“The Most Beautiful Work of All”: Patti Smith & Robert Mapplethorpe

I’ve seen a lot of concerts over the years, but somehow one of my heroes, Patti Smith, always eluded me. But I recently saw her down in Knoxville at the Big Ears Music Festival. Twice, in fact. One show was a standard rock concert with a full band in the Tennessee Theater. The other show, titled “Words & Music,” took place in a slightly more intimate setting, the Mill & Mine. No drums, no bass. Patti on stage with only her son Jackson Smith on guitar and Tony Shanahan on keyboards and various other instruments. A cozier, chattier, more relaxed vibe. Patti performed songs, including covers of Bob Dylan (“One Too Many Mornings”) and Stevie Wonder (“Blame It On the Sun”); she gave brief readings and allowed herself the time to introduce songs at length. It was, as they say, a special night.

One of the things Patti read — maybe at the Tennessee Theater? — was the letter she wrote in 1989 to artist Robert Mapplethorpe who was in the hospital at the end of a long illness. Another bright soul taken by AIDS. Patti explained that she returned home after a hospital visit and composed a short letter to her friend, a relationship lovingly chronicled in her award-winning memoir, Just Kids.

He died the next day without ever having read it.

But you can. We can.

 

Dear Robert,

Often as I lie awake I wonder if you are also lying awake. Are you in pain, or feeling alone? You drew me from the darkest period of my young life, sharing with me the sacred mystery of what it is to be an artist. I learned to see through you and never compose a line or draw a curve that does not come from the knowledge I derived in our precious time together. Your work, coming from a fluid source, can be traced to the naked song of your youth. You spoke then of holding hands with God. Remember, through everything, you have always held that hand. Grip it hard, Robert, and don’t let it go.

The other afternoon, when you fell asleep on my shoulder, I drifted off, too. But before I did, it occurred to me looking around at all of your things and your work and going through years of your work in my mind, that of all your work, you are still your most beautiful. The most beautiful work of all.

Patti

Blue Creek Elementary, Revisited: Remembering Ben

“Ben was gentle, he smiled often,
there was softness in his eyes:
a sweet boy.
And all the while, Ben looked at me
as if I was the one who was special.
As a writer, sometimes by some miracle
you touch someone. But with Ben it was different.
He was the one
who left a lasting mark.”

 

I recently enjoyed two days visiting Blue Creek Elementary. It was my first time back in schools as a guest author since the pandemic. It was a great pleasure and, always, a privilege. I loved seeing the children and the teachers, hanging out with Abby the librarian, signing books, all of it. 

As it happens, I visited Blue Creek 13 years previously, back in 2009. 

(Who says I never get invited back to the same place twice?!)

On that day, 13 years ago, I met a boy who I will never forget.

This is that story . . . 

 

—–

 

His name was Ben and he was waiting for me when I arrived at Blue Creek Elementary. Ben was holding my book, Six Innings, in his hands.

Could you . . . ?” a teacher asked.

Yes, yes, of course.

So we ducked into the empty library, where Ben and I could have a few moments together. I was told that Ben had osteosarcoma, the same illness contracted by a character, Sam Reiser, in my book.

We talked quietly. I told Ben about my oldest boy, Nicholas, a sixteen-year-old who had gone through five years of chemotherapy. “He’s doing great now,” I said. “Healthy, strong.” Both boys shared the same oncologist, Dr. Jennifer Pearce. I explained that Dr. Pearce helped me with Six Innings, and showed him where I thanked her in the acknowledgments. We agreed that she was very kind.

Ben was gentle, he smiled often, there was softness in his eyes: a sweet boy. And all the while, Ben looked at me as if I was the one who was special. As a writer, sometimes by some miracle you touch someone. But with Ben it was different. He was the one who left a lasting mark — on me and so many others.

I learned last week that Ben passed away, October 12th, 2009. He was nine years old.

I did not attend Ben’s wake. I was told by one of his teachers that among the objects displayed was a signed copy of my book. The story meant something to Ben. He may have related to Sam’s experience. “It’s been so hard,” Sam confided in the book’s last pages. But Ben probably most enjoyed the baseball, the humor, the fun of boys at play.

