Bonjour-Bonjour,
Joel and I made quite the bike ride along the Bay of Angels, from Nice to Antibes for lunch and a roam around the village. At times the bike path threaded a needle between six lanes of traffic and the runways of the Nice airport. Dear Reader, I was not happy. Stanley, in a basket behind my seat, was also not happy. And Joel, oh dear, he worried about us being vocal about not being happy.
āNo one would like this bike ride,ā he agreed.
Luckily, I had other things to think about while pedaling.
The great Nick Cave, who writes The Red Hand Files (a wonderful newsletter to which you should subscribe), recently wrote about Patti Smith. Nick Cave listened to an interview with Smith and said what he admires most is her ability to hold that which is of this worldā politics, laundry, quotidian details of lifeā effortlessly alongside the transcendent. Well, thatās sort of my jamā¦ or at least I aspire to that being my jam. If we canāt find meaning in the quotidian, Iām sunk. Making dinner would just be dinner, not a gesture of love and community. Taking a walk would just be getting from here to there, not noticing the neighborhood, leaning down to pet a dog, saying hello to the old person walking alone, making friends-in-the-moment. Teaching a class or editing someoneās manuscript would be just a way to support myself, not an opportunity to assist a writer with transforming experiences, both the difficult and the wonderful, into art.
Of course I listened to the interview (gift link here). Iām not a fan of punk music so I havenāt appreciated Smith as a performer, but I loved her memoir, JUST KIDS, and Iām definitely going to read her newest memoir, BREAD OF ANGELS, which she both began and ended here in Nice, staring out her hotel window at the Bay of Angels.
As I rode along, yes, not delighted, I kept looking at the bay and thinking of Patti Smith, who gave up being a rockstar to move to Michigan, raise a family, and reinvent herself as a writer. She stared out at these same turquoise waters during a creatively fallow period and started her book.
Once we safely bicycled past the airport, things settled a bit. Swimmers bobbed in the water, trailing orange floats so people would see them. Older couples sat on the stoney beach and stared at the bay. Children scootered in a skate park. Dogs tugged on leashes. Trucks beeped their back up alarms and then unloaded lemons and olives and wine at restaurant doors. Bike racers zipped by too close to me with their attitudes and lycra.
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In the conversation Smith talked about books that formed her. Particularly FRANKENSTEIN and PINOCCHIO. She loves these novels because the characters make life from nothing. Pinocchio carved from wood, the monster in Frankenstein made from body parts, and both are sparked to life. I wonder if that is what Smith thinks about with her writing, tiny scratchings that make an entire world. Which of course makes me think of this quote from Deborah Eisenberg:
āI just keep trying to make something out of words that youād think couldnāt be made out of words.ā
Another favorite book of Smithās is a collection of Irish Fairytales. She quoted a particular passage in which a character says:
All desires save one are fleeting, and that one lasts forever. That is the desire for wisdom. And with that wisdom I would make a poem.
Smith says of the passage: āItās life, a poem. True poetry is the highest thing to write. The greatest of poems distills everything into a teardrop. The drop of water suddenly becomes a liter of water and you can be satisfied.ā
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By the time we reached Antibes all three of us were happy to lock our bikes. We roamed and found lunch. Chatted up some Germans, the woman, in an orange coat, with orange fingernails and an orange Aperol Spritz, happily posed for her husband. The sunlight was sharp as glass and we held our hands up to block the glare.
And took a walk along the narrow streets.
A man stood in front of his atelier, sorting his artworkā¦ you can see heās got some pinned by the door, and then take a peek inside! Itās a bit of a situation in there.
We visited a small chapel and also another painterās atelier, both abundant with color, and, lo! The pain of the bike ride faded away.
With the painter we spoke of politics, and of course, like all the French people with whom weāve spoken, sheās confused and horrified by the current administration. She mentioned hope for the midterms, she mentioned Mamdani and ICE, then she threw up her hands and said, āDans mes peintures, je suis optimiste.ā
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In the interview, Smith leaned into optimism. She said, to endure the world just now, we must return to our child selves so we can:
ā¦weather our obstacles in good faith, for children operate in the perpetual present.
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And so, we got on our bikes and headed back. Dear reader, the ride home was quite lovely! The wind at our backs, Stanley rested in the basket, the bay glistened. Joel pedaled behind me, āCareful, careful,ā he regularly called out, and yes itās slightly annoying, but he only does it because he loves us.
About halfway home, I noticed a restaurant on the quai called Pinocchioās and I thought of Smithās love for Pinocchio who royally screws up and then returns to Gepetto as a real boy. Itās such a hopeful story.
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Patti Smith, at 79, just wants to do her job. āCall me a worker,ā she says. āI work everyday and try to do the best work I can.ā She continues:
I have a lot of faith now. Despite everything that is happening in the world, despite frustrations or helplessness we feel, or betrayal we feel, we have to remember itās alright to feel the joy of being alive and feel the joy of your own possibilities even in the face of the suffering of so many people around us. I have to hold onto the fact that I have a life and I have duties that I have to perform, family to take care of, but I have the same calling that I did when I was young, to nourish and do the work that I believe I was given the possibility to do. Iām not going to let anything shake that faith.
Please, donāt let my notes stand in for a fantastic conversation. Smith talks about the color of the soul, and a conversation she once had with a tortoise.
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Iām looking forward to starting a Mentor Book Group in 2026 and I think BREAD OF ANGELS will be a great book to include. If youāre interested, do let me know!
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Thanks for reading. I hope your day is infused with Patti Smithās joy of possibility. If youāre not yet a paid subscriber and you wish to send a little love my way:
If you missed the last few jewelsā¦ no fear! Here are a few everyone seemed to love: re: coffee cups. beans. boobs. doors. funny sayings.
To stay in the loop:
Tell your people you love them, and take care of your skin!
PS.
Of course you know at the end of Pinocchio, through an act of love, the puppet turns into a real boy. Itās a big deal. Itās what he always wanted. Well, at dinner after our bike ride, we sat behind a man in this t-shirt, Vrai GarƧon / True Man:
Patti is, indeed, a wonderful writer but methinks you should give her music another listen...it's not all "punk" and there are some glorious covers.
regarding the ride, it was just a bit too sunny, heavy traffic, kind of felt like LA, we are just true Portlanders!