David Lynch Has Died
Let's Talk About Artistic Weirdness
David Lynch has died.
I have curious feelings about this, insofar as his body of work vs. a more personal memory I have about that work.
His cultural presence in relation to my own art and writing was huge. Mulholland Drive. Blue Velvet. Wild at Heart. Lost Highway. I mention those as the examples of films he was releasing during that period in my own life when I was finding my own voice and style.
I didn’t actually feel like those films were, well, good movies. But, and it’s an important distinction, I never missed a movie he released because, frankly, no one was putting out art like that. Then or since.
Strange and surreal. Foggy and disjointed. Scary and funny all at once. His work pushes you, tests you. He’ll take you by the hand, walk you gently through a beautiful landscape and then suddenly push you down a flight of stairs into a basement filled with goblins and whipped cream and he wouldn’t apologize or even, sometimes, explain what the heck just happened.
What I really wanted to mention here, though, were two things he created that I know affected me, that were certainly formational moments in my becoming the writer whose work you’re reading right now.
First, Dune. His version is better than the current more modern versions. There, I said it, I’ll die on that hill. Here’s an article explaining why it’s so good: David Lynch’s Dune Rules
Second, Twin Peaks. Remember that was not a time of streaming or binge-watching. I was in Philly during those years, and every week, my childhood buddy, Alan, and I would get together and sit on the floor in front of his leather, salmon-colored sofa at his apartment and watch that strange, erratic, disfunctional TV show. His place was right by the railroad tracks in those days so every so often we wouldn’t be able to hear the show for a while. Sometimes we got pizza or Alan would make some strange mix of pretzels or hummus or something for us to eat.
The thing about that show - a peculiar mix of Zen and horror and comedy and dreaming - was how unpredictable and dumb and amazing it all was. None of it seemed real or likely. Log ladies and bald giants and diner pie and coffee. I don’t know. It’s been a long time since I watched an episode, but I have no intention, honestly, of watching ever again. I’m afraid that in the re-watching, those memories of those days would erode.
I’m certain I took part of that type of storytelling with me and I suppose if I looked hard enough I might find some echoes in my work. Even here, the idea that every day will be different. That each time one of these little essays pops up in your feed, you (hopefully) should have no idea what the heck is going to be next.
Art should be (somewhat) disorienting, at least a little bit.
Lynch taught me to be unpredictable. To maybe even leave readers guessing now and then. To provide a place where, dear reader, you can fill in some blanks on your own. I hope I’ve done that. Even just a little.
That and my love of coffee. Twin Peaks did that to me. Thanks David Lynch.
My husband, our daughter, and I watched Twin Peaks every week without fail. Then it got weird.
My first husband and I were dating during Twin Peaks and it was a ritual to grab a pizza and glue ourselves to the screen every week. Like you, I have no intention of ever watching again, but it was a strange/good ride.