Ben was probably similar to my Nick. At least that’s what I saw, as I blinked back tears, when I looked into Ben’s eyes. Back when we first gathered to explain to Nick, at age nine, that he had relapsed with leukemia — that the cancer was back — Nick sat and listened quietly. Dr. Pearce laid out the protocol, the path Nick’s life would take over the next two years. This will happen, then this will happen, and then this will happen. Like a story unfolding, though no one could say with certainty how it would end. Dr. Pearce asked if Nick had any questions. Nick did. “Can I go to my friend’s house now?” he asked. That seemed to me, then and now, the perfect reaction.

I saw Ben only twice that day, once alone in a library, once as part of a larger group. But I’m looking at him now.

I’ll always remember the few minutes I spent with Ben Stowell.

Ben’s family has established The Ben Fund to assist other families dealing with childhood cancers, c/o HSBC, Latham Branch, 494 Troy-Schenectady Road, Latham, NY 12110. Ben leaves behind a twin brother, James, and his parents, Stacey and Tim. My heart goes out to them.

 


POSTSCRIPT, April, 2022: Ben’s father, Tim, contacted me recently. Time has passed and he’s now in a relationship with a woman who’s child, Charlotte, attends Blue Creek. Charlotte, a 2nd grader, said hello and told me about her connection to Ben. She never had the chance to meet him, but Charlotte knows James, though, Ben’s twin. He’s now in college and thriving. I’m not crying, you’re crying. 

The Fire Hydrants of Knoxville: Joy in a Time of Heartbreak

In late March I traveled down to Knoxville, TN, for the Big Ears Music Festival. It’s one of the world’s great music festivals — “wonderfully weird,” according to Spin Magazine — famed for celebrating a wildly diverse array of music. Seriously, you can see and hear anything there, and sometimes, euphorically, for the first time in your ever-music-loving life.

For me, it was a beautiful experience, an expression of something we’ve missed during the pandemic: a sense of belonging, of togetherness. Most of us have managed to stay connected with our family and close friends, the inner circle, but it’s been those expansive concentric rings that I’ve missed, the outer spheres of our diminished community. In Knoxville, I talked to a lot of strangers, good conversations with people from all over. Across four days, I didn’t see one openly drunk person, didn’t witness a single example of bad behavior. The attendees came with ears and hearts and minds wide open. We listened, hard; we participated, gratefully.

One crucial feature of the festival is that music is going on simultaneously at a variety of venues. A Scottish bar, a cozy theater, a church, a dingy club, on and on. Attendees wander the streets of downtown Knoxville, seeking out a percussive string quartet in a church, a hot jazz band in a club, an exploration of ambient drone somewhere else, or, hey, Patti Smith in the Tennessee Theater. It’s all there. From the familiar to the experimental.

While I wandered from venue to venue, I kept noticing the blue-and-yellow fire hydrants of Knoxville. They made me think of Ukraine, each one a metal flag bringing to mind the unforgivable slaughter. The brutality of Putin’s attack, the senseless cruelty and inhumanity and suffering of our world.

A disturbing dissonance droned through my skull, plucked at the strings of my heart. I was happy, thrilled with a feeling of joy and discovery and community, encountering good people and magnificent art at every turn. Yet those fire hydrants of Knoxville kept reminding me of dropped bombs, toppled buildings & innocent blood, our sad & broken world.

And I guess that’s the challenge we face. Finding the joy, the deep pleasures and satisfactions, the reasons why life is so worth living — and yet not forgetting the heartbreak, the devastation, the important & necessary work that still needs to be done.

Oh sweet ravaged world, we need to do so much better if we hope to live, together.

