David Lynch has passed, and in losing him, the culture has lost one of the most singular and creative voices in modern history.
Lynch was so committed to his own version of the “art life” as he called it, that he only bowed to pressure once – on his version of Dune. A film that on the surface makes for challenging viewing given its obvious mauling in the edit suite, but nonetheless deserves its recent critical reclamation.
It is a cult classic.
Like much of his catalogue.
His work is difficult, obstinate and sometimes downright unintelligible.
His work is weird.
But it is traceable.
Lynch was a huge advocate for transcendental meditation and utilised it heavily in his art practice, often speaking of the concept of “fishing” when confronted by the interminable question: “Where do you get your ideas from”.
You fish for them.
Given the sometimes abstract, absurd or complex nature of his work, Lynch’s process was quite simple. He was an obsessive collector of things. These things might be physical or tangible like a version of the song Blue Velvet, red lipstick or a derelict factory or they might be abstract concepts like:
The sound of a box of snakes hurtling through the air – this was the mental image that Trent Reznor was given when briefed about creating a soundtrack for the film Lost Highway.
Like all great artists, Lynch is a consummate collector of ideas and references, they are then re-interpreted and reemerge as something wholly unique to himself.
“Lynchian”
It’s become a byword for a certain kind of look and feel.
Usually involving something weird and often dreadful or frightening.
An exploration of the sickening underbelly of the American psyche.
The opening scenes of Blue Velvet are perhaps the best example of this. The pitch perfect picket fence Americana suburbs undermined by the presence of a foul object – a severed ear.
Lynch was obsessed with The Black Dahlia murder. An legendary unsolved LA crime involving the nightmarish discovery of a corpse so utterly befouled that it doesn’t bear speaking about here.
And whilst this flip-side of the normal, the savage underbelly beneath all the smiles, coffee and cherry pie there are a bunch of aspects that make the concept of something being Lynchian far more rounded and fascinating.
Let’s have a look at the different levels of Lynchian via his adverts.
💁♀️ People, usually women, enduring psychological torture or rapturous psycho-sexual fantasies – perhaps both at the same time…
👀 Visions of dreams and nightmares.
📺 Digital distortion.
🧈 Abnormal life
☕ He drank 15 of them a day.
RIP to the great man.
See you in 25 years…
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Thanks for reading,
Jonathan ✌️
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