RIP to one of my favorite artists that I've ever come across. There are very few artists that genuinely blew my mind when I first discovered them. The Beatles, Picasso, Jack Kerouac, Jimi Hendrix, Pink Floyd. The list is incredibly short. And David Lynch was certainly one of them.
I haven't seen all of his movies, but I've seen a good amount of them. And should probably brush up on his work, as one does in the wake of a legend's passing. But his works that I have seen all left a massive impact on me. They stay with you for days, weeks, years. They make you think deeply. Mulholland Drive has stayed with me ever since I first saw it back in high school. It's probably my favorite movie of all time.
The fact that he never gave his own personal interpretation / meaning to Mulholland Drive profoundly impacted the way I thought about art. He took film - a medium that has always coddled the viewer with explanation and narrative conclusion - and totally upended it. It's dreamlike. It's nightmarish. It's surrealism in moving form. And like a great painter from the cubist or surrealist era, all he shares is the image. The rest is up to the viewer to decide.
Our perceptions are our own, and our relationship to art (in any form) and how we interpret it is a precious gift. Lynch wanted to keep that relationship pure with his art, and I've always admired that about him. He didn't want to rob the viewer of their own ability to think critically. He believed in other humans' and their intelligence. Whatever a viewer decides the meaning is is the meaning. That's a truly beautiful thing.
Cheers to a true legend. He died as the LA wildfires rage across his home city. A scene that's produced it's own nightmarish surrealism. What a disturbing and fitting way to go.
- ZB James
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