Good People, Making a Difference: The Hudson Literacy Fund

My thanks go out to the good, kind people working with the Hudson Literacy Fund (HLF), in particular Wendy Schmalz, Lisa Dolan, Jennifer Clark, and, I’m sure, many others. Today I sat down and signed 120 book plates which will be attached to free books that go into the hands of young readers in the Hudson School District. Since 2013, the HLF has given each student in the district a coupon called a “Good For” that the students could redeem for ANY BOOK being offered at the Hudson Children’s Book Festival. But in 2020 and 2021 and 2022, the Festival was canceled — and they’ve sorely missed the chance to put those student-selected books into young readers’ hands. This year, the HLF would not be denied. They are offering each student one free book from a select group of books by authors who have previously participated in the Festival.
I want to thank these good folks, my friends, for supporting literacy, for supporting the arts. But that’s not really true. Those things are only secondary. Most important of all, they are supporting these young people, many of whom could use a little extra support. I’m honored & moved to play a very small part of this beautiful & generous effort.
Here’s to the return of the great festival in 2023 — and a postgame beer at the Spotty Dog. Maybe two!
=

A Conversation with Michael Arndt, Graphic Designer and Author/Illustrator of “Snails & Monkey Tales: A Visual Guide to Punctuation & Symbols”

“I feel creators are vessels.
We fill up with input, ideas, and inspiration
until it spills over
and we empty it out into our work
so that we may fill up again.
An endless delightful cycle.”

Michael Arndt

Every once in a while, a talent comes along who is just . . . different. A fresh perspective, offering a new way of looking at things. As you’ll see, Michael Arndt comes to books from a design background. His work conveys wit, intelligence, curiosity, joyfulness. I didn’t know him at all — and I suspect that you might not either — so I invited Michael over for a chat. As luck would have it, March 22nd, 2022, is the publication day of Michael’s singular new book, Snails & Monkey Tales:  A Visual Guide to Punctuation & Symbols. Congratulations, Michael! I imagine that any lover of language would delight in your handsome new book. Let’s do this interview thing!

 

You first caught my attention when you started posting minimalistic portraits of celebrities on Facebook. It’s remarkable to me how you can capture the essence of these people in spare yet eloquent details. It’s all about the reduction — seeking out the signal from the noise.

Hi, James. Thank you for the kind words and interviewing me here. Yes, you put that as succinctly as I have ever heard it put. “Reduction—seeking out the signal from the noise is the essence of graphic design.

I think it’s also the essence of picture book writing — something I have not at all mastered!

It is indeed the essence. Many people think designers make things look pretty and that the beauty comes from adding to the material in the same way an interior decorator might add pillows and flower arrangements to a room or the way an artist might add paint to a canvas. Instead, any beauty we contribute comes from providing clarity, much like polishing a rough stone — and that comes from reduction, not addition.

For Black History Month . . .

Less is more.

Yes, more or less. [Insert wink.] Designers are akin to sculptors who chisel away the excess stone to reveal the form inside. My focus with those minimal portraits was on the negative shapes. I often would draw those shapes first (e.g. the faces are usually the same color as the background and therefore rely upon the surrounding shapes to define them). When you work with as few elements as possible, each element has to work impeccably and do double duty, so you have to put the negative shapes to work. For those images, I applied what I learned in my design career about scale, proportion, color, shapes, and composition to help convey the physicality, personality, genre, and historical time frame. In some cases, the color reinforced the name as in the cases of Ruby Bridges and Rosa Parks whose portraits I rendered in hues of reds and pinks…a sort of visual pun.

I appreciate the wit of your work. The humor. I love your Sonny & Cher. 

Thank you. It is funny (no pun intended), but I don’t usually set out to incorporate humor in my books. My last gift book—Minimal New York City: graphic, gritty, and witty (Clarkson Potter, 2020)—did not start out with that subtitle. While the book is catalogued under humor, I was merely trying to juxtapose iconic New York phenomena, visually and sometimes verbally. I read that humor relies upon the element of surprise, the unexpected, so perhaps that is what you and others are picking up on.

Can you give us a little biographical background? Where did you grow up? What brought you to children’s books?

Sure. My own childhood was spent in Kinderhook in New York’s picturesque Hudson Valley. It is an idyllic pastoral historic setting. Our house was built in an apple orchard. I played with my dog, rode my bike, and drew…basically how I spend my days in New York City now! There really wasn’t much else to do. Like many, I wasn’t familiar with graphic design. Instead, I wanted to be an illustrator. At one point, following my year of wanting to be a dentist (much like Hermey in Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer), I was convinced that I wanted to do medical illustration. When college application time came around, I applied to various schools. Each had a different program…fine arts, illustration, editorial design, graphic design. In the end the only affordable option was the University of Cincinnati and they only offered Graphic Design…

“I guess I will be a Graphic Designer then.”

