The New England coast is beautiful and varied, from the dramatic rocky shores of Maine, to the sandy beaches of Cape Cod to the rocky moraine of Long Island’s north shore. The one thing New England’s coastal waters are not is warm. I remember swimming in Maine when I was in art school in Portland: I would get all hot and sweaty by running or biking to the beach, and jump in and swim a brisk few hundred yards to the astonishment of onlookers who dared not go in past their knees. For most people the swimming season in Maine consist of two weeks in August.
It is no wonder that my last several mobile saunas have found homes near the coast—what a perfect way to extend the swimming season! Cold water and saunas traditionally go together. Ideally the sauna is situated so one can plunge into a lake, pond, stream, or the ocean after each round. With a sauna on wheels you can pull up to your favorite dipping spot and indulge yourself anytime of year. There is nothing like the thrill of jumping through a hole in the ice or plunging next to waterfall in the whiteness of winter.
The mobile unit is fairly clandestine – once the stove reaches temperature the chimney smoke is invisible; no one will suspect you are nearly naked inside basking until you burst out and head for the water. I haven’t had the pleasure of sauna-ing next to the ocean but one of these days I’ll have to travel back to Higgin’s Beach in Maine, sauna in tow, and give onlookers as thrill as I defy the icy winter water with a post-sauna dip.
The other evening I came home from work, stressed out about the Coronavirus, as many of us are, and decided to light the sauna to ease my anxiety. As it was a nice day, I decided to use the time it took the heat sauna to rake up those leaves that got matted into the lawn under a November snowfall. The breeze was out of the south which helped push the leaves into the hedgerow, but it also apparently helped fan the fire on my mobile wood- fired unit. By the time I put my rake down and stripped down for a relaxing sauna, the thermometer was pinned at 235 degrees! Not one to shy way from heat, I jumped on in anyhow.
Always inquisitive, I use such opportunities to add to my knowledge about the sauna. I wondered how hot different surfaces really were with the heat so high so, with only a towel on, I ran to the shop and grabbed my digital temperature gun. I use this gadget to test my saunas to make sure they are hot but also safe. The ceiling and walls were close to 300° near the stove, the walls were 230-250° above the bench, the benches were °200 and the lower benches were about 175°. The rocks were 450°- perfect for a good löyly- and the stove body glowing visibly red in the afternoon light, so about 1000° (the brightness of the glow corresponds to specific temperatures). The floor was predictably the coolest surface at 125°.
According to the Center for Disease Control, viruses cannot tolerate heat above about 167° F. Therefore, everything in a hot sauna from the lower bench up is guaranteed to be virus free! No fears or worries as I bask in the heat.
That being said, despite what we all wish, the sauna will not kill a virus that has already infected you, nor will it likely destroy a virus ejected in a sneeze. The sauna will not cure you or protect you if your sauna mates are sick; in these desperate times, it’s probably best to avoid group saunas with strangers. But, taking a regular sauna will lower your stress level, boost your immunity and help you sleep better- all in a virus free space. Maybe it’s time to think about having your own sauna so you can create your own virus-free and worry-free sanctuary.
Sauna is an interesting word. It is both the noun describing the little structures that I spend my days making and the action of how one uses that building. Mostly, I focus on the details of building and let the details of how one uses the Sauna fall to the individual taste of my clients. I don’t adhere to a dogmatic approach; everyone has his or her own experiences and memories to draw from. Different countries have subtle variations: wetter, drier, hotter, timed sessions, birch Vihta, etc. My memories stem from my time at Podunk, in the old Finnish Sauna. I remember the 5 gallon joint-compound buckets for gathering water from the creek, and the various cheap plastic wash tubs, brushes, loofa, and other bathing implements. There was some sort of ladle (which we always called a kipper in some mis-appropriation of Finnish-ness) for pouring water on the rocks. And there would be various soaps and shampoos–some common, some not so common, like the Finnish pine tar soap, which, despite its comparison to the sticky pine tar we would out on our skis, actually feels pretty good.
Podunk
Once the sauna got good and hot we would strip down as unceremoniously as possible and go in. The first round would always be pretty talkative and end with a healthy ladle-full or two of water on the hot rocks until we had to bolt out the door and head to the creek. If someone were annoyingly loud sometimes a good löyly would be timed so as to quiet things down. In the second and third round we might take great pleasure in thrashing each other (gently) with a birch vihta if someone bothered to make one from the birch tree outside the Podunk sauna. The old Finns would make them in the spring out of the fresh soft leaves and keep them in the freezer. Now you can actually buy them from Finland—dried and vacuum packed for a reasonable sum. After softening them in water for twenty minutes they smell just like a fresh birch tree.
The last round in the sauna
would be time to wash: after getting hot again we would take turns on the
little washing bench scrubbing ourselves (or each other) with the loofa or
stiff sauna brushes and some sauna soap. Finally a rinse with some warm water
would wash off all of that dead skin and residue of a week’s hard work and we
would leave the sauna all fresh sand natural smelling. None of us ever had to
wear deodorant or poufy colognes.
pouring water on the rocks
how to have a sauna “bath”
simple beauty of an ice lantern
Sometimes I sauna with friends, sometimes alone. Always it is the same: get hot until sweat just pours out of me, cool off, repeat; scrub my skin, maybe switch my back with the Vihta, wash up, rinse down the sauna. It’s a ritual of sorts but not like the way a ritual in the church is dictated to you. As in church, there are ritual objects that create focus help and direct the actions, but instead of incense and gold, they are plastic and wood. And unlike church, there is no sin in doing it anyway you want to. The brushes, basins, ladle, soap, and vihta are there just to help establish the flow of the sauna experience. To the uninitiated it may seem all strange, but after a few times, it all makes sense. It is just a bath house, after all.
