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knowing little about patti smith, i bought just kids, her new book about life with robert mapplethorpe. unable to put it down, i entered the magical world of new york city in the late 60s and 70s. this is my favorite time period to read about, and i devour books such as just kids and please kill me, fully romanticizing this era.

when smith and mapplethorpe share a hot dog at coney island because it’s all they can afford, my heart leapt. when standing outside in the cold, debating on whether their remaining dollar goes to a grilled cheese or art supplies, i cheered when the paint brushes won. and nothing seems more blissful than nights at their first apartment near pratt in brooklyn, playing the same record over and over, creating art and making lettuce soup.

but hunger is hunger which is never fun, especially for a tall, thin, speedy girl like smith. speedy, but not in a drug related way. smith was not into drugs and although mapplethorpe took the occasional acid hit, their lives were dedicated to art, which requires clarity and focus. the duo seems relatively grounded considering their presence at the chelsea hotel and max’s kansas city. beyond art, their devotion to each other, as only true soul mates have, is beautiful:

“robert and i were always ourselves – ’til the day he died, we were just exactly as we were when we met. and we loved each other. everybody wants to define everything. is it necessary to define love?”

here are some excerpts from christopher bollen’s interview with smith in interview magazine. to read the entire article, go here. better yet, pick up just kids.

Robert had different goals. He came from a different upbringing. His upbringing was Catholic, middle class, precise, military, well ordered, spanking clean. I came from a very chaotic household. I really believe that Robert sought not to destroy order, but to reorder, to reinvent, and to create a new order. I know that he always wanted to do something that no one else had done. That was very important to him. I was a little different. I always wanted to do what somebody else had already done—I wanted to write the next Peter Pan, the next Alice in Wonderland. I loved history, and I wanted to be a part of it. Robert wanted to break from history.

It’s very unfair to young struggling people. When I came to New York in the late ’60s, you could find an apartment for $50 or $60 a month. You could get a job in a bookstore or be a waitress and still live as an artist. You could have raw space. That’s been rendered impossible. I mean, my band lost its practice space and had to move out of town. They’re all fancy galleries. CBGB is now a fancy clothing store. The Bowery used to be home to winos, William Burroughs, and punk rockers. Now it’s a whole other scene. That’s part of New York’s tragedy and beauty. It’s a city of continual reinvention and transformation. I think the way things are going now is good for commerce, bad for art. Bad for the common man. [Mayor Michael] Bloomberg does not serve the common man. He serves the image of the city as a new shopping center. A place to get great meals. Little parks that make no sense. Places like Union Square, as if we were in Paris. We’re not Paris. We’re New York City. It’s a gritty city. It’s a place where you have all races and all walks of life, and that has always been its beauty. It’s the city of immigrants. It’s the city where you can start at the bottom. I feel the Bloomberg administration has reinvented the city as the new hip suburbia. It’s a tourist city. It’s really safe for tourists. I guess I liked it when it was a little less safe. Or I liked it when it was safer for artists. Now it’s unsafe for artists. I’m not saying this for myself. I’m saying this for the future of creative communities. Because, one day, all the people who have driven out the artists and have only these fancy condos left are going to turn around and say, “Why do I live here? There’s nothing happening!”

photo credits: interview magazine; smashbox studios