Book: Just Kids by Patti Smith
Just Kids is the story of the very interesting relationship of two very interesting people. Patti Smith and Robert Mapplethorpe found each other in 1967 New York City and formed a bond that would last beyond a lifetime.
They were just kids, and they knew they had artistic destinies to fulfill. But there were a lot of realities, such as rent, food, and obscurity, standing in their way.
The New York scene breaks, but it also provides. Guiding lights, such as Allan Ginsberg, Janis Joplin, and Andy Warhol, inspired and taught, both directly and indirectly.
I don’t think we can take this book as the whole truth because Patti Smith is writing with goals and a perspective. This book is a celebration of talent, passion… and Robert Mapplethorpe.
But the lack of reliable veracity doesn’t prevent it from being a wonderful work of art. Patti Smith strove to become a poet, and this book reads like a poet’s tribute—to a time, to the artistic spirit, to a love, to a man.
She is a moving writer, one who can say so much without a lot of words. And even as she piles credit and influence on Robert, I never lost the sense that she was anything less than an equal in their partnership. I never felt she was weaker than, less deserving, or less of an artist than he.
She’s produced a work of which she should be proud. I’d like to think that Robert certainly is.