Lately, I have found that the top of my noggin does not have so much insulation from the heat of a good löyly so I have taken to wearing a felt sauna hat, which is sort of like a Shriner’s Fez, which is to say that it makes you feel just a little goofy. But, then again, I wouldn’t want to be accused of taking the sauna ritual too seriously!
I just completed this bright blue, yellow and white gem of a sauna situated on a red deck. The color was the client’s choice; he wanted something that would brighten things up and be in stark contrast with usual suspects of taupe, dull brown, and moldy blues that afflict his neighborhood and so many other American housing developments. Why are builders so afraid of color?
The use of bright color in homes is often associated with places like seaside Baltic towns and Reykjavíc, Iceland—and for good reason. In the deep of winter these places are plunged into darkness as the sun hovers near the horizon or barely makes an appearance at all. Battling the winter blues should make the use of bright colors almost mandatory. Of course these places all have saunas too (or in the case of Reykjavíc, massive public hot springs), another way to survive the depth of winter. I also learned, when I was an artist-in-residence in Nova Scotia, that fishermen traditionally used bright colors in their houses simply because it’s left-over boat paint. Boats are painted brightly so they can be uniquely identified at sea, so, in a way, the colors express something unique about the individuals who live in there. Now, of course, the brightly colored fishing village is almost a tourist mandate.
Looking back on recent sauna projects, I see a shifting trend in color choices made by my clients. From authentic dark brown Viking tar, to blue-grey, then, brighter reds and blues and greens, and now, this latest color feast. There is also a trend in design to use more bright colors such as on the running shoes I saw in the gym yesterday that were an eye-popping florescent orange. I have been following the designer Ingrid Fetell Lee who writes about creating joy with color in her book The Aesthetics of Joy. She is persuasive about using more color for the simple reason that it creates joy. Although I teach color theory, I have a tendency to stick to blacks, grays and low intensity colors in my art, a trend that I have been to trying evolve out of. Perhaps I can take some cues from my clients and take some color risks in my own work. This latest sauna project actually makes me think of a late Mondrian painting such as Broadway Boogie Woogie in which he reduced his palette to the three primary colors and sought to use color as the basis for expression.
In this latest sauna project my interest in sauna and art actually converged. The warm interior heats your body and the colorful exterior warms your spirit. Thanks, Karl!
Sauna is all about perfection. Not over-the-top polished perfection, but a perfect way of being: simple, pure, functional; perfect living. Harmonious. After all, you enter the sauna naked, our perfectly imperfect bodies exposed but hidden in the dim light. You sweat out the toxins of life and leave with a clean aura. Like the Japanese concept of Wabi-Sabi, the sauna encourages acceptance of the imperfect as natural and beautiful.
When I work on my saunas I am constantly aware of this. Too much perfection will ruin the relaxed atmosphere; too many crisp details will hold tension in the materials. I relax when I work, become one with my materials and try to imbue the building with a human inexactness.
It’s all made by hand or by nature: the pulls on the doors (hickory branches), the handle on the stove (me, wrapping stainless rod—like wrestling a snake); the benches (massaged with sand paper) and the funny round window (imperfectly round like the eye of a whale). The stone facing on the wall around the stove was pulled from a hundred-and-fifty year old barn foundation and carefully split with whacks from the hammer my great grandfather used to carve head-stones. The dressing room floor: reclaimed fir, every bit as tough as the day the trees were felled. I use some new materials but never looking like I just pulled them off the shelf in some big box store.
I’ve touched it all many times—each board, each stone, each piece of metal. I carry slivers of each project in my hands for weeks—a constant reminder of the work I do. I think of our physical world built by hands. Every brick in every building handled, touched and in the memory of some callus; everything we think of as solid and real created by someone’s toil. Even the rocks that mark the hedgerow at the back of the sauna were placed by hand almost two centuries ago; the sweat of that farmer’s labor infused with this thick clay soil.
This last project was nearly perfect—which is as close to perfect as I want it to be. Great client, perfect site, easy access, and nice new pond with a beautiful dock and deck. Ok, I did order the wrong color roof but the multiple drives back and forth to Mid Lakes Metal, down the spine of the ridge between the lakes was perfect. With my windows wide open, I could taste the salt of the earth and was reminded of why I call this place home.
All summer long I have eagerly anticipated this week; we have a cottage rental on the lake. It’s the highlight of my summer and a much-needed break from all of the projects I have going on. This year, in addition to the usual activities—swimming, canoeing, beach fires, collecting beach glass and just staring the waves while sipping wine—I’ve added one more: sauna! I’ve brought my wood-fired trailer sauna with me and parked it ten feet from the water’s edge. Nothing beats coming out from the hot steam of a good löyly and jumping into the cool, refreshing lake. It is perfection.
Mobile Sauna by Rob Licht Custom Saunas on Cayuga Lake
Looking back on recent sauna projects, I see a shifting trend in color choices made by my clients. From authentic dark brown Viking tar, to blue-grey, then, brighter reds and blues and greens, and now, this latest color feast. There is also a trend in design to use more bright colors such as on the running shoes I saw in the gym yesterday that were an eye-popping florescent orange. I have been following the designer Ingrid Fetell Lee who writes about creating joy with color in her book 
