As part of an ongoing collaboration with British Journal of Photography, Finnish artist Elina Brotherus discusses her recent journey into photographing some of Europe’s most impressive modern homes.

Brotherus has been employing her own body as a subject for 20 years. Her self-portraiture explores both personal and universal experiences, from the presence and absence of love, to a continued exploration into the role of the human figure in natural and manmade landscapes.

Since 2015, Brotherus has been photographing herself within modernist homes, in her native Finland and beyond. From Alvar Aalto’s Maison Louis Carré in Paris, to Michel Polak’s Villa Empain in Brussels, and Friedensreich Hundertwasser’s rooftop apartment in Vienna, Brotherus has continued to explore and expand on the series. In the following interview, the artist discusses her growing interest in architecture, and how it has enhanced her understanding of spaces.

When did you first become interested in modernist homes?
In 2015, I was invited to exhibit in Maison Louis Carré, just outside Paris. It’s one of the few private houses that Alvar Aalto designed outside his native Finland, and was built for gallerist and art collector Louis Carré. Now it is a museum, and the director, Asdis Olafsdottir, decided to reintroduce contemporary art onto its walls. I had the idea to make a photograph inside the house, which could then be included in the show, as a mise en abyme, or a visual joke. The director allowed me to live in the house for three days, all on my own. The idea for one photo ended up becoming a whole series.

How did this encounter influence your practice and relationship with architecture?
I was genuinely surprised at how pleasant it was to live in the house. One could feel that it was designed with a lot of thought behind it. As a native Finn, I believed I knew my Aalto by heart. To be honest, I had considered him a bit dusty and boring. I wasn’t prepared to be so impressed by the experience of staying in his house. It changed my attitude not only to Aalto, but to architecture in general. I realised how big of an impact a well-designed and aesthetically ambitious space can have on our wellbeing. We spend so much time in rather mediocre spaces: apartments of no particular interest, or public spaces constructed with cheap materials and trivial planning. I hope that through my work, people will wake up to the importance of good architecture, like I did.

How do you approach a space when you first walk in – do different spaces influence your image-making?
What makes my work different is the human presence. If you think of architectural photographs, they are always empty. I introduce an inhabitant into the space. The different characters I embody could have lived in the house in some parallel history. Or perhaps they have been there as visitors; neighbours, far-away cousins, or friends. They do what people do at home: eat, sleep, contemplate, read, take showers, have tea. They let the spectator in and allow them to think: “this woman could be me.”

When approaching a house, I try to think not only of the year of construction, but of the time span of its active years. I don’t want to disguise myself as some Hollywood Epoque character; I wear my own clothes. I want to understand the place, its history; to read something about the people, in order to feel how I should be within those spaces.

Light is integral to photography; it can also transform architectural forms. How do you work with light?
Good architecture takes into account the behaviour of light, but also the needs of its inhabitants. This came like a revelation to me in Aalto’s Maison Carré. Louis Carré’s gallery was in Paris, so when he came home after a day of work, Aalto gave him the evening sun in the salon. In the morning he had the sun in the breakfast room.

Light reveals form, or more precisely, creates form. I spend time in a house and chase the light. It’s a lot about observing and then reacting rapidly, as the moment can be over in a minute. This is the great thing about a house: different rooms face different directions, there’s no dead time. At every moment, something is happening somewhere.

If you could shoot a self-portrait in any house or building, which would it be?
I have a penchant for early and mid-century modernism, and have a long list of dream houses that span the decades. From Le Corbusier’s Villa Savoye (1928) and Eileen Grey’s Villa E-1027 (1929), to Adalberto Libera’s Casa Malaparte (1941), and Antti Lovag’s Maison Bernard (1970s). If I could only choose one, it would be Frank Lloyd Wright’s Fallingwater (1939). The hard part here is not the photography, but how to gain access to these spaces.