It was 1967. It was 20-year-old aspiring poet Patti Smith's first day in New York. It was on this day, that while working at a book store, she met photographer Robert Mapplethorpe. This day spawned a relationship of friends, lovers, muses, and roommates, too, until Mapplethorpe's death of AIDS in 1989. At the time, they were both undiscovered starving artists, and they most definitely looked that way, too. Once, while they were in Washington Square Park, they overheard a tourist couple whispering about whether or not they were worth a snapshot. The woman argued that they had a look and were indeed worth it, but the man disagreed, replying with "They're just kids."
Smith has recently released an autobiography titled "Just Kids", a memoir about her and Mapplethorpe's lives together (while they occupy the famed NYC Chelsea Hotel, of course). It is $27 from HarperCollins. I admit it, I haven't yet read it myself, but the New York Times calls it "enchanting" and "splendid". I'd go for it.
L.S.
photo from SFGate
No comments:
Post a Comment