How to find humor in life's absurdity | Maira Kalman (re-release)

0:06You're listening to TED Talks Daily, where we bring you new ideas to spark your curiosity every day. I'm your host, Elise Hume. Art has a simple and profound way of illuminating life and connecting us to the world. In this popular archive talk, artist Myra Kallman does just this. Through talking about her art and practice, she reflects on life, death, dinner parties, and why she loves not knowing the right answers. She reminds us life is worth loving in all its absurd glory. That's coming up.

0:48Every day, I speak to my beautiful and brilliant cousin, Orna, who lives in Israel. In normal times, we talk about which cousin is the bigger idiot, which honey cake recipe to use, which books we're reading, the family stories from Belarus. The conversations are a beacon for me, and they fill my soul and enter my books. The other day, Orna brought up a Romanian philosopher named Emil Cioran. He was a miserable insomniac who drove everyone nuts because of this. He was relentless in talking about how horrible it was to be alive, And he did this until the age of 85, when he died, which is incredibly ironic.

1:44But I must give him credit. He does bring up the essential dilemma. Why are we here? For what purpose? But today, I don't really want to dwell on the morose. Let's talk about other things. So here's Proust, dead, obviously. Or you think he's sleeping, but he's dead. From a series of paintings that I've done called Dead in Bed, which includes Tolstoy and Chekhov, of course. In normal times, and these are not normal times, these are grim times when the world is awash in war and killing. But in normal times, I have a routine. In the early morning hours, with a strong cup of coffee, I read the obituaries.

2:26The infusion of coffee and biography affords me a way to reflect, and it might seem too soon in the day to start with such a tremendous topic. But it is a jolt to action, because it reminds me how fragile and how vulnerable we all are and how quickly our lives can end. The night is different. Then I watch an endless stream of murder mysteries, preferably British. Watching them is the kind of solace. I call this the murder and menship portion of the day.

3:03We have a problem. We solve the problem. People seem briefly upset by the murders, so many in every episode. But there is no time to brood because they have to film the next episode. And they all seem to say, get on with it. And the idea of prevailing over evil is my lullaby, and I sleep. But what of the day that lies ahead? Every one of us invents the day. Every single day is invented. The actual first day was 13.8 billion years ago, more or less. And maybe with the information from the Webb telescope, we can actually see the beginning of time, which is an incomprehensible idea, of course. And what does that perspective afford us when contemplating which tutu to wear, or which insult to respond to, or what book to write?

3:56Sometimes the day is too long, excruciatingly long, And I get out of bed, I look longingly at the bed, and I say to the bed, I will be back soon. And in between, there are things to know and things to not know. Here is a map of the United States, made from memory by my mother, Sarah.

4:33Sarah was the dean of American history at Harvard. Actually not. Her family fled the pogroms of Belarus for Palestine in the 1930s, and in 1954, our family moved to New York City. Her acute sense of the absurd permeated everything in our life in the best way possible. This map for me is the gold standard of knowledge. Knowledge as imagination. Knowledge as humor. Knowledge as not giving a damn what the correct answer is to anything ever.

5:16Sarah did not speak that much. She was a few words, and we really listened to her. And what are the obvious assets of not speaking? So many. No worries about repeating yourself, or boring others, or boring yourself, or being misunderstood. No regrets of having said something inconsiderate, or too considerate, or too banal, or too provocative, or just plain stupid and altogether insufferable. That is what happens when we speak. It is inevitable. No justification at all for saying much of what we say. And if we examine this notion to its ultimate conclusion, obviously the answer is, no more dinner parties.

6:03Wait, you say, none at all? What if the Tolstoys invite me, who are pictured here? Sure, but have you hung out with the Tolstoys? Or what if Antony and Cleopatra invite me? Should I attend? Okay, I say, but at your own peril, you know what happened to them. On the other hand, if you are invited, and let's just say it's really lovely to be invited, you never know what you're going to see that will be a painting, or here that might be a story, some fragment, some gesture, an image of a dog sitting on a green chair in front of radishes and flowers. And let's not forget connectedness, congeniality, conviviality, camaraderie, Bono mi, merriment, laughter.

