Arabia Paratiisi: the paradise Kaipiainen painted

Violets, blackcurrants, grapes, fruit. So much of it that the white ground barely shows.

Paratiisi is among the most talkative pieces in Nordic ceramics. In a design culture that tends to treat restraint as a virtue, how did something this densely drawn come about? The answer is the person who drew it.

Paratiisi, meaning paradise

Paratiisi is Finnish for paradise. It was created in 1969 by Birger Kaipiainen.

The series has a clear origin. Kaipiainen made a relief called Orvokkimeri — sea of violets — for the 1967 world's fair in Montreal, a decorative work covering an entire wall. Paratiisi transposes that world onto everyday plates.

A world's-fair artwork, turned into tableware. Seen that way, the sheer density of the drawing makes sense.

Paratiisi was also one of Arabia's early uses of silkscreen-printed decoration, a technique for carrying a painted design onto mass-produced ware.

Birger Kaipiainen (1915–1988)

Born in Pori, he graduated from the central school of applied arts in 1937 and joined Arabia at twenty-two, staying roughly fifty years.

He worked in the Art Department, the part of the factory kept apart from the production lines. That is precisely why he could keep resisting the post-war push to strip decoration away.

Form is a place to carry a picture; the picture is the point. Kaipiainen's work says this consistently. In Japan he is usually introduced as "the king of decoration".

He was named professor in 1977, kept coming to the factory afterwards, and died in 1988. Paratiisi was relaunched the year before, in 1987.

Old Paratiisi versus current production

Paratiisi is still made today. What we sell is old, so it is worth being straightforward about the differences.

The body differs. Early pieces were faience — a softer earthenware. Current production is a harder porcelain. Hold them side by side and the older ones feel softer and warmer in the hand. The newer ones are tougher and less prone to chipping.

The shape differs. The silhouette of the early oval plates is not the same as today's. Slightly rounder, with a gentler rise at the rim. Set them together and it is obvious at once.

The colour differs — plate by plate. How the print sat, how white the ground is, how the firing went. No two are the same.

Not better or worse so much as different. The reason to choose an old one is that it has an expression no other piece has.

Black and colour

Paratiisi comes in the multicoloured version and in black.

The colour version carries a table on its own. It does ask something of what you serve, but it looks best against something simple — plain rice and a bowl of soup.

Black reads completely differently: quiet. Same pattern, but in monochrome it settles down. It doesn't stand out among Japanese dishes. As a first piece, black may be the easier one.

Paratiisi at the table

A strongly patterned piece looks best used alone.

One Paratiisi plate among plain serving dishes will hold the table together. Make everything Paratiisi and it becomes noisy.

Paratiisi at Wasurenagusa

Paratiisi is popular at Swedish flea markets too, and pieces in good condition go quickly. It is Finnish ware, but a fair amount of it reaches Sweden.

Everything is one of a kind, so what is listed now may be the last one we see.