Everyone has a hero. Everyone has, or will have, that one person in their life who inspires them endlessly. For some, it's a footballer, or a singer, a writer, a dancer. That one person will be their idol, the person they look up to like a distant family member, someone whose work they strive to match even in the slightest, even if they think that that is impossible. My hero is, and I'm sure always will be, David Lynch, the creative extraordinaire.
If you know me or you know of me, I'm sure you've noticed my adoration for this man. It's pretty hard to miss. I've even been called 'the Lynch guy' online before. It is because of this obsession that I thought this would be worth writing. Not only that but because I was recently asked whether I liked everything the guy does genuinely or because I have some sort of bias. Being asked that question really scared me. It suddenly made me aware that I could see all of the man's work through rose-tinted glasses, that I could just be too ashamed to admit that anything he does is bad. In the weeks following that question being posed, I found myself evaluating Lynch's work again, mulling over his films, his art, his music, his personality, all over again. In doing this, I realised something extremely important: I have no bias, I just have an inconceivable amount of inspiration that comes from Lynch's work. He is, in essence, the man who had unknowingly planted the seeds that I will try my hardest to grow into a career as a creative.
So, I want to take you through Lynch's work and explain why each medium he works in means so much to me and why I call him my hero and constant inspiration. For purposes of clarity, I'll talk through each work in the order that I experienced them in.
The Elephant Man, What Did Jack Do? and Mulholland Drive
Before having seen any of Lynch's films, I had often been interested in the discourse surrounding him, the collective respect that people had and still have for him. I had seen him ranked among the best directors of all time by critics both casual and professional. I had seen his films ranked as some of the best ever made by critics both professional and casual - he seemed to be a universally respected creative, someone who was almost untouchable, a figure that I knew I had to familiarise myself with at some point.
One day, my dad returned home from work, having visited the charity shops during his lunch break. Having once had a love of films as big as mine is now, he would often pick out a film or two that he thought I may enjoy and this time came home with a copy of The Elephant Man. I knew this was a Lynch film, so it didn't sit on my watch-pile for too long. I loved the film. I was stunned by how delicate it was, blown away by the visuals and the eccentricity of it. It moved me, but, since finishing his filmography, I always thought it was perhaps the worst of his films to start with (or second-worst...). Saying that, the film stuck with me, helping me develop my love and respect for black and white deeply. That is, I suppose, the first way I was influenced by the great man. I was introduced to his work in the shallow end, not knowing what would be waiting for me around the corner.
That same day, I visited Netflix, hoping to find some more Lynch. I was in luck; What Did Jack Do? was waiting for me. I guess this was my first experience with the proper surreality of Lynch, my first real taste at the weird wonders that were waiting for me. I was fascinated by the decisions that must have been made whilst making the film. I had so many questions after the film finished: Why a monkey? Why a chicken? Why is a man talking to a monkey so casually? Why, why, why? Many people would have hated that, many people love knowing what's happening, something that I really won't blame them for, but this was my new discovery, this was me realising that I love not knowing why. This was my realisation that actually having so many questions was keeping the film in my mind, it was something darkly magical.
After my watch-pile depleted completely, which, for context, at the time The Elephant Man was on it, it was a pile of DVDs that reached my waist. Needing something else to watch, I ventured into the DVD cupboard which was all that was left of my dad's collection of films. In doing that, I made what I might call the most important discovery of my life: Mulholland Drive. At this point, I had heard a lot about this film, it had a reputation. A day or two after discovering this copy, I stuck it on one morning and my life was changed. At this point, I knew I enjoyed weird stories and weird art, I had always enjoyed the more eccentric tales and I had the label 'weird' attached to me for a good portion of my life, something I had always seen as something rather negative. Upon viewing this film for the first time, I realised that that label was something to hold onto, something to use to my massive advantage, something that I could mould into something wonderful if I wanted to.
It was around the time I watched Mulholland Drive for the first time that I was starting to develop a serious interest in pursuing a career in the film industry. Before that, I had an interest in writing books, absolutely set on being a novelist, or perhaps a screenwriter, at a stretch. I had written a lot of short stories, stories that I was happy with, but not massively proud of. They were straightforwardly ambiguous, classic horror sensibilities scattered in amongst the words of an amateur who had not yet discovered what it was he wanted to write, someone who had not yet encountered non-linear narratives and experimentalism. Mulholland Drive opened my eyes to this new way of telling stories, it was the blue key to a box that I disappeared into and will never emerge from. It felt like I was living in a dream world that was suddenly pulled away, revealing my true passion. After watching Mulholland Drive for the first time, I felt like I had dived into a pool, coming up for air only to find myself in utopia. Suddenly, I saw stories in every aspect of the day, I found myself collecting ideas like raindrops, many of which I value today as some of the stories with the most potential.
