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Alvar Aalto’s design for Säynätsalo Town Hall is renowned for its classic Scandinavian design, but some of the most compelling aspects of the design are its contradictions, which are not necessarily unintentional, and the ways in which the architect’s own beliefs are evident in the design.

Aalto lived through the events which led to Finnish independence, and the importance of these events to him is profoundly evident in the design of Säynätsalo. The gravity of home rule—the fact that these people were now for the first time able to make the decisions that would directly affect their community—is expressed in the hierarchy of the building. The program called for a true town center—a mixed-use complex containing commerce, residences, and governmental functions. Aalto clearly disliked the commercial functions of the building, putting them on the ground floor, surrounding a mound of earth. In a way, they are partially submerged into the ground, and the rest of the functions sit atop them.

Above the ground level is the courtyard level. Although most all urban design relies on commerce on the ground level, giving businesses the most prominent place in the building, Aalto here has created a “second ground level.” In the diagram above, the actual ground level is labeled “terrain level” to make this distinction clearer. In creating this second ground level, Aalto has removed any symbolic importance that might be conveyed by having the businesses on the ground floor.

The council chamber sits atop the rest of the functions. The form of the building emphasizes the council chamber above all else. There is nothing else on the same elevation as the chamber, and it rises to a height much greater than that of the rest of the building. It is evident how important this space was to Aalto. That the people of Säynätsalo were able to elect officials to make decisions for them, and that they were able to come and monitor their officials, was the most important part of this building. It is therefore appropriate that this space would be in the most prominent place in the building, but one may question Aalto’s attitudes toward the other functions of the building and whether he overemphasized this one function to the detriment of all others.

The design of the building has a rather contradictory attitude toward the visitor, sometimes easily approachable, at other times completely unwelcoming. The council chamber has attached to its east side a gallery where citizens can sit and watch the governmental proceedings take place. Theoretically, the gallery is a symbol of welcoming and open government; however, formally, the gallery is simply attached to the outside of the council chamber. It cantilevers out from the side of the building, and combined with the cantilever of the floor below (where the front office is located), it creates the feeling that the building is looming over the approaching visitor.

This is a very unwelcoming feeling for one’s first view of the building, and it immensely hurts the approachability of the storefront below. The storefront is dwarfed by this hulking, monolithic form hanging overhead, as can be seen in the sketch above. When seen from this angle, the council chamber only barely peeks out above the gallery. It makes the chamber feel like a distant, unreachable destination.

This idea of the contradiction between expressing the intimidating power of government and welcoming the involvement of the citizen continues throughout the building. The large, two-story monolithic brick façades on the outside of the building give way to more approachable one-story glass-and-wood façades inside the courtyard. The pavement outside the building is cold, rough gravel, and there is no landscaping, while inside, the courtyard is grass, and there is cultivated vegetation. Perhaps Aalto was trying to express the long path and obstacles one has to overcome to gain governmental power, as the Finns had to do in their history. The visitor has to overcome the intimidating appearance of the external façade of the building and make his way up the stairs to the courtyard before he can feel comfortable, and then continue his winding journey up into the council chamber.

Upon entering the building, Aalto’s beliefs about the way a building should feel become apparent. Everywhere that the body would come in contact with the building, Aalto had considered. The doorhandles are wrapped in leather, so that the metal or wood doesn’t feel cold to the touch. The brick benches have a radiator running underneath them for the same reason. Aalto wanted to have brick flooring in as many public areas as possible. The reasoning for this is not clear, but walking on brick floors might convey the feeling of being in a public plaza outdoors, a public forum. Despite to the impersonality of the external façade of the building, the interiors show extreme care for its inhabitants.

The consideration of lighting in the building is immense. Aalto’s decisions here make complete sense, both from a practical standpoint, and from an aesthetic and conceptual one. The offices around the perimeter of the building are surrounded by very tall trees and never get much light. In the winter, the sun barely rises, and in the summer, the foliage gets in the way. Aalto cleverly utilized the treeless courtyard to provide light, making the flooring in the corridor white, so that it would bounce off the floor and into the offices. For the winter months, he designed lamps that shone light at the same angle as the sun, creating the illusion of daylight when there was none. The sketch above illustrates this lighting design.

Inside the council chamber, the lighting is much more dramatic and conceptual. One would expect bright light in such an important place, especially one where work needed to be done. But the lighting in this space is dim and directed. There are no views out, and the louvers on the windows direct light to specific places. One window washes light onto a painting and the wall, highlighting the texture of the bricks. The large “checkerboard” window directs some light onto the council leader’s desk, and other light back onto the council and the gallery seating. The giant, wooden sliding doors, still partially open, allow a narrow angle of sunlight to shine across the floor. The effect of this dim space with specific spots washed in light is that of a chapel. The space feels sacred—during the visit, almost no one said a word while in the chamber.

This correlation with sacred spaces is not unintended by the architect. To him, the activities going on here were sacred. The people who worked here were endowed with a great responsibility by their constituents, and raised to a higher level. The “butterfly” trusses almost seem to crown the council members, showing the respect Aalto had for them.

Säynätsalo shows several different attitudes towards its program and inhabitants. At times different aspects of the building can seem contradictory. However, the care with which Aalto designed all his buildings provides evidence that no element of the design, whether perceived as good or bad, was not deeply considered. Though Aalto’s intentions are not always clear, the design is bold, inspiring and extremely important for all architects to learn from.