Since the early days of cultural development, humans have experienced a metaphysical connection to the universe through the observation of light and celestial bodies. Light was often personified as deities or symbols of the divine. Annual religious and communal celebrations were based on the sun’s orbit, the increase and disappearance of light.
(Ervasti 2004/2017)
In the previous essay, Lighting design that fits in a backpack, I focused on reducing the number of lighting fixtures in production and investigating the origins of the materials used in the lights. Unfortunately, I could not fully trace the technological connections of the ARRI SkyPanel fixture in the Svett production, such as whether conflict minerals were used, because no information on the material supply chain was available from the manufacturer.
But what if lighting design were implemented using alternative technologies, with more detailed knowledge of their environmental impact and material composition?
I will examine two works: the performance installation PET (2017) and the public artwork A Scene II (2021), which were created using light sources from the environment and augmented sound. In both projects, I shared authorship with planetary movements and weather conditions, reflecting on how these works might take steps towards a more eco-socially sustainable approach to production.
The performance installation PET premiered in December 2017 as part of the ARS17 exhibition program at Kiasma, the Museum of Contemporary Art in Helsinki. PET is an abbreviation for polyethylene terephthalate, a thermoplastic commonly used in the packaging industry. PET attempted to explore the experience of plastic, its indestructibility, and its omnipresence. Plastic was also considered as a future fossilized memory, a geological testament to the existence of the Anthropocene. The performance ran from sunrise to sunset and was presented five times. Audience members were free to move in and out of the theatre space, as the performance installation lasted approximately five hours each day. In addition to myself, the multidisciplinary team included Mikko Hynninen, Eeva Muilu, Jaakko Pietiläinen, Antti Salminen, Riikka Thitz, Masi Tiitta, and Elina Vainio.
Our PET working group aimed to create a sacred spatial experience that incorporated natural daylight. Initially, we planned to use a sensor to transfer the variations in daylight onto the stage lighting. However, instead of a sensor installation, I proposed the idea of a “fake skylight” made up of four televisions that would display a real-time view of the sky.
I borrowed four 55-inch Philips LED televisions from Kiasma’s museum technology department and suspended them from the stage truss. I installed an old video camera in the lobby of the Kiasma Theatre, which captured the sky through a window. The camera transmitted the changing weather conditions and the movement of the clouds as an image to the televisions mounted on the ceiling of the theatre. The light from the televisions altered the lighting conditions of the performance installation in an unpredictable way. I mounted the television “window” at a slight angle so that the image of the sky was clearly visible to the audience and the light from the televisions could create a soft gradient of light that extended to the back wall of the theatre. I enhanced the effect of the gradient by draping old black tulle fabrics over the red-toned walls of the Kiasma Theatre.
To break the illusion, I duplicated the same image on each television, making it clear to the audience that the skylight was, in fact, a series of televisions. The camera placed in the lobby was also visible to visitors as they entered the installation. As the performers approached the front of the stage, they gradually became visible. Dressed mostly in dark hoodies, the lighting outlined their figures. In addition to the television skylight, a candle in the shape of a human figure, created by artist Elina Vainio, served as a light source on stage. The theatre’s stairs and the limited seating area were dimly lit with profile lights.
Rough CO2 emissions from PET lighting design vs. conventional design
Lighting design for PET using televisions
Philips LED television 84 W x 4 + video camera + signal amplifiers, totalling approximately 380 W. One day of operation (approximately six hours) equals 2.28 kWh. Over 20 days of use, this totals 45.6 kWh.
45.6 kWh x 191 g/kWh (Helen 2023) = 8.7 kg/CO2.
Conventional lighting for a contemporary performance
Front light: 6 x 1200 W Niethammer profile
Back light: 5 x 2000 W ADB Fresnel
Top side light: 10 x 1200 W ADB Fresnel
Six hours per day equals 163.2 kWh. Over 20 days of use, this totals 3264 kWh.
3264 kWh x 191 g/kWh (emission factor for 2017) = 632 kg/CO2.
Having worked as the lighting director at the Kiasma Theatre from 2007 to 2018, my reference for conventional lighting design is based on empirical knowledge.