Since the initial viewing, I have seen Mulholland Drive an additional three times, with an extra two happening for definite in the coming months. This was the film that truly unlocked the love of Lynch, the film that eventually lead to this piece of writing and about every other piece of writing I've written since. Mulholland Drive remains my favourite film to date, finding itself in my thoughts every day, acting as a muse of sorts, enchanting me with its progression into darkness; perhaps a good metaphor for my ever-intensifying obsession with this body of work. Upon every viewing, I fall more in love with it, it enchants me endlessly and drags me deeper into its murky sea of beautiful, wondrous mystery and it injects itself into my subconscious with more force every single time.
Blue Velvet, Wild at Heart, Eraserhead and Lost Highway
Having been totally and utterly dumbfounded by Mulholland Drive, I was about as ready to watch more Lynch as a lion would be to eat a small child tugging on its mane. The day after Mulholland Drive, I watched Blue Velvet. The day after that, Wild at Heart. In retrospect, I don't think I should have watched these films in such close proximity, simply because I don't think I gave myself enough of a chance to process them, but, they were both on Netflix and I couldn't help myself.
What I got from those two films though was that David Lynch was my new favourite director. Here was a man who made blatantly weird films, an openly peculiar man who made things that didn't always have to make sense, a man whose career was built on making his audiences question themselves, never knowing what a film truly means or happened. This was a man who had made me shiver with fear watching Blue Velvet. For context, films never scared me. They still don't. I can just watch a film, happy that everything happening on screen is happening on screen, and yet here is Blue Velvet, genuinely terrifying me, affecting me in a way a film has never done so before. It was an incredible experience.
Though Wild at Heart didn't impress me nearly as much as The Elephant Man, Mulholland Drive or Blue Velvet, it still reinforced this newfound enchantment. I respected the energy and the atmosphere massively, loving every minute of the break-neck journey (which I know could have put some off), I just knew that this was something for me, references to The Wizard of Oz and all. I had found a filmmaker whose work I had a deep, deep interest in. Prior to this, the closest I had to a favourite director was Tim Burton, who had a filmography full of films that I had a real disliking for. I had, and still have, a real personal connection to Edward Scissorhands, but, apart from that, I just enjoyed his films. David Lynch came along and made me want to get up and make a film.
This feeling was built even further when I bought a big Lynch box-set which contained six of his films and ten of his short films. From this, I immersed myself in those short films, which, whilst they were still inspirational due to their roughness, they ended up more as examples of context in a timeline that I was always adding to. Eraserhead and Lost Highway were the real highlights. Since seeing Mulholland Drive, I was hoping that Lynch had made another film that would give me that same sense of doubt, a film that would let me play detective and never spoon-feed me a story. I was overcome by this magnificent duo. Both Eraserhead and Lost Highway provided me with that same enchantment that I felt with Mulholland Drive. I particularly enjoy these types of films because they always lead me to parts of my mind that I would have never been to otherwise. When watching these films, I feel like I think completely differently from how I otherwise would. I feel like I'm thinking fluidly, like my brain is constantly changing shape to fit what I'm trying to comprehend. It's magical.
Due to these films, my interest in finding a job in the film industry became not a dream, not a goal, not even an ambition, it was a decision. After turning off Lost Highway, I knew that whatever happened, I would work in the industry, whether that be directing my own films or just holding a boom, if I could have any involvement with making films, I would make it happen.
Lynch's Art
For those who may not know me, or much about me, one thing that I always try to mention, for awareness, education and understanding, is that I have Asperger's; I've written about it before in many places, but I'm going to mention it again here. One of the qualities of someone on the autistic spectrum, which Asperger's is, is our hyperfixations. These are, in effect, subjects that we become encyclopedias on, subjects that we have an interest in that could often be categorised as an obsession. At this point, Lynch is most definitely one of mine, a whole subsection of my hyperfixation on films in general.
