My Sundays with Saarinen

Exploring the Flow of Design and Human Connection

Flow made visible: Saarinen’s curves guide both eye and traveler through space.

Some experiences are worth every penny, even when they seem extravagant. Especially if they lead to those unexpected Eureka! moments, like this one.

Booking a 4-hour stay at JFK’s TWA Hotel during a layover before an extraordinarily long trip might have seemed excessive, especially given the insane price tag for such a brief respite. But Eero Saarinen’s 1962 neo-futuristic masterpiece - the former TWA Flight Center - held deep personal meaning to me, both as a photographer whose favorite subject to shoot is architecture, and as a daughter for whom this Finnish-American’s distinct name conjures up a beloved childhood ritual.

And so in hindsight the terminal’s characteristic winged roof, organic curves, soaring windows, and modernist memorabilia weren’t simply subjects to capture through the lens of my Nikon. Perhaps just as importantly, they came to serve as a link between those cherished Sunday mornings of my childhood, and the work Jim Benson and I do at Modus, transforming how people visualize, gain control over, and ultimately humanize their work, often using Personal Kanban.

The terminal’s architectural model showcases flowing spaces and interconnected design elements.

So my plan was to squeeze out of those scant 240 minutes as much as I could: polishing a presentation I was giving in Italy, grabbing a shower, and then photographing the iconic mid-century terminal.

Observing the architectural model featured in one of the museum spaces, I was struck by how Saarinen's vision embodies the same principles we teach about Personal Kanban: the importance of seeing the entire system at once, understanding how each part flows into the next, and how each element is related to the whole.

I’d taken the red-eye from Seattle and so it was early when I checked in. Standing alone in that grand space, I felt its quiet reverence wash over me. The stillness brought me back to another system that had shaped my early years, one made of black and white squares, carefully arranged on newsprint, which was spread across our kitchen table every Sunday morning.

A Realization Grows in Brooklyn

Big Tony and Little Toni. It is from my father that I developed my love of words.

As a child, my family’s Sunday morning ritual began with my father's trip to K&K, our local bodega on the corner of Nostrand Avenue. He'd return home with typical Brooklyn fare: a brown paper bag filled with poppyseed kaiser rolls, bialys, a warm salted bagel just for me, and copies of the New York Times and Daily News tucked neatly beneath his arm.

While I pored over the funny pages enjoying the latest Archie or Peanuts, next to me he’d sit, one leg folded beneath him, a piping hot coffee at the ready, pen poised with confidence over the crossword. I still marvel at his wholly justified audacity using permanent ink, approaching each clue with the assured hand of a surgeon. But what I loved most about these Sunday mornings was when he’d summon me - Tonanella, “little” Toni to his ‘big” Tony - his voice carrying a tone of certainty and maybe even a little pride, soliciting my input upon giving me clues he knew I could no doubt answer.

It was our little dance, he the polyglot pretending to need assistance from his child and me, the daughter who loved words savoring every moment of being “needed” by my father. It was only later in life did I appreciate what he surely knew: that these exchanges were always more about connection than crosswords.

Looking back now, I realize our kitchen table was my first design studio. Those Sunday mornings weren't just about solving puzzles, they were lessons in reading systems, and seeing how individual elements could be organized to create meaning. That simple grid of black and white squares was teaching me a visual language I'd continue to use throughout my life.

An Early Lesson in Design

The man who made flow tangible, and who understood systems as stories.

There are several “crosswordese” terms from these mornings with my dad that remain with me to this day: 4 letter word in fencing (E-P-E-E). 3 letter word for kimono sash (O-B-I). Yet my proudest contribution was always when he pointed to one particular clue:

___Saarinen.

E-E-R-O! I'd excitedly contribute, the architect and industrial designer’s phonetically interesting name rolling off my 8-year-old tongue with self-assurance, made all the more special because of his iconic tulip table that graced our living room. Unlike my father's confident pen strokes, I was relegated to pencil, carefully printing each letter in the small boxes. But even with my forgiving Ticonderoga I felt like I held the key to a secret code, one that would take me decades to fully understand.

