Visions Of Patti Smith

When did you and Jérôme Jacques Marie Mage meet?

Very recently. Just before that, I came across a pair of my favorite sunglasses, and realized they were Jacques Marie Mage. It turns out I was already wearing his frames without making the connection, so I was all the more delighted to meet him. Jérôme is a true visual artist as well as a designer. And his work is magnificent.

What compelled you to collaborate with Jérôme on a special collection?

I really liked his vision of what a collaboration can be. We started it as a very joyful design project, which was all the more important because it's very, very rare that I work with a brand. But we're in sync on everything: the shape, the packaging, a few words written in my own hand, right down to the cleaning cloth, with a magnificent photo of wild horses that I gave him. For me, this collaboration has been like writing a song with another person, except that this time, it's about our visual and design sense coming together to create something unusual. I hope people will like it.

You're an American who loves France, and Jérôme is a Frenchman living in Los Angeles. Did you enjoy this parallel as well?

Of course. I’m enjoying our project even more, because it’s bringing France and the United States together. What we're trying to create has an elegance that’s ‘so French’, which I'm delighted about because I've always been drawn to French culture — the books, the people, the films, the poetry and the architecture. The fact that Jérôme lives in California has tinged his French aesthetic with a very raw kind of spirit that represents the best of America; whereas I'm American with raw style, influenced by the French aesthetic. So we've blended perfectly (laughs). And everyone I've met on his team has been fantastic. I should add that another reason I wanted to work with Jérôme was because I wear glasses myself.

Have you always worn sunglasses? 

Yes, and when I look back at photos from around the time that Horses came out, when we were on tour, I was almost always in shades! Of course, they were the same as the ones Bob Dylan wore, whom I admired so much. But I had a head injury in the late ‘70s, which meant I had to wear special contact lenses, and more recently, prescription lenses. Some people say they hate wearing glasses, but I'm very grateful that they’re there because they mean I can see! Dark glasses, prescription glasses and me, is kind of a natural fit. 

Aren’t you also referencing sunglasses as the ultimate rock star accessory? 

To be honest, I hadn't thought about it like that. It's all about the fact I love dark glasses. When I was young, it was so normal — they made you look very European. I remember film stars like Marcello Mastroianni with his dark glasses — he was so cool. But they also allowed you to mix with people and keep a certain amount of anonymity and intimacy. You can be shy, or sad. At a funeral, they hide your tears. For me, all the symbolism of dark glasses is positive. 

The 50th anniversary of your first album, Horses, has a very strong link with Arthur Rimbaud.

Yes, I love Rimbaud so much, I've studied everything about him and I've even written about him... In the song “Land” from Horses, I sing: “Go Rimbaud, go Rimbaud, go Rimbaud, oh, go Johnny, go!” Speaking of which, I'll tell you a story. Horses was due to come out in the US on October 20, 1975. That's Rimbaud's birthday. I'd chosen the date on purpose, and was very excited about my first album being released on that day. But because of the oil crisis in 1974, there were oil shortages at the time, and we needed oil to make records. Anyway, one day I got a phone call from Clive Davis, the chairman of my record company, who said: ‘Oh, Patti, I've got some bad news for you. The record won't be ready on October 20, which I know was so important to you...’ Of course I was hugely disappointed. I asked him when the album would be released, and he replied: ‘November 10’. I was delighted and also a little shocked, because November 10 is the date Rimbaud died, so it suited me just as well. I took it all as a manifestation of fate. In a way, Rimbaud was still with me.

Is it true that you bought the ruins of Rimbaud's house in the French Ardennes?

It was actually his mother's land. The house where Rimbaud grew up, the original farmhouse, was bombed by the Germans during the First World War. But the family rebuilt a smaller house with what they were able to salvage from the original, on the same land. And yes, I bought it because a descendant of the family had to leave, someone very old who didn't want the house to be knocked down or a block of flats to go up there. So I bought it for a good price, because the lady didn't care about the money, she just wanted to make sure it was protected. I promised that no-one would ever touch it, I was hoping to work with the French government to turn it into an artists' residency, but with the pandemic, the project got pushed back. I'm still thinking about how to preserve it, and I know I'll find a way to make it useful, maybe with a museum.

What do you feel there?

Incredible things. It’s the land, not the house, that I value. Just sitting there, and thinking that Arthur might have lain there looking at the stars, or might have fallen asleep in the grass... It was on this land that he wrote A Season in Hell, Verlaine visited the family there — for me, this little piece of land has immense significance.

What does the word ‘vision’ mean to you? 

You can look at vision in many different ways. Personally, I see it in two ways. One is practical; it means that I can see, that I can read a book, that I can look at my children's faces, that I can communicate directly with people, look them in the eye. But there is also the other aspect of vision, which is the ‘ability’ to see. The ability of the visionary, whether they’re an artist, mathematician, architect or poet, to formulate a singular idea. Vision means seeing what others do not see.