During one of my research sessions, just trying to learn as much as I could about the man, I ended up reading that he was originally a painter and that he still paints today. At this time, I was still studying my art A-level, painting because I was told to, never knowing what to paint or why I was painting. We had reached a point in the course in which we had to choose an artist to focus on, an artist who we would try to work in the style of, just to see if that would do anything for us. Not only did this project lead to my crazy art fuse (that lead to my love of watching and creating video art) being lit, but it allowed me to see Lynch's paintings, which I adore. I always think about being asked whether I'm biased when I say this, but David Lynch truly is my favourite painter too!
I would always be the only one in my art class who would be wanting to make something that looked like nothing. There were other abstractionists, but the room was mostly filled with portrait and landscape painters who were majorly talented, everyone wanted to base their paintings and sculptures on something material. I would often have my palette full of black paint, which my teacher would begrudgingly scrape into the bin, apparently stopping my paintings from becoming 'muddy'. When I got the chance to really deeply research Lynch's art, those lessons changed. Suddenly I was throwing black paint at the canvas, purposefully making deep, muddy colours. I remember seeing the art for the first time, I loved it because of how fluid it was, how unfocused and grungy it was. I saw how Lynch would just channel what he was thinking about onto a canvas with absolutely no barriers. I loved the idea of doing that, so that is exactly what I did. For the rest of that project, I just let go; I painted almost exclusively with paints mixed with black, since then I never once looked at something and tried to paint it, I just let my hands do the thinking and see what happens. Occasionally, I even put down the brush and painted with my palms. Although the option was always there, Lynch and his art, once again, opened a door and allowed me to grow as a creative.
His art is dark, it's full of black humour and gloriously scary musings that could easily be from the mind of a serial killer or a truly disturbed individual. His paintings often incorporate imagery of everyday life and death, abstracted beyond what film could reasonably portray. The haunting darkness in his paintings capture my attention and hold it, unlike any other painter, unlike any other work. I see the same beauty in Lynch's paintings that many see in Van Gogh's work. Van Gogh had major talent and created scenes that flick a switch in so many peoples' brains, people adore the construction of his paintings; the colour, the composition, the brush strokes - Lynch is my Van Gogh. I guess that is the beauty of both art and cinema, it's subjective, which I'm sure many Lynch paintings prove...
The Straight Story and Inland Empire
After indulging in Lynch's art for a while, I managed to source copies of the two films from Lynch's filmography that remain a couple of my favourites, not only in the filmography but in general. At this point, I was considering myself a big fan of the man, having seen six of his films and a series of his short films. I was still craving more, something which I saw as a tell-tale sign that I had fallen head-over-heels in love with his films. Before watching these films, I had caught a programme on television in which lots of critics were talking about David Lynch, it was a fun insight into their opinions on some of the films, but it wasn't anything special. From that programme, I remember most about the films I hadn't yet seen at that point, particularly The Straight Story.
I remember this group of critics saying how it was 'the most Lynchian of all the Lynch films', something that, whilst I see the point, I don't agree with. What I would say about it, is that it had the most emotional effect on me. I had adored Lynch's other efforts because of how much they put me through the wringer, how assaulted I felt and how lost in the labyrinths of my own mind I was after finishing those films. Whilst The Straight Story didn't do that to me, it almost did the opposite and it had a profoundly positive effect. I originally thought that Lynch could only have been capable of depressing his audience, making them seriously question themselves, something that is done with great skill, but not necessarily an indication of true versatility. Thanks to The Straight Story, I now have no doubts about said versatility. The first time I saw The Straight Story, I remember sitting there and being held down by that same invisible force that held me down during Mulholland Drive, Blue Velvet and Lost Highway, I was completely arrested, but not by fear or distress or complete disbelief, it was this powerful, existential unlocking, it felt like this film wasn't strangling me, this film was hugging me and telling me that no matter what, everything would be alright.
Because of this experience, my adoration for Lynch doubled. Gone was the image of a mad cinematic scientist concocting hell on celluloid, replaced by the image that stays with me now, a man not only deeply in touch with his emotions, but also with reality. Whilst everyone spends so much time focusing on Lynch's abstractions of life and the human condition, we assume he's seeing something that we're not. We're assuming that he's looking far out into the distance when, really, he's looking just in front of him, holding a magnifying glass up to the things right in front of him. I realised that the thing I love, and still love, most about Lynch's work is the highly manipulative aspects. His work, light or dark, is made to dig to the back of your mind, it's made in such a way that it will sit there and expand over time. It's a beautiful concept that I can only dream of recreating.
