Maira Kalman on Walking and Looking as a Way of Life

When describing experiences, New York–based artist and author Maira Kalman almost always goes for the extremes: an instance can be at once stupid and smart, miserable and hopeful, sad and delighted. A bittersweet point of view forms the throughline of her work—which spans more than 30 books for adults and children, as well as performance, opera, film, and industrial and set design—and gives each project its distinct ability to encapsulate the reality of being human. Tragedy and beauty can, and will, she believes, appear out of nowhere. In both instances, it’s what one does with it that determines how the event will impact their life. 

Kalman, 71, credits this sensibility to credits this sensibility to people and places of significance in her life, specifically to the early death of her husband, the celebrated graphic designer Tibor Kalman, and to her late mother, Sara Berman, in addition to her Jewish heritage and birthplace of Tel Aviv. In tandem with her practice, Kalman makes time to indulge in seemingly mundane activities, such as taking long walks, cleaning, and reading obituaries, which she sees as activators of life. Each gesture is a means for finding clarity in the midst of chaos.

On this episode, Kalman talks with Andrew about observation as a creative act, the allure of books, the importance of not thinking, and performing daily rituals as a means for staying sane.

Show notes:

• @mairakalman
• mairakalman.com
• 9:37: Tibor Kalman
• 13:08: Alex Kalman
• 13:55: “Love in the Time of Corona” (Times Square Arts, 2020) 
• 17:30: American Utopia (Bloomsbury, 2020) and American Utopia Broadway play (2019–Present)
• 23:46: “The Museum Workout” at the Metropolitan Museum of Art (2017)
• 28:26: “Sara Berman’s Closet” at the Metropolitan Museum of Art (2015)
• 52:21: (Un)fashion (Abrams, 2005)
• 53:43: M&Co
• 56:11: “Tiborocity: Design and Undesign by Tibor Kalman, 1979–1999”  
• 58:08: Alex and Maira Kalman’s short films
• 1:05:08: “New Yorkistan” cover for the New Yorker (2001)