The carbon dioxide emissions from the lighting design for the PET performance installation were dramatically lower compared to the conventional lighting used in contemporary performances at the Kiasma Theatre. Even if the conventional lights had been operated at 30% intensity, the difference in emissions between the televisions used as alternative light sources and conventional lighting would still have been significant.
Philips, the manufacturer of the televisions used in PET, provides extensive information about their technology and the origins of the raw materials used in their electronic devices on their Environmental, Social, and Governance responsibility programme website. Philips’ “Responsible Sourcing of Minerals Policy and Due Diligence” article and supporting materials demonstrate that since 2009, Philips has disclosed the origins of the raw materials used in their technology and actively works to sever supply chains where connections to conflict minerals or child labour are found. The supply chains are also comprehensively detailed on their ESG site (). Based on these documents, it can be concluded that Philips, as a manufacturer, demonstrates a higher level of responsibility compared to ARRI, which was examined in my earlier essay Lighting design that fits in a backpack.
It is important to remember that companies emphasize their responsibility in terms of human rights and environmental awareness because it is financially profitable. With an unerring sense of trends, capitalism now drives more companies to claim that their operations have positive effects on the environment and society. This creates a sleight of hand: consumption itself is framed as an environmental or human rights action. By consuming products branded as “responsible,” one can harm the environment but still maintain a belief in one’s own virtue (Tanskanen & Kuoppa 2023, 85).
The lighting design of theatrical performances has evolved from open flames, candles, and gas lighting to electric light. The development of lighting technology is directly connected to the Industrial Revolution and the birth of fossil capitalism. In the early 19th century, the development of gas lighting accelerated the Industrial Revolution, as it enabled factory work to continue into the night. The widespread use of kerosene lamps in the mid-19th century contributed to the oil industry becoming one of the world’s most significant industries – only later were oil-based liquids used in internal combustion engines (Lyytimäki & Rinne 2013, 62). The era of oil is also the era of plastic, which the PET installation critically addresses.
The 19th century is also potentially the beginning of the Anthropocene – the epoch in which the Earth has been so significantly altered by human activity that there is no longer an independent, separate nature (Sutinen 2023, 14). The concept and dating of the Anthropocene is a topic of intense debate. For example, scholars Heather Davis and Zoe Todd argue that the concept of the Anthropocene overlooks power relations and generalizes all humans into one group. According to Davis and Todd, the Anthropocene should acknowledge the centuries of colonial violence inflicted on both humans and nature, as industrialization and fossil capitalism were built on the foundations of the slave trade and the genocide of Indigenous peoples (David & Todd 2017, 761–780).
A countermovement to brightness
Although the lighting design of the PET performance installation was based on the use of daylight, the space remained dim due to the televisions. In articles that explore ecologically sustainable lighting design, the reduction of light, dimness, and darkness are often highlighted.
For example lighting designer Anna Rouhu asks whether it is time to once again value darkness after decades of increasing brightness. With this question, Rouhu references the Japanese writer Junichiro Tanizaki’s (1886–1965) classic work In Praise of Shadows (1933), in which Tanizaki critiques how the Western world of the 1930s had already lost its appreciation of dimness Rouhu (Rouhu 2023, 223).
Lighting designer Mia Jalerva and actor Pietu Wikström explore sustainability in their Theatre Academy thesis Pimeässä olemisesta (On Being in the Dark, 2019), grounding their thinking in the work of French philosopher Félix Guattari (1930–1992), particularly his ideas on the composition of the environment, social relations, and human interactions (Wikström 2019, 35). Pimeässä olemisesta was a site-sensitive performance and an attempt toward an ecologically sustainable production. The performance took place in the Uutela outdoor area after sunset, mainly in a dimly lit forest. On the project’s website, Jalerva describes the artistic foundations of the performance as follows:
(…) in this performance, no one knows exactly what kind of ‘light situations’ the performance will include, let alone that they would be the same in different performances. I reject the idea that artistically ambitious lighting design must be controlled. (…) Can the lighting design of a performance be a theory of being in the dark?
