Brain Pickings

Posts Tagged ‘Daniel Handler’

07 APRIL, 2015

Hurry Up and Wait: Daniel Handler and Maira Kalman’s Whimsical Children’s Book for Grownups about Presence in the Age of Productivity

By:

“It feels so good to go someplace. Except when you want to stay right there where you are.”

“Hurrying and delaying are alike ways of trying to resist the present,” Alan Watts observed in his magnificent meditation on the art of timing half a century before our paradoxical modern mecca of ever-multiplying procrastination options amid a Productivity Rush in which we’re mining every last frontier of sanity and stillness for the tiniest nugget of precious efficiency. “Of all ridiculous things,” Kierkegaard wrote in contemplating our greatest source of unhappiness nearly two centuries earlier, “the most ridiculous seems to me, to be busy — to be a man who is brisk about his food and his work.” Somehow, even if we know that we habitually miss most of what is going on around us, we rarely break our busy gait on the hamster wheel of goal-chasing. And yet when we do pause — be it by will or, perhaps more commonly, by accident — the miraculous reveals itself in the mundane.

That’s what longtime collaborators Maira Kalman and Daniel Handler explore in the immensely wonderful children’s-book-for-grownups Hurry Up and Wait (public library) — the second installment in their collaboration with the Museum of Modern Art, following their quirky Girls Standing on Lawns.

Jacques-Henri Lartigue. Paris, Avenue des Acacias, 1912 (printed 1962).

The Museum of Modern Art, New York. Gift of the artist. © 2015 Association des Amis de Jacques Henri Lartigue

It feels so good to go someplace.

Except when you want to stay
right there where you are.

Once again, Kalman and Handler wade through MoMA’s impressive archive to curate a set of unusual, whimsical, and purely delightful photographs that capture the osmotic relationship between motion and stillness. The images come from the middle of the twentieth century, the heyday of the Mad Men era that set the hedonic treadmill of consumerism into motion and ripped the modern psyche asunder by the conflicting pulls of doing and being.

Garry Winogrand. New York City, 1961.

The Museum of Modern Art, New York. Gift of the artist. © 2015 The Estate of Garry Winogrand, courtesy Fraenkel Gallery, San Francisco

This is the history of the entire world.

People are seen striding and strolling, racing and ruminating, dashing and daydreaming — living testaments to the counterpoints of disposition by which we orient ourselves to the same mundane daily actions and to the present moment itself. We are reminded that even something as simple as a walk can be, as Thoreau believed, “a sort of crusade” — but we get to choose whether to crusade for productivity or for presence.

© 2015 Maira Kalman

Jump right in, or wade in slowly.
Advantage to one, it’s over quickly.
Advantage to the other, it isn’t.

Handler’s meditative writing is a kind of aphoristic prose poetry, at once irreverent and wholehearted and profound, partway between Mark Twain and Rumi, with a touch of Virginia Woolf’s perfectly placed commas to punctuate attention into reflective pause of just the right duration.

The accompanying paintings by Kalman — herself a patron saint of “the moments inside the moments inside the moments” and an unparalleled noticer of the magic in the mundane — reimagine the historical photographs through the raw material of Kalman’s art: that delicious dialogue between representation and response.

© 2015 Maira Kalman

You’re supposed to stop and smell the roses
but truth be told it doesn’t take that long
to smell them. You hardly have to stop.
You can smell the roses and still have time to
run all those errands before the sun goes
down and it’s dinner time.

© 2015 Maira Kalman

What emerges is a contemporary counterpart to Seneca’s On the Shortness of Life, a Walden for the modern metropolis reminding us what it really means to be awake, yet wholly original and scrumptiously singular in spirit.

Jens S. Jensen. Boy on the Wall, Hammarkullen, Gothenburg, 1973.

The Museum of Modern Art, New York. Gift of the artist

I’m just standing still, and then suddenly
I think I am waiting for something.
Once I’ve decided I’m waiting it’s like
I’m not standing still anymore.

Helen Levitt. New York, 1982

The Museum of Modern Art, New York. Gift of Marvin Hoshino in memory of Ben Maddow © 2015 Estate of Helen Levitt

If you go too fast you might not notice
everything. On the other hand, you don’t want
to be late. So allow at least half an hour to do
everything. Minus sleeping and staring
out the window that’s maybe ten things you
can do today, and you already woke up.

Tod Papageorge. Fifth Avenue, 1970.

The Museum of Modern Art, New York. John Parkinson III Fund. © 2015 Tod Papageorge, courtesy Pace/MacGill Gallery, New York.

Somewhere in the world, always,
somebody is twenty minutes late for something,
and I am annoyed at them.

Dorothea Lange. On the Road to Los Angeles, California, 1937

The Museum of Modern Art, New York. Gift of the Farm Security Administration

Some people, surely,
die on the way to something.

Then we call them
the late so-and-so.

Michael Putnam. New York City, 1970

The Museum of Modern Art, New York. Gift of the artist

I was going to say something more about
hurrying, but why take up your time? You
have things to do. You can flip through this
and go on to what it is that’s waiting for you,
the next thing.

And by this I mean everything.

All childhood long they told me to
hurry up, and now all this
time
later I can’t imagine what the rush was.
But every morning my child never puts on
his shoes on time, and we have to go,
we have to go.

© 2015 Maira Kalman

When I was a kid my father would say,
if you get lost, don’t look for me.
Stay there. Stay there an I will find you.

He’s gone now.

