Just Kids

I can't put down Patti Smith's memoir JUST KIDS about her early years in New York City and more significantly her intimate, life long relationship with Robert Mapplethorpe.  It's evident the two were destined to meet, to be each other's muse, safety net and confidante.  I'm riveted by Smith's lyrical prose about the duo's journey.  They were broke, idealistic kids from the suburbs who knew they were artists.  I am fascinated by their circuitous adventure and years of creative exploration.  Patti sketched, wrote poetry, and performed, and only by reluctant happenstance did she finally form a band.  For years Mapplethorpe shunned the camera, and instead made installations, collages, drawings and necklaces.  The universe relentlessly conspired in the lobby of the Chelsea Hotel and the back room of Max's Kansas City and brought them collaborators, benefactors and fans.   Their story makes me believe in the hand of fate, the power of intuition, and everlasting friendship.