(Jalerva 2019)
In their written thesis Wikström summarizes:
The dark nourishes the audience as much or more than the performer. Looking into the dark is simultaneously looking deep into one’s own mind, imagination, and also outward, as far outward as possible. (…) The question ‘what is already here?’ and its spatial, social, and personal dimensions – what is already here, what is already in us, what is already in me? Asking this question as a concrete artistic method revolutionizes the entire practice of making performances.
(Wikström 2019, 37)
The societal significance of light and darkness is also occasionally discussed in the media. One of the earliest examples that comes to mind is a text by Estonian nonfiction writer Jaan Kaplinski (1941–2021), titled Valon vuosisata (The Century of Light), which was included in the Theatre Academy’s 2009 course materials for Aesthetics of Light 1. In an essay Kaplinski argues that the increase of light in society is a revolution of light itself – from the glow of a few candles and torches, we have rapidly transitioned through kerosene and gas lamps to the era of electric light. We now live in a much brighter world than our grandparents and ancestors did. However, the consequences this might have on our bodies, souls, and even worldviews are not so clear. This is not an exaggerated question, as light undoubtedly affects the vital functions of both humans and animals (Helsingin Sanomat 1999).
Researchers Jari Lyytimäki and Janne Rinne criticize the continuous increase of artificial light (Lyytimäki & Rinne 2013). Light pollution refers to artificial light that is directed away from its intended target or that causes harm to health or the environment, such as obstructing the view of the night sky. In their introduction, while discussing the ever-increasing presence of light in society, Lyytimäki and Rinne explore the complex meanings of darkness and light in Western culture and religion: night and darkness are associated with sorrow, fear, and death, while dawn and daylight symbolize new life and joy. Lighting has been increased in urban environments, for example, for reasons of safety, but at the same time, darkness has become endangered. Darkness is crucial to sleep and plays an essential role in the development of ecosystems and organisms (Lyytimäki & Rinne 2013, 12–15, 39, 105).
What I find particularly intriguing is Lyytimäki and Rinne’s aesthetic perspective on light pollution, where any lighting deemed ugly or unpleasant by someone can be classified as light pollution. Even a light left on unnecessarily can be considered light pollution (Lyytimäki & Rinne 2013, 23). Perhaps the definition of light pollution could be expanded within the context of performances and exhibitions to include lighting designs that are not eco-socially sustainable?
Architect Juhani Pallasmaa highlights the spatial experience and sensory hierarchy in Western culture in his essay collection Ihon silmät (The Eyes of the Skin). In Western culture, the sense of sight has been regarded as the highest of the senses, with thinking being linked to seeing since ancient Greece. In the context of art, this is evident in the excessive reverence for painting. Pallasmaa emphasizes the importance of the sense of touch. He reflects on the critique of French philosopher Maurice Merleau-Ponty (1908–1961), which targets the “Cartesian, perspectival dominance of the eye.” Pallasmaa also challenges architects to design spaces that are more multisensory and foster a sense of belonging (Pallasmaa 2016).
This emphasis on the visual sense prompts questions about what may go unnoticed when we do not make space for other senses. When vision dominates perception, subtle sounds, smells, taste nuances, and the tactile qualities of materials may be overlooked, even though they play a central role in the everyday lives and environmental understanding of various communities (Howes & Classen 2014). Could a broader sensory approach allow us to perceive the world more deeply, helping us to notice environmental changes and attune ourselves to the diversity of ecosystems?
At the same time, we might consider what the Western scientific approach fails to capture. Many Indigenous peoples and communities around the world rely on a wider range of sensory inputs, accessing knowledge about their environment that often eludes Western scientific methods. This multisensory approach may aid in anticipating natural phenomena or fostering a profound connection to both living and non-living elements within an ecosystem. Such an expanded sensory perspective challenges us to consider how we might enrich our own ways of perceiving and understanding our environment (Aula 2021, 31–37).
I would argue that if we aim to decolonize the stage, arts education should more broadly consider the alternative ways of perceiving space and being in the world that are opened up by sensory anthropology.