One of the best double billings of Lynch's work, in my opinion, would be The Straight Story and Inland Empire, which is why I am so happy I watched these two consecutively. Inland Empire was the perfect solidification method of that 'yes, this is about what's right in front of us' love, rather than something unknown to us. Inland Empire, much like all of Lynch's other more surreal works is a film that I will never be able to say I fully understand. The plot is inescapably confusing, but the theoretical story of a deep dive into a woman's breakdown and anxieties is a story that I still love. Watching Inland Empire was not only a wild ride that I cannot wait to take again, but, much like The Straight Story, it really changed my perspective on Lynch. From this point on, he was not just a good filmmaker, he was a humanist, he was, and still is, an incredible artist with such an extremely valuable perspective of life; a perspective we should all strive to have.
David Lynch Theater
When you build up so much love for an artist's catalogue of work, they usually become irrelevant, just a name with so much amazing baggage tied to them. For a while, I guess Lynch was the same. I loved him and respected him, but only for his work. I had seen David Lynch: The Art Life and thoroughly enjoyed hearing him talk about himself, but that was still an edited film, a film with a purpose and a goal. I didn't know who Lynch really was. I guess, really, I still don't, but over the past year, that has somewhat changed.
For those who don't know, over lockdown, David Lynch started regularly using his YouTube channel, David Lynch Theater, once again. Prior to lockdown, he would post experiments and the occasional animated short film. It was something that would be a nice surprise to see updated every so often. Now, the channel is a hub of positivity, due to a couple of series that were started to keep morale high among subscribers. The first of these series, a revival of a series originally published on davidlynch.com (now an address that takes you David Lynch Theater): The Weather Report. Every single day (EVERY SINGLE DAY) since May 11th 2020, Lynch has posted a video with an average time of a minute and a half that consists of him simply stating the weather and telling the audience about something on his mind, whether it be a song, a place or something entirely different (Lynch was the guy who made me aware of the incredible band Cigarettes After Sex, after mentioning their song 'Sweet'). After this, he wishes everyone a great day and signs off. It may sound simple, but it's one of the most endearing things you'll ever see. To finish your day (in the UK) and watch his weather report is something special, even if it is mostly the same thing every day (golden sunshine and clear skies in LA) the effort that Lynch makes to take the time out of each day to make these clips is fantastic. To make things better, he has also used this as a platform for good causes, often promoting childrens' charities, his own transcendental meditation charity and frequently, the black lives matter movement.
Although promoting things is just the decent thing to do, to see Lynch, a man who is seen as one of the most successful figures in the film industry, being human, a human with enough decency to use his undying fanbase to do good and promote good causes is amazing. As a result of this, he has cultivated a community of people in the comment sections of each video, a community that has grown from hardcore fans to people who may have only heard of his work. It's seriously admirable and signposts to me that I have chosen a really great guy to idolise.
To make the days even better, Lynch, again, every single day, has uploaded an episode of his 'Today's Number' series, which, in short, is him with a jar of ten balls, each having a number on them (1-10), then swirling the numbers, picking a number and announcing it. That is it. There is no reason for it, it's just art. Watching this every day, at certain points during lockdown, was a true event. This just sealed the deal, Lynch was one of the greatest people alive. Not only does he make art that resonates with me more than anything else, but he is also an artist who takes time out of every one of his days to give something to his fans. Every day, no matter what, he has a smile on his face, he has positivity to spread and, quite honestly, it is infectious.
When the pandemic was at its worst, Lynch wore sunglasses on his weather report one day and proceeded to announce "I am wearing dark glasses today because I'm seeing the future and it's looking very bright." How could you not love him?
Twin Peaks, Twin Peaks: Fire Walk With Me and Twin Peaks: The Return
It's hard to place Twin Peaks here, purely because I watched each season at a different time. I started the first season after Lost Highway, whilst I watched the second season and The Return maybe ten months after the first instalment, due to needing to find copies and because I very boldly made the commitment of rewatching the entirety of Doctor Who's revival and taking myself on the wild, wild journey that was Lost. This seemed like the best and most logical place to put the Twin Peaks trio.