Complement Hurry Up and Wait, to the magical totality of which neither screen nor script does any justice, with Pico Iyer on the art of stillness and this wonderful wordless celebration of the art of noticing.

All photographs courtesy of The Museum of Modern Art; all paintings courtesy of Maira Kalman

Donating = Loving

Bringing you (ad-free) Brain Pickings takes hundreds of hours each month. If you find any joy and stimulation here, please consider becoming a Supporting Member with a recurring monthly donation of your choosing, between a cup of tea and a good dinner.





You can also become a one-time patron with a single donation in any amount.





Brain Pickings has a free weekly newsletter. It comes out on Sundays and offers the week’s best articles. Here’s what to expect. Like? Sign up.

06 MAY, 2014

Girls Standing on Lawns: A Quirky Collaboration Between Maira Kalman, Daniel Handler, and MoMA

By:

A celebration of the art of seeing and being seen.

Besides her incontestable talent, what makes beloved artist and illustrator Maira Kalman such a singular creative spirit — full of wisdom on how to live fully and why walking sparks creativity — is her idiosyncratic lens on life. To wit: She is a lifelong collector of vintage photographs fished from flea markets and netted around specific themes — hats, animals, chairs, etc. Among them is “girls standing on lawns,” a category whose delightful richness Kalman discovered in the world’s best-curated flea market for such esoteric gems, the collection of “vernacular” images — everyday snapshots never intended as works of art, made by amateurs and professionals alike — at the Museum of Modern Art. Kalman was so captivated by these photographs that she sent a selection of them to her longtime friend and collaborator Daniel Handler, perhaps better-known under the irreverent persona Lemony Snicket, and he wrote back with simple, charming haiku-like responses to the photographs. Kalman immediately sensed the poetic potential of this impromptu mashup and decided to paint a series of watercolors based on the images.

The result is Girls Standing on Lawns (public library) — the first in a series of enchanting three-way collaborations between Kalman, Handler, and the MoMA, celebrating the art and act of seeing, the poetics of the mundane, and the charm of the esoteric.

One morning we found some photographs. One morning these girls stood on lawns. We looked at the pictures and we got to work.

There’s no use standing around. You should do something.

This is the whole thing.

Forty vintage photographs from MoMA’s collection became the catalyst for Kalman’s impossibly wonderful watercolors and Handler’s lyrical short texts — interpretations, projections, and playful imaginings of the larger lives condensed by these photographs into mere mementos, forgotten and contextless. Under Kalman’s brush and Handler’s pen, these static moments blossom into a dynamic contemplation — isn’t that the definition of art? — of themes like childhood and family, social mores, womanhood, and belonging.

Meet me on the lawn, I want to take a picture of you.

Her sister asked her, maybe. I am making things up. A brother, a sweetheart. He told her how pretty she looks there on the lawn.

He’s not in the picture now.

Perhaps she stood there so she could stand still.

We are all standing for something on this lawn.

It doesn’t have to be a lawn, even. It doesn’t matter. Something else.

Girls Standing on Lawns is absolutely delightful in its entirety. Complement it with Why We Broke Up, a very different but equally captivating Kalman/Handler collaboration, and 13 Words, their lovely children’s book.

Images courtesy of the Museum of Modern Art

Donating = Loving

Bringing you (ad-free) Brain Pickings takes hundreds of hours each month. If you find any joy and stimulation here, please consider becoming a Supporting Member with a recurring monthly donation of your choosing, between a cup of tea and a good dinner.





You can also become a one-time patron with a single donation in any amount.





Brain Pickings has a free weekly newsletter. It comes out on Sundays and offers the week’s best articles. Here’s what to expect. Like? Sign up.

25 JUNE, 2013

The Dark: An Illustrated Meditation on Overcoming Fear from Lemony Snicket and Jon Klassen

By:

A heart-warming allegory about what it means to make peace with our demons.

Daniel Handler — beloved author, timelessly heartening literary jukeboxer — is perhaps better-known by his pen name Lemony Snicket, under which he pens his endlessly delightful children’s books. In fact, they owe much of their charisma to the remarkable creative collaborations Snicket spawns, from 13 Words illustrated by the inimitable Maira Kalman to Who Could It Be At This Hour? with artwork by celebrated cartoonist Seth. The latest Snicket gem is at least as exciting — a minimalist yet magnificently expressive story about a universal childhood fear, titled The Dark (public library) and illustrated by none other than Jon Klassen.

In a conversation with NPR, Handler echoes Aung San Suu Kyi’s timeless wisdom on freedom from fear and articulates the deeper, more universal essence of the book’s message:

I think books that are meant to be read in the nighttime ought to confront the very fears that we’re trying to think about. And I think that a young reader of The Dark will encounter a story about a boy who makes new peace with a fear, rather than a story that ignores whatever troubles are lurking in the corners of our minds when we go to sleep.

The Dark is part My Father’s Arms Are a Boat, part Life Doesn’t Frighten Me, but mostly the kind of singular treat only Snicket can deliver.

Donating = Loving

Bringing you (ad-free) Brain Pickings takes hundreds of hours each month. If you find any joy and stimulation here, please consider becoming a Supporting Member with a recurring monthly donation of your choosing, between a cup of tea and a good dinner:





You can also become a one-time patron with a single donation in any amount:





Brain Pickings has a free weekly newsletter. It comes out on Sundays and offers the week’s best articles. Here’s what to expect. Like? Sign up.