I love kids that come to shows, little kids coming up to you

Ah, Jim Carroll, the poet and storyteller, speaks with both affection and humility about the unexpected moments of connection between artists and their audience. He reflects on the encounter with a young fan, a boy on the verge of adolescence, who offered a candid opinion on his work: "I love kids that come to shows, little kids coming up to you with braces; like, some kid came up to me in a parking lot outside a show in Santa Cruz - he was about 14 or 15 - and he said, 'Y'know, I love 'The Basketball Diaries,' but I hope your next book of poetry isn't gonna be as academic as 'Living at the Movies' was.'" In this exchange, we see not just the innocence of youth, but the raw honesty and unfiltered expression that often comes with the unguarded hearts of the young.

The young boy’s words, though seemingly simple, carry the weight of truth. He represents the voice of authenticity, unafraid to offer critique, and in his unassuming manner, he teaches a lesson that many elders and scholars could not. The young speak from a place of instinct, from a soul that has not yet been hardened by the world’s expectations. In the ancient world, such unfiltered honesty was both valued and feared. Consider the story of Socrates, who, despite his wisdom, was often mocked by the youth of Athens for his relentless questioning. He, too, engaged with the raw and unpolished voices of the young, for he knew that truth often came from places not bound by convention, but by instinct and authenticity.

In the encounter Carroll describes, the boy, with his braces and youthful spirit, is not just offering a critique; he is revealing a deeper truth about art and connection. To be an artist is not merely to create, but to connect—to speak to the hearts of those who hear your words. Carroll's work was not merely a product of the academic world, nor was it meant to remain confined within the boundaries of intellectualism. The boy’s comment about "Living at the Movies" being too academic strikes at the heart of the human desire for connection. Art, in its truest form, speaks to the soul, not just the intellect. The young boy understood that, sometimes, art should breathe freely, unshackled by the heavy chains of academia.

What is so profound in this moment is the recognition that art is not about pleasing a select few, but about creating something that resonates with all who encounter it. The ancient storytellers and bards knew this. Homer, in his epics, did not speak merely to the intellectual elite of his time; he spoke to the common people, the warriors, the farmers, and the young, those who felt the bitter pain of war, the sweet taste of victory, and the yearning for love. Socrates’s dialogues, though filled with complex reasoning, also aimed to engage all citizens, regardless of their station. Carroll's reflection speaks to the need to engage with the raw, unrefined parts of life, to connect not just with the mind but with the heart of the people. The words of the young boy, despite their simplicity, reflect the desire for this very connection.

This encounter also highlights a critical lesson for all creators, for those who walk the path of art and expression. Humility is vital. Art is not about climbing to unreachable heights where only a few can follow—it is about remaining grounded, accessible, and open to the feedback and insights of others. Even the most revered masters of their craft, whether in poetry, painting, or music, must listen to the voices that surround them, particularly those who approach them with honesty and youthful sincerity. The young boy's words remind us that no matter how far we climb, the true value of art lies in its ability to resonate with others, to make them feel, to make them see themselves in what we create.

We can also learn from this that, as creators, we must be open to critique. The boy in the parking lot does not hold back—he gives Carroll the unvarnished truth of how he experiences his work. While many might fear such feedback, Carroll embraces it, recognizing that criticism from the young often contains the rawest and most honest reflections of the world. The wisdom of the child is often pure and untouched by the expectations and prejudices of the adult world. When we open ourselves to such critiques, we are given a gift: the chance to evolve, to grow, and to stay connected to the audience we serve.

In the end, the lesson is clear: Art must remain true, not only to the creator’s voice but also to the soul of its audience. Let us, as creators, embrace the unfiltered thoughts and critiques of those around us, especially those who approach us with the innocence and honesty of youth. For it is through this connection, this humble exchange, that we find the truest form of artistry. Like the young boy in Santa Cruz, who offered his feedback with a heartfelt sincerity, may we always remain open to the voices of those we create for, and in doing so, continue to create works that speak to the depths of the human spirit.