One afternoon over scallion pancakes and tall glasses of iced water in Chinatown, a friend and I discussed art and who inspires us when she casually mentioned Patti Smith's memoir "Just Kids." Being a fan of Smith's work, I promised to pick up copy when I got the chance.

Patti Smith chisels away at a commonly discussed topic—the scene of the 70s— only to reveal a small part of this world while taking us with her as she defines herself as an artist. However, the story is not really about rock n roll or the artistic culture in the 70s, but her friendship with renown photographer Robert Mapplethorpe. She infuses her prose with a raw yet poetic truth that is free of floweriness.

On Monday morning in July, a waif from New Jersey moves to New York City with the hopes of finding herself as an artist. She serendipitously meets a curly-haired charismatic vagabond in Brooklyn and from that moment on they became inseparable. The portrayal of her friendship (or rather kinship) with Robert Mapplethorpe is one imbued with tenderness and love. To label their relationship as a friendship would be an understatement. It was a connection at a spiritual level—a union of two similar souls. They were both each other's muses.

Patti expertly paints their labyrinthian journey through the streets of downtown New York exploring art, artistic mediums as well as themselves. At times whimsical yet nostalgic, the memoir poetically weaves together pieces of their lives, both past and present, creating a rich tapestry of their friendship. While still having a broad scope of the art/music scene in the 70s. The expert use of metaphor and imagery jfkaljkfa of Patti's romantic/poetic side. The book inserts cameos including Salvador Dalí, Allen Ginsberg, Sam Shepard, Janis Joplin, and Andy Warhol, and one can't feel a bit jealous of not being able to be part of that world.

Despite, the books' vibrant and beautiful snapshot of a friendship. The book is sometimes predictable.Whenever an event falls days away from a Rimbaud's or some other legend's birthday, she doesn't fail to tell us; therefore alluding to superstition as if some supernatural force reigning over their lives. This, I feel, takes away the significance of the event.

However, like Tom Carson from the New York Times stated: "This enchanting book is a reminder that not all youthful vainglory is silly; sometimes it’s preparation. Few artists ever proved it like these two."