In lighting designer Tomi Humalisto’s doctoral research (Humalisto 2012) there is a section that focuses on the role of darkness as a stage condition. This section explores how darkness affects the designer’s role and the audience’s experience, shifting the emphasis of perception from vision to other senses, such as hearing, touch, and the sensation of warmth. Humalisto lays the groundwork for the Pimeä projekti (Dark Project, 2006), which employed infrared lighting design, by deconstructing the tradition of lighting design based on vision and the primary functions of light on stage: guiding the audience’s gaze and making the performer or other stage materials visible. According to Humalisto, reducing the amount of light or designing for darkness is a step toward a more multisensory performance experience (Humalisto 2012, 291–293).
The performance installation PET is an example within the canon of “dim” and more ecologically responsible performances. In terms of lighting design, I shared authorship with planetary movements and weather conditions. The team adapted to lighting conditions that were beyond control and nearly completely chaotic – each performance day had different levels and hues of light in various scenes. This approach is in stark contrast to the so-called black box theatre, where lighting dictates what the audience should focus on at any given moment, and where time-space conditions are meticulously controlled to create specific illusions or moods.
Ironically, lighting design based on the cycle of daylight has a direct connection to ancient performances, where the transition from the dimness of dawn to the brightness of day often supported the dramaturgical shift of the performance (Ervasti 2004/2017).
One way to create a more responsible lighting design is to use alternative light sources whose manufacturing processes, material connections, and origins are traceable. Dimness and darkness serve as concrete counteractions to the ever-accelerating world of fossil capital, which is deeply rooted in the development of lighting technology.
Through multi-layered and conscious lighting design, it is also possible to disrupt the Western hegemony of ocular centrism and create multisensory spaces for alternative experiences. Dimness and darkness resist the “over-exposed” world, offering potential to reimagine the human being – caring for dimness and darkness is essential not only for human life and well-being but also for other species.
About light art
Eco-art practices often clash with the environmental values that artists claim to champion. Curator Ki Nurmenniemi points out that large-scale works requiring extensive resources – such as helicopters, generators, and miles of lighting cables to “highlight the beauty of a landscape or natural environment” or “visualize climate change” – are among the most striking examples of this contradiction (Nurmenniemi 2020).
Light art is immensely popular in Finland, with events taking place across the country, even in smaller towns. In recent years, this context has seen massive “nature light spectacles,” where, for example, parts of national parks or entire landmarks, such as Mount Saana, have been illuminated (YLE 2017).
Instead of installing new technology in natural settings, whether temporarily or permanently, could a work be “framed” using existing light sources in the environment? What if, for instance, the area around Mount Saana was experienced by hiking to the summit, wearing blue-tinted glasses, and listening to local Sámi stories about their relationship with the place?
In 2021, together with Mark Niskanen, I created the sound and light installation A Scene II for the Helsinki Biennial 2021. The starting point for the work was the question: what kind of composition would emerge if we assigned musical notes to the lights of the maritime navigation marks along Helsinki’s shoreline?
The title A Scene II encompasses not only the landscape and the view but also the concepts of a scene and a stage. The work takes place every day, one hour after sunset, and can be experienced on the observation deck next to the Kaivopuisto observatory using a mobile phone and headphones via the website ascene.fi. On the observation deck, there is a sign displaying the text about the artwork along with a QR code. A Scene II is part of HAM Helsinki Art Museum’s public art collection.
In A Scene II, no cables or light sources were added to the environment, despite the work covering several square kilometres. The composition, listened to via a mobile phone and headphones, frames the lights of the maritime markers and guides an auditory perception of the landscape. Simultaneously, the sense of touch becomes more sensitive to the prevailing weather conditions, such as wind and temperature differences.
The area around the Kaivopuisto observatory is a special place in Helsinki, as it is not illuminated by streetlights. The surrounding darkness allows for the observation of the blinking lights of the maritime markers, while the presence of the observatory broadens the context of the work and provides one interpretive lens for experiencing the artwork.
Niskanen and I wrote the following to the audience of the work:
For centuries, humans have been navigating by the stars towards new and unknown destinies. At sea, lighthouses have marked a safe route to other humans. Today, satellites direct ships. What will the sea view off Helsinki eventually be like in the future? What autonomous technologies will we leave blinking in the environment, haunting future generations? With A Scene II, we hope to provide a gentle pause in which to reflect on various layers and cycles in time.