Ha, yes. Our grand plans turn like a dime on accident and chance. We’re in boats, we think we know where we’re going, and suddenly a wind fills the sails.

Agreed. At first, I didn’t “get” design. Hated it. Fought it. Wanted to transfer out of it. I applied elsewhere for sophomore year and got in. A professor pulled me aside and convinced me to stay arguing that graphic design was the most solid foundation for anything else I might want to do in the visual field, so I stayed. She was right. About a year later it all clicked and I fell in love with the quiet power of design and the way a few simple shapes or letters could convey entire worlds. It appealed to my yearning for simplicity and minimalism. But I never lost my love and respect for illustration and illustrators.

I hope you send that professor a copy of your new book.

I would like to but haven’t managed to locate her. In the meantime, I have sent copies of my books to my other professors.

Sorry, I interrupted your story.

No worries. I tend to ramble on otherwise. So, to fast forward, I spent twenty years after college designing branding and packaging, and art directing for the beauty and fragrance industry. A midlife crisis arrived right on schedule —

You bought a little red sports car?

I wish!…and yet I don’t, because I would not be speaking to you about books today if I had. You see, I was looking for something that had more personal meaning that would allow me more flexibility to work from home and spend time with my pets, even into my golden years some day. I came up with a series of animal designs that used the letters in the sounds each makes and called them by my own portmanteau “animalopoeia.” They were intended to be my own line of letterpress greeting cards. When I had 24 though, I thought, this is a basis of a children’s book. I put together a prototype and sent it un-agented to Chronicle Books—and to them only—as I thought they were the right publisher for it. To my delight they agreed and they published CAT SAYS MEOW: and other animalopoeia in 2014. That started my book career.

And another spread . . .

I love that book. It’s so clever and original. And obviously that’s because you come to it from a different perspective—you bring that graphic design intelligence to the work.

Oh, thank you, James; that is always nice to hear. I have to say, it will always have a special place in my heart as it was my first book and first time being called an author and illustrator. The field of picture books has a significant number of graphic designers who illustrate…and even write. This is not as strange as it may first appear. Picture books, for those who may not know, are rarely more than the standard 32 pages and the text is increasingly less than it was in books when you and I grew up. Designers are trained to pair images and words in a cohesive way that is visually enticing and communicates a lot in a little space. Often, as in my case, the style tends to be more graphic and typographic, but not always. That all said, designers and illustrators are not the same profession. We are more like siblings or cousins than twins. Illustrators draw, and draw well, very well. They illustrate an idea or story. Graphic designers solve visual communication problems and seek to clarify, inform, and/or motivate. Many wonderful graphic designers cannot draw at all. It is more about thinking critically about a design problem and using the most effective visual tools to solve it. Saul Bass defined design as “thinking made visual.”

I like that. For me, so much of the early stage of writing is about thinking. Which to an outside observer (my wife, for example) looks a lot like doing nothing!

And sometimes, in my case, it is literally doing nothing. My walks in the park with my dog Clooney are times when I ruminate the best. Those, and truly sitting in my apartment and literally doing nothing. They are my ways of clearing my body’s internal hard drive of its clutter and visual noise. Just as music or design or architecture or even nature in the form of Winter needs rest and so-called negative or white space, so do we as thinking, creating beings. Not to get too Zen, but I feel creators are vessels. We fill up with input, ideas, and inspiration until it spills over and we empty it out into our work so that we may fill up again. An endless delightful cycle.

Time out! I’m just going to roll here with a few sample spreads from Snails for my Nation of Readers to enjoy.

Stunning, right?

Michael, are you familiar with the books of Donald Crews? He came at children’s books from a similar perspective, the emphasis on graphic design (in particular, Freight Train, Truck, 10, Flying). I think his graphic vision helped us see those familiar topics in new ways.

