At home in Shanghai! Finnish architect observes city's shifting rhythms

Almost every day, Finnish architect Jarmo Suominen rides his bike through Shanghai for at least an hour – not toward a destination, but into the city's rhythm. He carries no map. Beneath clotheslines and tangled wires, he stops to observe and sketch.

For Suominen, a professor at Tongji University, curiosity fuels both his work and life. His students call him 搜搜 (Sou Sou), meaning "search" – a nickname that reflects his constant exploration.

"In Shanghai, you never know what you'll find," he told Shanghai Daily. "You turn down an alley and suddenly you're in a hidden garden behind a dead-end. People create these little worlds. It's amazing."

His bike rides are a form of engagement – a way to witness how people and places interact. He values Shanghai's "sensitive renewal," a process driven as much by residents as by government departments.

"The street is where life happens," he said. "The government might renovate facades, but inside, people make small, gradual upgrades. It's not about replacing everything – it's about letting people shape their future."

One of his favorite examples is a car repair shop near his home. "Every night, it transforms into a nightclub with talks, performances and movie screenings. It wasn't designed to be one – it just became one."

This adaptability, he said, defines Shanghai. "In Europe, a café is a café, a garage is a garage. But here, people mix things up. This creative blending – that's Shanghai-style innovation."

He quoted a Chinese saying: 螺蛳壳里做道场 – making a temple out of a snail shell. "Here, you use what you have. Smart cities are sustainable cities – not about building new, but reimagining what's already there."

Living in a traditional shikumen house, Suominen embraces this mindset. He uses clothes-hanging rods to display his drawings, showing how everyday materials can spark creativity – a reflection of how Shanghai's residents make use of their surroundings.

Over the past decade, the city has become both home and studio. For Suominen, the street is a canvas, always evolving with the people who inhabit it. A man playing saxophone in an alley or a chess game under sycamores becomes, through his eyes, a sign of constant transformation. "The soul of a place," he said, "isn't in the architecture. It's in the life around it – the feeling that you're welcome, even if you're a stranger."

Suominen has filled more than 20 sketchbooks with these scenes, each revealing the dynamic interplay between people and space. "These tight-knit places let me connect with people and hear their stories," he said. Many of them will appear in his upcoming book on "personal place-making," due out this fall.

"In older neighborhoods, you see lives spilling into the streets – something unique to China, especially Shanghai," he added. "In Finland, where the cold keeps people inside, you can't observe people's values and habits in the same way."

This community-centered lens informs his projects. Take Chifeng Road in Yangpu District, where a dull stretch of concrete has become NICE2035 – a social innovation initiative where Suominen and residents co-created a mural across facades. A dragon swoops over rooftops, a grandmother pushes a cart, a child flies a kite – all telling the story of the neighborhood.

He said, "It's about helping people feel connected to a place. When they see familiar faces, they think, 'I'm part of this'." For Suominen, renewal means strengthening identity and involving the community.

He pointed to a pocket park on Yongjia Road as Shanghai's best micro-renewal project. "It's full of life – dogs, neighbors, daily life unfolding. It's about creating spaces people own and shape."

The Finn is also exploring how technology can support place-making. In one project, an AI-powered robotic arm worked beside him, translating environmental interactions into visual form. "I focus on the environment, while the robot captures what people do there," he explained. "We co-create – it's about collaboration."

Before moving to Shanghai, Suominen lived in Boston, Paris and New York, but Shanghai's energy captured him. He arrived 12 years ago and has lived here almost full-time for the past six.

"Only New York compares to Shanghai," he said. "One big thing is diversity. I love being in the old shikumen, and then, just 10 meters away, you're in one of the most expensive places. You can get lunch for 10 yuan (US$1.39) from a corner vendor, then turn a corner and find a boutique meal for 500. That contrast satisfies me – seeing people from different backgrounds come together."

At home off Julu Road, he lives in a traditional shikumen house where life spills into public space – card games on plastic stools, musicians rehearsing, neighbors chatting beside drying laundry.

But not all stories are optimistic. Some old neighborhoods, once full of life, have been replaced by luxury commercial zones. "It's the same story in Paris and London," Suominen admitted. "Sure, the buildings remain, but the spirit of a place isn't just in its architecture; it's in people and the environment together. When that's gone, the city loses a bit of its soul."

Though not nostalgic, he's clear-eyed about the challenge. "It's a tricky balance with no perfect solution," he said. "But if we let people shape their environments – design with them, not for them – the city might keep its soul."

And so, he keeps riding – observing the city's shifting rhythms, part observer, part participant. Or, as his students say: "Sou Sou" – the one who searches.