Kansanrunoustieteen Alalta. Helsinki : Suomalaisen Kirjallisuuden Seura, 1960.

10. Wallis, Robert J. Re-Enchanting Rock Art Landscapes: Animic Ontologies, Nonhuman Agency and Rhizomic Personhood. Time and Mind: The Journal of Archaeology, Consciousness and Culture. 2009, Vol. 2, 1.

11. Herva, Vesa-Pekka; Nordqvist, Kerkko; Lahelma, Antti; Ikaheimo, Janne. Cultivation of Perception and the Emergence of the Neolithic World. 2014, Norwegian Archaeological Review.

12. Siikala, Anna-Leena. Review of Northern Religions and Shamanism by Mihály Hoppál, Juha Pentikäinen. 1-3, s.l. : Nomos Verlagsgesellschaft mbH, 1995, Anthropos, Vol. 90.

13. Lavrillier, Alexandra. The Creation and Persistence of Cultural Landscapes among the Siberian Evenkis: Two Conceptions of 'Sacred' Space. [book auth.] Peter Jordan. Landscape and Culture in Northern Eurasia. London : Routledge, 2012.

14. Haavio, Martti. Vainamoinen: Eternal Sage. Helsinki : Academia Scientiarum Fennica, 1991.