The iconic Tulip Table. By eliminating legs, Saarinen showed how subtraction - the elimination of that which fails to bring value - creates flow. Perhaps my earliest albeit unintended lesson in Lean thinking, and how simplicity solves complexity.

Finding Flow Through My Lens

Standing in the soaring white curves of the former TWA terminal, my camera became both tool and teacher. Through its viewfinder, I could appreciate how Saarinen’s genius lay not just in creating beautiful forms, but in designing spaces that guide movement and facilitate connection. Every curved corner, every unimpeded pathway, every detail serves to simplify the inherently complex choreography of air travel making it instead feel intuitive and even graceful.

Saarinen’s design works by making the invisible visible, transforming the chaos of travel into an intuitive flow. Through his notable use of the then recently-invented split-flap display boards and integration of other thoughtful travel-related displays, he created “information radiators” - visual systems that transform complex data into meaningful patterns. The rhythmic flapping sound of updating departures and arrivals further served as an audio cue that drew travelers’ attention naturally, eliminating the need to actively search for updates. This multi-sensory approach meant those seeking clarity needed only a quick glance to get their bearings.

Much as my father's crossword grid revealed hidden connections between seemingly unrelated words, and just as Personal Kanban surfaces the hidden structure of work and the behaviors of those carrying it out, the terminal’s design similarly guided movement by making the hidden albeit natural patterns of human activity visible.

When my favorite uncle who worked at JFK would refer to the TWA Terminal as “the Brassiere,” I giggled, not yet understanding how Saarinen made something as serious as architecture - as serious as structure - playful and human.

The Architecture of Understanding

Looking back, I see now how these systems of visual organization - whether Saarinen’s revolutionary Arrival and Departure boards, my father's beloved crosswords, or our work with Personal Kanban all share a common purpose. They transform chaos into clarity, complexity into comprehension. Each serves as an “information radiator,” broadcasting meaning to anyone who pauses to look.

In Saarinen’s terminal, travelers could grasp their journey's status with a single glance at those display boards. At our Sunday morning table the crossword grid illuminated connections between seemingly unrelated words. And today, Personal Kanban boards illuminate the landscape of our work, making workflow visible and manageable.

Data as design: the departures and arrivals board.

From Sundays to Systems

Perhaps that's why, much like my love of words, I'm likewise drawn to systems that make the invisible visible. Whether carved in soaring concrete and glass, inked into newspaper grids, or mapped onto a Personal Kanban, they're all spaces designed for flow - for connection, for meaning to emerge from structure.

And their true power lies in how they democratize complex processes. Saarinen made air travel intuitive and elegant, crosswords make word play accessible through visual organization, and Personal Kanban makes work management comprehensible and engaging. Each transforms complexity into clarity through thoughtful design, creating spaces where meaning can flourish. In my work today, I’m continuing those Sunday lessons, helping others see patterns that connect their work and lives, just as my father once helped me see the connections in those black and white squares.

And in the end, isn't that sense of connection what makes any space truly sacred?

All images ©Tonianne DeMaria.

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In the near 2 decades since we introduced Personal Kanban, every conversation, every implementation, and every adaptation has taught us something new. What began at Seattle coffeeshops, DC client sites, and organizations around the globe has evolved into a rich tapestry of insights and revelations we never could have predicted.

Now we’re sharing these deeper layers of comprehension in Personal Kanban Evolved, a series of 4 transformative workshops in August that reveal hidden patterns, advanced techniques, and breakthrough insights we’ve gathered. This isn’t about creating basic boards, its about understanding the deeper psychological, social, and systemic patterns that will make you and your team’s Personal Kanban practice truly transformative. So join us on this journey beyond the basics. Space is intimate and limited so register now.