Just kids summary. Patti Smith's Belongs to Lovers, Artists and Outcasts 2019-01-06
Just kids summary Rating:
6,1/10
1957
reviews
‘Just Kids’: Patti Smith’s Life With Robert Mapplethorpe
The author Arlene Alda wrote the interviews of sixty five individuals that grew up in the Bronx and became very successful people. I dreamed of meeting an artist to love and support and work with side by side. That pursuit is what burns most deeply. I bought this book because Arlene and Alan Alda were in my neighborhood as part of an annual Jewish book festival. I think the different writers added their unique flavor to the overall book, but some entries were difficult to get through, because of said writing.
They were not only lovers, but bffs. The place reeked of piss and exterminator fluid, the wallpaper peeling like dead skin in summer. We took a deep breath, accepting our complicity, not in theft, but in the destruction of a work of art. I had imagined that he was a New Yorker, though. The many lives the Bronx touched inspired so many talented people to share their gifts with the world. And still, they were able to enjoy some concerts just by virtue of being in the right place at the right time, or knowing the right person.
I have read better memoirs, and I do not think this should have won the National Book Award. Ο αναγνώστης όντως έχει πέσει στην τρύπα του λευκού κούνελου! I had no proof that I had the stuff to be an artist, though I hungered to be one. I longed to enter the fraternity of the artist: the hunger, their manner of dress, their process and prayers. I read and simultaneously listened to the audio book, which I have to say is beautifully narrated by the author. Chuck it all, grab a blanket, commit 100 percent I'll say this for Patti Smith: Homegirl certainly knows how to write lifestyle porn. Lots of great stories and I loved the diversity of all the contributors.
Patti Smith's Belongs to Lovers, Artists and Outcasts
Th I received this as a Goodreads Book Giveaway and thank them for the opportunity to read it. I am going to pass on this title to my Dad. Just Kids makes me feel so damn left out. It was an interesting book, full of tales about growing up in the Bronx. No biographer, other than Patti, could know, let alone describe, the level of trust and dependence they shared; and their singular kind of love that, even after reading this, is hard for the reader to fully understand. Occasionally I would bump into Gert Schiff, the German scholar, armed with volumes on Picasso, or Viva in Eau Sauvage.
They were struggling to find their special niches and become accepted as artists. In 2007, she was inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. At the last table facing the door was Jimi Hendrix, his head lowered, eating with his hat on, across from a blonde. I was transported by the scope of his murals, descriptions of his travels and tribulations, his loves and labor. They combined their meager possessions, but money was problematic, they barely made enough money for food — and frequently went without. The portrait Smith paints of Mapplethorpe is one of a passionate, wildly creative artist, and also of a man driven by his ambition to become famous. The author Arlene Alda wrote the interviews of sixty five individuals that grew up in the Bronx and became very successful people.
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Her way and his way. The stories that struck a cord with me were the people who talked about the teachers that went out of their way to help them in life. She gave me the courage of a new goal, and soon I was crafting little stories and spinning long yarns for my brother and sister. I learned a lot of history about the Bronx. When the book initially came out, I heard so many wonderful things about it. And perhaps even more important than their rags to riches stories is the reminder that in America all things are possible.
Most of my memories from childhood visits to New York center on the more boisterous Brooklyn clan. Bottom line: had this not been Patti Smith writing about Robert Mapplethorpe, and had I not been in a book group where we were discussing the book, I wouldn't have kept reading past the 50th page. He had broken from the Church, now it was breaking within him. My father admired the draftsmanship and symbolism in the work of Salvador Dalí, yet he found no merit in Picasso, which led to our first serious disagreement. The memoir focuses on her early adult years.
I was not gifted but I was imaginative and my teachers encouraged me. She has been in photos, acted in plays, wrote lots of songs, wrote books on poetry and non-fiction. He liked the effect it had on others, that it disturbed his siblings. They eventually crawl out on the other side, dash through the door with father in pursuit. She is the only individual that gives me some kind of hope in art and poetry.
Her friendship with him was clearly the defining moment of her life, and reading about it was a pleasure. There I kept my stash—winnings from marbles, trading cards, religious artifacts I rescued from Catholic trash bins: old holy cards, worn scapulars, plaster saints with chipped hands and feet. There was certainly some magic, both light and dark, that people flirted with, and in some cases became lost. There's an oddly innocent tone to this all--for instance, the sexual relationship between the two of them is never really discussed, only accepted--when Patti gets the clap, we understand it's from him, but this is not a kiss and tell memoir. .
