Just Kids

I no longer felt that I was the right model for him, but he would wave my objections away. He saw in me more than I could see in myself. Whenever he peeled the image from the Polaroid negative, he would say, “With you I can’t miss.”

I longed to enter the fraternity of the artist: the hunger, their manner of dress, their process and prayers.

A universe not yet scored contained beneath the pale lids.

was a good day to arrive in New York City. No one expected me. Everything awaited me

In the end, truth will be found in his work, the corporeal body of the artist. It will not fall away. Man cannot judge it. For art sings of God, and ultimately belongs to him.

Young men will adopt his gait. Young girls will wear white dresses and mourn his curls. He will be condemned and adored. His excesses damned or romanticized. In

Young men will adopt his gait. Young girls will wear white dresses and mourn his curls. He will be condemned and adored

I have lived for love, I have lived for Art. I closed my eyes and folded my hands. Providence determined how I would say goodbye

I had lived in the world of my books,

it was the funny feeling in his stomach that excited him, the thrill of doing something forbidden.