(HAM 2021)
Kristiina Ljokkoi, PhD researcher and curator at HAM Helsinki Art Museum, discusses A Scene II in her article “Solmuissa, suhteissa, kerrostumissa (In Knots, Relationships, Layers)”:
Many dimensions of the work are based on non-artist-driven and, more broadly, non-human agencies and temporalities. The solar-powered autonomous lights of the maritime markers guide sea traffic around the clock, but darkness allows for the experience of the light and blinking landscape together with the composition. Thus, planetary movements determine the moment when the work can be experienced.
(Ljokkoi 2022, 99–110)
The work creates an interesting tension between the meditative sea and the visible technology within it. Currently, nearly all of the maritime markers in the Gulf of Finland operate on solar energy. If humanity were to disappear, these autonomous lights would continue blinking for over a decade, depending on the amount of sunlight. The view, with its technological elements, emphasizes human transience against the vastness of the sea and challenges the traditional relationship with nature, which sees humans and their constructions as separate from nature (Metsola & Tuulikangas 2021, 210–211).
While A Scene II utilizes the light sources of the environment and the audience’s own mobile phones and headphones, the experience of the work produces approximately ten kilograms of carbon dioxide emissions annually.
Calculating CO2 impact: A Scene II audience engagement
In 2021, A Scene II had 2,570 listeners, according to the data.
On average, each listener engaged with the work for three minutes, totalling 128 hours and 30 minutes of listening time.
Emissions calculation: 55 g/h (Carbon Trust 2021, 8) x 128 hours and 30 minutes = approximately 7.07 kg CO2.
Additionally, emissions from website access: 2,570 visitors x 0.90 g (Websitecarbon.com n.d.) CO2 = 2.31 kg CO2.
Total emissions: 9.38 kg CO2.
The artist and writer Augusto Corrieri reflects on dramaturg Marianne von Kerkhoven’s 1994 idea of minor and major dramaturgy in his essay The Rock, The Butterfly, The Moon, and The Cloud: Notes on Dramaturgy in an Ecological Age (2017). By minor dramaturgy, Kerkhoven refers to the interpersonal dramaturgy within theatre, while major dramaturgy extends from the theatre to the city, from the city to the world, and from the world to the universe. Corrieri expands on Kerkhoven’s idea of major dramaturgy, emphasizing that if theatre were to genuinely include the sky and stars as dramaturgical elements, it would necessitate writing manifestos centred on cosmic interrelations. This would acknowledge non-human elements and subatomic matter, challenging the humanist traditions that have historically underpinned Western theatre. Such a shift could open opportunities for more expansive and diverse performances that transcend human boundaries. (Corrieri 2017, 234–235)
What would happen if we shifted our observational perspective from horizontal to vertical? Would the observation of the stars and planets, along with the rituals associated with them, restore our connection to the “metaphysical universe”? Could this shift in perspective be a way to place our environmental concerns in a space-time framework that helps us understand the environmental catastrophe as merely a brief disturbance in Earth’s multimillion-year history? Or does it simply provide a masochistic solace in apocalyptic fantasies?
In her essay A SCENE [näyttämö, näytäntö, näyttö, ättä, näkymätön, näky-mä] (2021), Maiju Loukola explores the thematic and conceptual depth of the A Scene II installation, focusing on the interplay between technology and nature in contemporary art. She emphasizes how the artwork invites viewers to reconsider their perceptions of light and darkness, urging a shift away from traditional human-centric narratives to include non-human elements and broader ecological contexts. Loukola also discusses the importance of engagement with the environment through personal experiences, suggesting that the project facilitates a deeper connection to place and time. This aligns with the broader discourse on ecological awareness in art, where attention to subtlety and nuance in our surroundings can foster a more profound understanding of our relationship with the natural world. (Loukola 2021)
By concluding with a quote from Italo Calvino’s Invisible Cities, Loukola poignantly highlights the necessity of recognizing both the traces of joy and the overwhelming presence of despair in our contemporary experience, urging us to focus on the faint lights that persist amidst the darkness:
This is the aim of my explorations: examining the traces of happiness still to be glimpsed, I gauge its short supply. If you want to know how much darkness there is around you, you must sharpen your eyes, peering at the faint lights in the distance.
(Calvino 2011/1972, 61)
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