Twin Peaks, in all of its forms, will forever be my archetype for storytelling. I'm sure there are better archetypes out there, but, as someone who loves and wants to write peculiar characters in weird situations, isn't this the dream? When thinking of my favourite seasons of television, the second and third seasons of Twin Peaks instantly come to mind, being everything I want out of television. Since properly getting into Lynch's films, I had always loved his characters. From the eccentricities of Coco in Mulholland Drive to the almost unhinged Marietta Fortune, I've always loved them, good or evil. They are very much their own brand, in my opinion, the sign of a good writer/director. To be given an ensemble of characters like this was a treat that I couldn't possibly have imagined would have been so much fun to watch. Dale, Leland and Andy are some of my favourite fictional characters ever, pitted against Bob, one of the scariest villains in all of fiction (closely rivalling Blue Velvet's Frank Booth and Lost Highway's Mystery Man). To be exposed to such character-driven delight for such a drawn-out story was rather inspiring, to say the least. The plot, the pace, the premise of Twin Peaks has always been fascinating, blending genres such as crime, horror and comedy seamlessly, obviously becoming the inspiration for so much more great work.
Twin Peaks: Fire Walk With Me and Twin Peaks: The Return, two of the last pieces of Lynch media that I had the pleasure of viewing (hence the later placement of this segment), proved to be somehow even more inspiring than the first two instalments of the story. I know most of this must sound like a reiteration of the same thing and I apologise if it's getting repetitive (thanks for sticking with it) but I'm hoping I'm creating the image that my love of Lynch was always there, like a lake covered in fog and with each piece of media I'm taking in, that fog clears a bit more. [MINOR SPOILERS AHEAD] With The Return and Fire Walk With Me, I was lead not into understanding this world better and in new ways, but another: the world of dreams. I have always loved the fact that Twin Peaks decided to analyse the strangeness of our world through another. The world of the subconscious and the realm of dreams are two 'places' that I've been fascinated by since I was young, the idea that everyone goes to sleep at night and leaves their body, transcending into some world created entirely by their unconscious and unfiltered mind, how strange and stunning is that? Although Mulholland Drive gave me a good taste, it was Twin Peaks that really managed to make me see the wonders of dreaming, specifically Fire Walk With Me. It was a strange and highly disturbing examination of this theme that has always been something I've thought about, to see it brought to life in such a way was shocking. The shock and awe continued into The Return, which maintains a dreamy atmosphere throughout, utilising humour, horror and surrealism to the full extent, often simultaneously, essentially what dreams are. I loved and love Lynch's work on Twin Peaks because of how well they captured that essence of dreaminess, being so many contrasting things at once. The final episode of Twin Peaks: The Return, is still one of my favourite episodes of television to date because of how haunting it is. As I've said so many times, my respect for Lynch is hugely based on his ability to create art that sits with you for days on end. Whether he does that with truly disturbing scenes, immensely surreal imagery or dark, puzzling lines that change everything or hint at something you had never thought of, he's a master, which is especially obvious with the eighteenth part of The Return. Thinking about it now, writing in my room, which is currently thirty-two degrees Celsius, I am covered in goosebumps, feeling the chills big time.
Crazy Clown Time and The Big Dream (Lynch's music)
As somebody who listens to music at any possible moment, there was no doubt that eventually, I would come around to Lynch's music. I'll admit, I know that genuinely liking the music is strange. My friends have all, at some point, been subjected to a song or two before pleading for me to turn it off. I know it's not for everyone, and it has become my go-to joke music because of how much of an acquired taste it is.
For the record, yes I do genuinely enjoy the music. No, not because it's David Lynch, but because of the content. As someone who creates, whether that be painting, video art, or written stories, since discovering Mulholland Drive, I've worked almost exclusively with abstractions and surrealism. David Lynch's music, for those who haven't heard it, is the very definition of surreal and abstract. It's his brilliant '50s style guitar combined with droning and whirring and industrial sounds, with him singing or speaking over the top. The lyrics often explore abstract feelings and complex relationships, but, in many cases, describe something unfathomable, or never revealed, like a song about love in 'Noah's Ark' or, in one of the best cases, a stream of unfiltered thoughts in the aptly titled 'Strange and Unproductive Thinking', which is well worth a listen. Whilst I think Lynch is a superbly talented musician, I think it's fair to say his singing voice is a bit below average. Quite a bit. That, however, just adds to the effect. Lynch often puts on a voice or uses some sort of digital manipulation to make himself sound even stranger and the effect is remarkable.
