Like the chilÂdren in his books, MauÂrice Sendak, at age 83, is doing the best he can to navÂiÂgate a frightÂenÂing and bewilÂderÂing world. “We all have to find our way,” Sendak says in this revealÂing litÂtle film from the Tate museÂums. “If I could find my way through picÂture-makÂing and book illusÂtraÂtion, or whatÂevÂer you want to call it, I’d be okay.”
In books like In the Night Kitchen, Where the Wild Things Are and OutÂside, Over There, Sendak has explored the wonders–and terrors–of childÂhood. “No one,” wrote Dave Eggers recentÂly in VanÂiÂty Fair, “has been more uncomÂproÂmisÂing, more idioÂsynÂcratÂic, and more in touch with the unhinged and chiaroscuro subÂconÂscious of a child.”
Sendak’s own childÂhood in BrookÂlyn, New York, was a time of emoÂtionÂal trauÂma. His parÂents were PolÂish immiÂgrants who had trouÂble adjustÂing to life in AmerÂiÂca. On the day of Sendak’s barÂmitzÂvah, his father learned that his entire famÂiÂly had been killed in the HoloÂcaust. He rememÂbered the sadÂness of lookÂing through famÂiÂly scrapÂbooks. “The shock of thinkÂing I would nevÂer know them was terÂriÂble,” Sendak told the Guardian earÂliÂer this year. “Who were they?”
This earÂly sense of the preÂcarÂiÂousÂness of life carÂried over into his work. As the playÂwright Tony KushÂnÂer wrote of Sendak in 2003:
MauÂrice, among the best of the best, shocks deeply, touchÂing on the morÂtal, the insupÂportÂably sad or unjust, even on the carÂnal, on the priÂmal rather than the mereÂly primÂiÂtive. He pitchÂes chilÂdren, includÂing aged chilÂdren, out of the familÂiar and into mysÂtery, and then into underÂstandÂing, wisÂdom even. He pitchÂes chilÂdren through fanÂtaÂsy into human adultÂhood, that rare, hard-won and, let’s face it, tragÂic conÂdiÂtion.
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