In Conversation: Päivi Raivio

Can you tell us about yourself and what you do?

I’m a creative practitioner and entrepreneur working at the intersection of design, art, and placemaking. I’m a mum of two and live and work in Helsinki. I love cities and the public realm as places to work, explore, and draw inspiration from, and lately play has become one of the main themes in my work.Together with my partner, Daniel Bumann, I run the creative studio RaivioBumann and the modular urban furniture company Parkly. I’m currently working on a diverse range of projects, including Parkly's concept for child-friendly urban spaces and street transformations, a permanent public artwork and a "meeting kiosk" – canopy structure designed to invite community-driven events in the city of Oulu, this year's European Capital of Culture.

What does Basic Forms (of Urban Life) mean to you personally?

I think the work captures many of the things that inspire me: colours, shapes, play, and what fascinates me about cities – the interplay between the organised and the unorganised, and everything that emerges through that interaction.

Lately, I have been working extensively on the themes of play and playfulness. I believe they make a more serious statement than we often realise, so I am especially happy to have the opportunity to bring this work – and that statement – into the public realm in London.

The first edition of the work was realised at the Concéntrico Design and Architecture Festival in 2024. From the beginning, I envisioned it as a concept that could be reinterpreted in different places, and now that vision is becoming a reality. Each edition will be unique, responding to its site, its dynamics, and the people who encounter it.

Could you tell us about the creative process of Basic Forms (of Urban Life)? Where did you get your inspiration from?

The idea for the work emerged while I was reading Designing Disorder: Experiments and Disruptions in the City by Pablo Sendra and Richard Sennett. At the same time, I was exploring ideas around colour and shape. I have always loved how, especially children, instinctively see the world through shapes, combining them to create new forms and meanings.

I wanted to create a work that invites people to play, but also simply to stay and gather – and by doing this leaving behind arrangements and patterns that cannot be planned in advance. It returns to the themes that interest me the most: the relationship between the organised and the spontaneous, and what happens when the two collide.

Much of my work explores how people use public space. Sitting alone or together may seem like the most basic function of urban life, but it is also fundamental to “taking place” – to being and belonging, alone or together. At the same time, who is allowed to occupy public space, where, and under what conditions remains a surprisingly contested question.

When I look at our built environment, I see a landscape of shapes. It has been wonderful to discover how many of the forms this work has, can be found in the architecture of the Barbican, creating an unexpected dialogue between the installation and its surroundings.

What did your day look like when creating Basic Forms?

My process is quite intuitive. I tend to spend a lot of time developing an idea or concept in my head, and rather than producing many sketches, the work gradually evolves into a fairly complete form. Throughout the process, I often reflect on past projects and experiences, considering how a new work might function and be experienced.

The choice of colours is always site-specific. I know the Barbican well – I used to spend a great deal of time there when I lived in London – but this time I explored it more slowly and deliberately. Doing this I discovered many new colours in the architectural details, and they became part of the colour palette for this edition of the installation. My daughter was with me during this visit – she also led me to look at certain details through a new lens. Spending time on site and thinking about the scale of the work is also an important part of the process.

What does exhibiting in London mean to you?

It means a great deal to me. I am also ecstatic to be able to invite my UK-based friends and colleagues to experience the work. I think London – the city – shaped both me and my practice during the five years I lived there. Being able to bring my installation back to the city and realise a project in the public realm feels, in many ways, like coming full circle. I studied Design and Public Art for my Bachelor of Arts, which focused precisely on these themes, so this opportunity feels especially meaningful.

The Barbican also holds a special place in my heart. It is, of course, an architectural masterpiece and an iconic urban environment, but my connection to it is deeply personal. Some of my fondest memories are of spending time there – attending gigs and events, or simply treating it as an open living room for everyone. I distinctly recall one event where we were all lying on the carpet together listening to a gig. In a cultural institution of such stature, that sense of openness and informality felt remarkably welcoming.

Do you expect audiences in London to experience this piece differently to e.g. the audience in Logroño?

The Play Make Do Festival provides a wonderful thematic context for the work, but I also hope the installation encourages people to discover the Barbican and the Lakeside in a new way – through play, curiosity, and interaction.

I am always amazed by people's creativity and the unexpected ways they interact with a place and with each other – so yes, I also expect many surprises.

You have spoken about the project bringing forward a discourse of ‘design democracy’ in public spaces. Can you tell us more about that?

Yes, I do think play has traditionally been confined to dedicated spaces, and inviting play into public space – and designing for it while recognising that play is always open-ended – is a statement in itself. Children are part of our society, yet they rarely have the opportunity to express themselves or to be meaningfully considered in planning processes. Also, the “serious” planning kind of deters play and playfulness. When we create spaces, artworks, and environments that encourage play, play naturally happens. To me, this is a broader societal issue – it is about democracy, creativity, education, and how we, the users, can shape the places we share. Democracy also relies on shared public spaces. They are where we meet others, coexist, and experience the city together – where we can both see and be seen. When I work in a public space, I often ask myself: Who is here? And who is missing? If certain groups are absent, why is that?

How does the work relate to feminist values?

The work also touches on feminist urbanism, which places people's everyday lives at the centre of urban planning. It invites us to rethink urban spaces and cities through a different lens. The best cities are not defined only by their functionality or technical efficiency. They are made vibrant and meaningful by the people who inhabit them. Yet, in a planning culture that is often driven by profit and development pressures, people's and the community’s needs can too easily become secondary – while it is the people who make the city. On a practical level, we also need cities where families and children are visible and welcome – and their needs are addressed. Third spaces that invite us to stay, gather, and play are essential – not only for children, but for all of us. They strengthen community, encourage interaction, and make cities more inclusive – and interesting. 

Who are on your ‘ones to watch’ list?

I have always admired the work of the UK-based practice Assemble. I find their work groundbreaking in the way it breaks down disciplinary silos and traditional categories while creating new spaces, places, and experiences – and the many scales of works. I also admire the work of my friend and colleague Jan Kattein, whose London-based architecture practice turns architecture into a social, community-driven process rooted in a strong sense of place. I think his practice has given meaning to what social architecture can be. 

Finally, I often find myself admiring the work of illustrator Ruby Wright. Her sketches of everyday life, which she shares on Instagram – especially scenes of children simply being children or moments of people-watching – are full of warmth and authenticity. (I love people watching!)