I’m on page 129 of the book Cosmic Scholar: The Life and Times of Harry Smith by biographer John Szwed. It’s hard to put down, and lately, I have confined myself to the household due to the excessive heat and sunshine. Reading about Harry Smith visiting bookstores in Manhattan in the 1950s makes me want to go to my local bookstores. Which, in theory, sounds perfect, but the weather outside would mean I have to stand in a bus stand directly under the horrific sunshine. And on top of that, I would feel guilty leaving my writing table because I have conditioned myself to write an essay daily.
It’s a stupid exercise, but it is also my one aspect of the world. Without this practice, I feel like a cork in the ocean, banging on the coastal properties of various areas of the world. If I wake up and don’t realize I have a master plan for that day, it will cause depression. And that is one thing to avoid at all costs. The daily routines I go through maintain physical and mental health. But one (such as the reader) can debate my technique or goal because it is subjective, and in such a fashion, I’m not living but maintaining a certain amount of order in my life.
My schedule on this date (August 29) is I wake up at 6:00 a.m., drink a glass of pomegranate juice by itself, read a few articles from The Guardian with a particular focus on their Books section, and then my first proper cup of hot coffee. The coffee of choice is from Dunkin’ Donuts because I don’t like fancy coffee, just some form of dark liquid that will give me that kick after two cups. With the second cup, I make myself a bowl of instant oatmeal with dry roasted unsalted peanuts and blueberries. While eating reakfast, I check out the New York Times and the local news in the Los Angeles Times. Again, I see their Book Section and read their food coverage of Los Angeles. I’m deeply fascinated with new restaurants, although I never go to eat out. It is more of an imagined life for me than anything else. After breakfast, I take either a shower or a bath. I shave in the shower, and if I take a bath, I bring a book to read while I soak. After washing, I weigh myself, which puts me in either a good or bad mood for the day. I do stretches and leg splits, and fifty sit-ups. I’m dressed and ready for the blank computer screen and to fill it with my magic. And I work on writing from mid morning to 5:00 p.m. During my writing period, I also read and take a nap. Dinner is at 7, and my wife and I watch a film every night. Which sounds boring, but my inner life is turned on, which is the fuel that keeps me going. I do this every day unless I’m traveling.
There are plans for a trip to Japan sometime this year, and we are booking hotels in Osaka and Kyoto and some countryside locations. Tokyo is no worries because we have a home of sorts here or a room that we can stay in while visiting that city. But the purpose of this visit is Les Sewing Sisters Japanese Home Tour. We plan to visit various homes in Japan and play in their closet space. As one can gather, a closet differs from a Los Angeles closet, so it’s very much about culture and the difference between Western and Japanese architecture and interiors.
I use the word we, but can assure you that I’m not a member of Les Sewing Sisters. But I’m at every show, and I will interview all the homeowners about their closets and have artists such as Les Sewing Sisters playing in their private spaces. I will certainly be in a very Donald Richie or Roland Barthes mode of a foreigner looking at another culture and practice.
Harry Smith was also interested in other cultures and their practices, but he was much better than I am; still, I will learn from his successes and failures as I approach Japan like an Edgowa Rampo detective. Some future postings will deal with our specific project, but it will be written as a separate piece of work, almost like a DVD bonus cut or a footnote/endnote in a book. And as a 69-year-old man, I’m sure that will also be part of the adventure.
Harry Smith, Harry Smith, Harry Smith. And that doesn’t even begin to encompass who he was. Thanks for this Tosh. Also I admire the writings of Richie.
Harry was a magical kind of psychic weather...both Ritchie and Roland are weather-vanes....trembling in a kind of unanticipated and invisible breeze.