A special autobiography by Patti Smith, the icon of female rockers.
A look back at his journey as an artist, with his companion Robert Mapplethorpe.

The 'godmother of punk music' and a giant in the history of female musicians, Patti Smith cannot be explained by her identity as a musician alone.
She is a true "all-rounder"—a poet, painter, and, at one time, a music critic, actress, and model. "Just Kids" tells the story of the special place and person that led her to become an artist.
The space is New York in the 1960s and 1970s, a time when artistic sensibility and revolutionary spirit were overflowing, and the person in question is Robert Mapplethorpe, a one-time lover and lifelong artistic comrade.
At the time, Robert Mapplethorpe was a young man as passionate about art as Patty, and he later gained fame as a photographer with bold works that revealed his gay sexuality.


The book begins with Patti Smith's first arrival in New York and meeting Robert, tracing their time together in artistic experimentation and their interactions with contemporary artists, leading up to Robert's death from AIDS in 1989.
In that sense, "Just Kids" is a portrait of Patti Smith and Robert Mapplethorpe, a tribute to the art city of New York, and a loving record of the artists who dominated that era.
The intense youthful journey of these two individuals, now masters of the art world, unfolds like a novel in Patti Smith's characteristically candid language.

Additionally, Patti Smith lists 'believing in yourself' and 'being true' as the most important attitudes for an artist in her writing.
If the Woodstock Festival of the late 1960s left a message that a utopian community spirit could transform society, this book is a record of hope, showing how the free human spirit and the desire for art can usher in a new era.
This kind of sensitivity is probably the driving force that allows Patti Smith to continue to experiment musically and to continue to speak out about reality.
Above all, the stories of the two artists resonate even more truthfully and simply because they are free from the clichés of autobiographies, such as the road to success or self-praise.

We were both busy with work and didn't have time to go to a concert or a movie.
It was hard to buy albums, so I listened to the ones I already had over and over again.
I listened to "Madame Butterfly" by Eleanor Steber, "Love Supreme" by John Coltrane, "Between the Buttons" by the Rolling Stones, and "Blonde on Blonde" by Joan Baez and Bob Dylan.
Robert introduced me to musicians like the Vanilla Fudge Band, Tim Buckley, and Tim Hardin, and his History of Motown would often be the soundtrack to our sweet nights.
---p.66

In early June, Valerie Solanas shot Andy Warhol.
(……) He was quite fond of Andy Warhol and considered him the most important contemporary artist.
They worshipped him as if they were idolizing a hero.
I admired artists who did not separate life from art, such as Cocteau and the film director and poet Pasolini, but the person I admired most was Andy Warhol, the artist who recorded the mise-en-scène of humanity inside his silver-clad studio, the Factory.
I had a different opinion from Robert about Andy Warhol.
His work represented a culture I had little interest in getting close to.
I hated his Campbell's soup can artwork and couldn't relate to it at all.
I admired artists who led the times by pursuing their own artistic world rather than projecting and imitating their contemporaries.
--pp.96-97

To the left of our table, Janis Joplin was telling funny stories to her bandmates.
To the right, Grace Slick and other members of Jefferson Airplane sat with members of Country Joe and the Fish.
At the last table near the entrance, Jimi Hendrix was with some blonde beauty, his head down and his hat on, eating something.
El Quijote Bar was a haven for musicians, with shrimp dishes topped with green sauce, paella, sangria and bottles of tequila in front of them.
(……) As I went up to the room that night, I felt a bond with those musicians that was hard to describe in words, but it was a different feeling from something like a premonition.
At that time, I never imagined that I would end up following their path.
I was just a twenty-two-year-old bookstore clerk struggling with a few unfinished poems.
--pp.142-143

I was thinking that this was a truly interesting and mysterious hotel lobby when suddenly, as if the wind was whistling, the heavy glass door opened and a strangely familiar figure wearing black clothes and a crimson cloak came in.
It was Salvador Dali.
He looked around the lobby nervously, then smiled at Raymond.
He placed his elegant, thin hand on my head and said:
“You look like a crow.
"Gothic Crow." ---p.176

If you look closely at Robert's work, you will see that his subjects are not shy.
I mean, I'm not saying, "I took my penis out, I'm sorry."
He wasn't ashamed, and he hoped no one else would be.
Robert wanted his models, whether they were genital-rubbing sadomasochistic men or elegant upper-class men, to be delighted with the results and to feel confident in their interactions with him.
(……) When asked why he took such a photo, he replied that someone had to do it, and it was him.
He was given the privilege of filming extreme, consensual sex scenes because the models trusted him.
His intention was not to expose, but to bring sexuality into the realm of art, something no one else had attempted.
As an artist, what excites Robert most is creating something that no one else has thought of.
--pp.303-304

It goes without saying that Robert took the photo for the album cover of 『Hoshis』.
The only sheath that would fit the sword of my music was Robert's photo.
I didn't have any specific thoughts on how it should be, but what I wanted was for it to be truthful.
The only thing I asked of Robert was that he wear a clean shirt without a single blemish.
(……) A few days later, he showed me a close-up photo and said.
“This photo is a miracle.” Even now, when I look at that photo, I don’t see myself.
We can see ourselves that day.
--pp.318-321

One late afternoon, Robert and I were walking down 8th Avenue, and "Because the Night" was blaring from every store.
This song was written with Bruce Springsteen and is included in the album 'Easter'.
After finishing recording, I played the song for Robert first.
There was a good reason for that.
Because that's the style of song Robert always wanted me to do.
(……) Robert was very openly happy about my success.
I really hoped that would happen, for his sake and for each other.
He blew out a nice puff of smoke from his cigarette, then spoke to me in a tone he only used, a tone of slovenly reprimand, a tone of admiration that was not the slightest hint of jealousy, and slowly spoke to me in a language only we could understand.
"Patty, you got famous first." ---p.330

“Patty, I think I’m going to die.
“It hurts so much.” He looked at me with a mixture of love and reproach.
My love couldn't save him.
Even his yearning for life could not save him.
That was the first time I really felt like he was dying.
He was enduring pain that no one could endure.
When he looked at me with such an apologetic expression, I couldn't bear it anymore and burst into tears.
(……) The last time we sat together, sunlight streaming through the window poured over his picture and our poems.
Robert was dying, quietly creating silence.
I, who was destined to live, listened quietly to the sound of that quiet silence that proved that he was alive and breathing.

---p.347