I am familiar with his books! Michael Bierut, a partner at the international design firm Pentagram and president emeritus of the AIGA, wrote the forward in my upcoming book. In a personal note to me beforehand, he wrote, “Your books…as good as anything by Don Crews or Mr. [Paul] Rand.” Seeing familiar topics in new ways is a mission of mine—to impart the tenets of visual literacy to people of all ages, starting, but certainly not ending, with the youngest amongst us. A good number of my books are early concept board books for babies and toddlers.

That’s the essence to all art, isn’t it. To help us see or feel the familiar—or the neglected, the unseen—in a new and startling way.

It is, and that is the exciting part for me. It brings out the philosopher and rebel sides of me, but also the visionary and optimist sides. I want to encourage people to see things, their environment, world, and lives, first for what they are and then for what they can be. The first day of design school, our professor said, “the purpose of this class is to sensitize you to your visual environment,” i.e., to teach us how to see. This obviously has its pros and cons, but decidedly more pros. My signature line of early concept books—M books, published by Andrews McMeel—aims to do precisely that. Teach kids, hopefully in engaging ways, the “fun”damentals of visual literacy. We live in an Information Age and today’s generation will need to be visually fluent.

Could you tell us about your new book?

I thought you would never ask! It is called Snails and Monkey Tails: A Visual Guide to Punctuation & Symbols. “Visual” and “Guide” are perhaps the two most important parts of that title for it is decidedly from a graphic design and typography point of view. As such, it will appeal to designers, typophiles, anyone who delights in being visually stimulated or learning visually. That said, it is equally for the word people who live among us. Students, learners of English as a foreign language, teachers, editors, grammarians…. It is simultaneously a primer that covers the basics and what I hope an intriguing journey down the rabbit hole into the origins of the names, shapes, styles, and uses of punctuation and symbols. In this era of short attention spans and “tl;dr” (too long; didn’t read), I wanted to minimize the verbal explanations and maximize the visual elements. I hope I have a created something that is as stylish as it is informative. Did you know that the word glamour” is an alteration of the word “grammar?” I wanted to bring punctuation back by making it sexy.

While the book certainly coheres as a whole, each spread works independently as a sort of infographic.

Thanks. That is just one of the ways I wanted to make the book approachable and accessible. It is definitely not a stuffy or tedious grammar-type book. Conceptually, I wanted to flip the scale in an Alice in Wonderland sort of way. I blew up the usually tiny marks to gargantuan proportions while the body text is discreet and understated. The entire book is in classic, yet modern, black and red for dynamic spreads and the entire package is designed to be a joy to hold and read. Coated paper, matte varnish, and debossed hardcover that feels like holding a Zen river stone.

It’s a book that defies category, at least for me. I’m not sure how or where it fits, exactly, but I know I want it,

That is what in the beauty world we called “creating desire” or the “must-have” factor. In the book world it falls into the gift book category: compact, interesting, affordable books that have enhanced production value and therefore make attractive gifts.

Michael’s dog, Clooney, hanging on the Upper West Side of NYC.

Well, Michael, thank you for your time. I saw your work, we became friends on Facebook, and I just kept wondering, “Who is this guy?” Turns out you grew up not too far from where I live (Delmar, NY) and, maybe best of all, you are a dog lover. I am so impressed with your talent. If I were a children’s book art director, I’d be seeking out nonfiction books for you to “illustrate.” A trip to the zoo, a day at the airport, the first day of school — the possibilities are wide open. I’m excited to see what comes next.

Thank you, James. From your mouth to the ears of art directors, editors, and publishers. I love animals and I love knowledge, so projects like those sound wonderful. This has been fun. Thanks for the chat.

For readers who’d like to learn more about Michael, there’s this thing called Google . . .

As for me, James Preller: You might know my Jigsaw Jones mystery series. My most recent book is titled Upstander, a stand-alone novel that also serves as sequel/prequel to Bystander. It follows Mary’s experiences, enters her home life, and includes a strong Substance Use Disorder (SUD) storyline. I’m proud that both books were named Junior Library Guild Selections — ten years apart. 

Thanks, as always, for stopping by.