Hannah M. Clipston

“I had to discern whether I had a dream or a calling.” – Patti Smith, Bread of Angels

Even when in mind, body and soul I claim to love a book before I have started reading it, there are still surprises to be found in knowing for certain. Inspiration. Connection. Small glitters of stardust left on the page by the artist. Patti Smith herself is no stranger to signs from the universe, a meticulous keeper of calendar dates. An observer of magic. A participant in life.

Bread of Angels is a raw account of Patti Smith’s life from her childhood to the present day. In poetic detail, Patti recounts the memories that forged like stepping stones to form her artistry. Where Just Kids was heavily set during Patti’s rise in popularity, Bread of Angels offered a more delicate image of her life. You could almost stop reading Bread of Angels halfway through, pick up Just Kids, then continue with Bread of Angels afterwards to make one long account of her life. The life Patti led in New York, that I most looked forward to returning to, had the quickest pace in the book and spared the details. However I’m not raising this as a criticism. It makes sense not to regurgitate the stories already told in Just Kids and focus on untold aspects of her life. I only raise the point to highlight that my expectations were exceeded. Instead I had the joy of being surprised by what I learned about Patti’s life and my lingering thoughts after finishing Bread of Angels.

Patti possesses the quality I find in all my favourite writers: the ability to place a finger on the exact feeling. Her vivid descriptions of life are honest and distinct. When her work receives poor feedback, she writes about it candidly. A true artist, her devotion outweighs societal and commercial boundaries.

The picture that stays with me weeks after finishing the book is of Patti Smith sitting at her kitchen table, with the first streams of sunlight, before the world has awoken, and her pen, meeting paper, meeting wrist, meeting mind. Who is Patti Smith when no-one is watching? Patti is someone who has many different labels, but the one she favoured, the one she discerned as a calling, was ‘writer’. Her life is entangled with story-telling. And that’s exactly who she was, even when no-one was watching. Using the time she could claim as her own, early morning, to write for the love of writing. Words, pages, stories, that were for herself and not the world.

Who am I when no-one is watching? Like Patti, I have dedicated my lonely hours to writing. To create art for your own happiness, not to perform, or be witnessed by others, is a divine freedom. Looking to Patti Smith, as a wiser artist than I can currently claim to be, I can only draw the conclusion that all along, writing for the love of writing was enough for her. She continued to write after stepping away from the spotlight. She continued to write despite criticism of her work. She continued to write as her world filled with unbelievable grief.

Lately I have been questioning what I want to achieve in my life. What’s most important to me? Could I lean into a slower life, where I write for fun, for my friends and family, and extricate the question of success from my mind? Paradoxically to these thoughts, it seems the only time I feel successful in my writing is when I write for fun. When I accept there is no rush towards establishing myself as a published writer. That the time will come, that the time will be always, if only I spend my days in love with my life. When I write for myself.

Reading Bread of Angels expanded my view of time. It’s easy to fall into a trap, particularly nowadays with social media, that anything not shared is not happening. But we do not cease to exist when we are not in the limelight. I have to hold my hands up and admit I am a slow writer. It shouldn’t be a surprise to me, I am slow to do most things in my life. To wake up, to dress myself, to pack, to drive, to move through museums, to move through bookshops, to read, to make a purchase, to fall asleep. I have to hold up my hands and admit that though I love to share my work, I cannot produce under the condition of constantly sharing. I tip my hat in admiration to the writers with weekly deadlines to meet and walk down my own, separate path. By slowing down I capture the elements I need to bring to my writing. I experience everything wholly. With this lingering image of writing in the kitchen, where no-one is watching, I discover that my destination is the page. Whether it’s a dream or a calling.

As I write now, I’m sat at the kitchen table. My partner is singing to music, and washing dishes without me, because he knows I hate to wash dishes with an abnormally large passion. I realise I am sitting in the picture I’ve held in my mind, so I can say at this moment, with certainty, it’s a wonderful place to be.

I would highly recommend Bread of Angels to any creatives needing encouragement to keep creating no matter what, or simply anyone who craves nostalgia and an insight into the quiet life behind art. And while we’re here, I would also recommend Just Kids, for anyone wanting to dive into the arts scene of 70s New York, or a story of powerful, eternal friendship.