Just Kids is a spell-binding memoir by Patti Smith published in 2010.
“In Just Kids, Smith’s first book of prose, the legendary American artist offers an intimate glimpse of her remarkable relationship with photographer Robert Mapplethorpe in the epochal days of New York City and the Chelsea Hotel in the late sixties and seventies. In this honest and moving story of youth, friendship, sex, stars and lots of art, Smith unfurls her unique, lyrical quality as she has in the rest of her formidable body of work—from her influential 1975 album Horses to her visual art and poetry.”
Jen Gillmor put that book in my hands a few years ago and I haven’t looked back. Check Smith out in concert … never mind the music … or the era … or whatever classification she may fall under in your head and hearts—just go. Go to witness a trail-blazing woman, a rock-and-roll icon and an activist spitting on stage and in the same breath putting on her reading glasses because … um, she just forgot that lyric again. She is aging in the public eye and she is doing it without an ounce of concern for what anyone might say, think or throw. As long as she is speaking her truth and fighting the fight for freedom, she doesn’t give a rat’s ass what the fuck else might be going on.