6:51What is wrong with that? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

7:00I used to be ashamed of my inconsistencies. Now I revel in them. Everything is in conflict. Everything has an opposite. You are not bound to be one thing, a truly liberating notion for me. You might tell the truth or you might lie. You might be kind or unkind, selfish or generous, quick or thick, and in the midst of that confusion and that tumult, the work blossoms. To have meaningful work is a salvation, and one of my greatest pleasures is to stare at things. My children always say that I get too close to people, strangers on the street, and just stare at them at their features because I'm so entranced, so I have to be pulled away a little bit.

7:43But then I can go into my studio and report on what I have encountered. And then as a bonus, the bliss of mixing colors, of being alone and listening to music, and going into another world. Here is a painting from a visit that I did to Cezanne's studio. The walls are painted gray. This is the recipe for any of those who need it. Black, white, ochre, and aquamarine. Now as a talisman, every painting I do includes Cezanne gray. Writing, of course, is different. Finding the idea, plucking a word out of the air, but which word, and then a sentence, but which sentence, and then a paragraph, and which paragraph, and it never stops.

8:26So many words. I could not live without both painting and writing, and one supports the other in obvious ways. In both, the struggle is invisible but palpable. I say the tears are invisible, but they're definitely there. How do I deal with never good enough? Easy.

8:47Self-loathing is a truly ugly expression, but it is an unavoidable condition. The crushing anxiety of not getting it right, of not finding the truth, of feeling worthless. If you look at it one way, it could be helpful to have doubt and dismay. Plowing through the muck of despair leads to a sense of humanism and perseverance. On the other hand, How absurd and tedious to be in the grips of self-doubt. What a waste of time, that insidious insecurity. What of finding your work and your place on earth? What of self-confidence? What of the bliss of finding the right color or the right word? What of sheer joy?

9:30What is wrong with that? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. After reading the obituaries, I go for a walk, which is a salvation. Here is Robert Walser, who wrote one of my favorite books called The Walk, which I highly suggest you read. Walking and not thinking is the favorite state. An empty brain, which I call my best brain, is the only way to have any ideas, to allow surprises to appear. Solvitore ambulando, they thought of this before I did, long ago. Walking solves all problems without trying. Walking leads to the pleasure of sitting, perhaps on a bus going down Fifth Avenue, and looking at the entire world around you with a great sense of well-being.

10:13One day, at a farmer's market, I saw a woman carrying an absolutely gigantic cabbage. When I asked to photograph her, she looked really annoyed. And for some reason, I was so delighted by her crankiness, it seemed so authentic and true. Let's just say what we feel. It made me think of all the things women hold literally and metaphorically. Balloons and grudges and heavy loads and cabbages and stupendous love and courage and a pink ukulele under a cherry tree. And from this, a book was formed, Women Holding Things. What do women hold? The home and the family and the children and the food, the friendships, the work, the work of the world and the work of being human, the memories and the troubles and the sorrows and the triumphs and the love.

11:15Men do as well, but not quite in the same way. Sometimes when I'm feeling particularly happy or content, I think I can provide sustenance for legions of human beings. I can hold the entire world in my arms. Other times, I can barely cross the room, and I drop my arms, frozen. There is never an end to holding, and certainly there is often the feeling of never doing enough. And then there is the next day, and the next day, and one holds on. I dreamt someone else was stupid for a change. Such a relief. albeit a fleeting one. A few years ago, I did an illustrated edition of the autobiography of Alice E.

12:05Toklas, written by the inimitable Gertrude Stein. Alice and Gertrude lived a singular life, one of intense creativity and equally intense domesticity, and one could not exist without the other. That, to me, is the ideal of life, family and work. My son Alex and I made a short film called My Name is Alice E. Topless, and for a brief day, I became Alice with two extra noses on my nose. And dancing down Fifth Avenue was a complete joy. And as we say in our family, doing almost everything. In the strangeness of life, through the sorrows of life, live. Thank you very much.

12:54That was Myra Coleman at TED Women in 2023. This talk was originally published in October 2023. If you're curious about TED's curation, find out more at ted.com slash curation guidelines. And that's it for today's show. TED Talks Daily is part of the TED Audio Collective. This episode was produced and edited by our team, Martha Estefanos, Oliver Friedman, Brian Green, Lucy Little, Alejandra Salazar, and Tonsika Sarmanivon. It was mixed by Christopher Fazey-Bogan. Additional support from Emma Taubner and Daniela Ballarezzo. I'm Elise Hu. I'll be back tomorrow with a fresh idea for your feed. Thanks for listening.