To most, listening to this for an hour straight would be a nightmare, just a collection of ramblings that don't make loads of sense, distorted instruments that once sounded slightly melodic and so much random noise. As someone who adores writing straight from the mind, writing stories that aren't supposed to make sense to anyone but myself, I find the music has a similar effect to fuel. You cannot boil potatoes without water. It's difficult to breathe when the atmosphere is thin. My point is that listening to the music creates the perfect environment for my work. Hearing the distant-sounding guitar coupled with the almost alien vocals sets my mind on a path down a road that it cannot see the end of, it gives me the confidence to run with my eyes shut, not caring about the possibility of a wall up ahead, it gives me the chance to experience the state of floating without thought, it places me in an environment made of things that do not make sense, allowing me to adapt to that and create my best work.
No other artist has created an album like this. Cigarettes After Sex have the same echoey distant sound, SQÜRL (Jim Jarmusch's band) has the atmosphere, Talking Heads and David Byrne have songs with some fantastically random lyrics, but they always make me want to dance! John Grant sometimes opts for the same unconscious lyrics when he's not pouring his heart out onto an album, which, though spectacular, always makes me emotional, not fired up! There is just no artist out there like Lynch. He is a spectacular creative fuel.
Dune
The last piece of mainstream Lynch media that I took in for the first time was the almost universally laughed at Dune. I was terrified to end his narrative filmography with this, a decision made due to wanting to read the book first. I was scared because of how much everyone slates it pretty much wherever you go. I had seen it on 'best worst movies' lists and I know Lynch himself disowned it, famously using the alias Alan Smithee on some versions. I was terrified not only because I thought I would be let down, but, I was also terrified that I would love it.
I was scared to like it because of how bad of a reputation it has, I was scared that if I liked it, I would know that I was biased and blind to the mistakes made. Having loved the book (or the audiobook, which I opted for in the end), I finally sat down and watched the film.
I had a thoroughly good time.
Was the film incredible? No way! Was it awful? Not at all? Was it enjoyable because of its extreme charm and the obvious fact that it was a misguided passion project of the producers? Absolutely. I would happily rewatch Dune. You wouldn't have to give me anything, you wouldn't have to give me an incentive, I would just sit down and watch it. I do think this is Lynch's worst film, as do most, and I see a lot of problems; for instance, the film is a pretty much direct adaptation of the book, meaning the pacing is very strange and, due to a few characters being completely cut out to keep things 'simple', it is often disjointed. The special effects are less than favourable and the performances are theatrical to the point of some of them being funny. Those things, however, do not stop the charm. Though Dune may not be at all cerebral like Lynch's other work and it may not even look great, like his other films, Dune is like a playground. It looks like the cast and crew had so much fun creating this work and, above all else, that translates on screen. Kyle McLachlan running around shouting words such as 'Gom Jabbar and 'Bene Gesserit is just something that won't be found anywhere else. The film exists as the very definition of style over substance, with the style being the definition of eighties sci-fi, with horribly bright lights, questionable costumes and big, grand sets, some of which are rather impressive.
To me, Dune symbolises how others probably see my adoration of Lynch's work. It's a load of things happening at once in a highly disjointed way that only makes a little bit of sense when you really spend time digging into it. I enjoy Dune not because of its artistic merit (which is absent) but because of the effort that went into it, the story that it tells through its failure. I think Lynch had to make this film to progress onto the rest of his films, I think he had to fail. I think that the fact that Dune was made this way was fantastic because it guided Lynch down the path of securing control on all of his films that followed this. I love Dune because it has given Lynch so many opportunities to speak about why he failed and about what he did wrong. Seeing the man who I do genuinely believe is the greatest artist to have lived speak about where he went wrong is inspiring. He obviously gets upset about the film but knows it was a learning curve and knows it will be an example for many young filmmakers like myself of what not to do.
Final Statement
After all this, perhaps I am biased. Perhaps this piece of writing is just a rambling of someone who is completely and utterly biased but unaware. Perhaps I've been hypnotised and I will never escape my love of Lynch, even if his upcoming Unrecorded Night is a series of videos of paint drying.
I know I speak about Lynch incessantly, which must get old pretty quickly, but hopefully, this will give you some solid reasons, some idea of just how much his work means to me and just how much it has guided, will guide and will always influence not only my prospective career (big or small) but also my life.
The impact Lynch has had on me as a person is immeasurable and immersing myself in his art every day, mentally or physically is almost like the need to eat and drink.
Thank you very, very much for getting to the end of this extremely long piece of writing. I hope you've enjoyed it or at least gotten something valuable from it. Thank you for listening to my gushing.
- Jay.