Mysteries Of Love

In memory of David Lynch.

Remembering David Lynch, who passed away on January 15th. A wave of tributes has followed, and we want to build on this by celebrating his enduring legacy and spirit.

Silencio. A blue box emerges, bathed in darkness. It has an otherworldly triangular keyhole, emitting a steady industrial hum amidst its chrome beauty. A woman sings but then faints. The singing remains. It was just a recording. You feel all of this. But what does it mean? It’s a dream that you return to again and again, replaying it as it fades out.

Lynch’s work usually leaves his audience with many questions—but certainly no definitive answers. In the sleeve of Mulholland Drive, Lynch playfully leans into this by providing ten “clues” that might help the audience go deeper into the mystery. How they interpret that mystery is up to them. One YouTube clip breaks down every symbol in Mulholland so painstakingly that it feels like it misses the point. Lynch would probably love this variety of interpretation, though… as long as the person didn’t look to him for answers. Kyle MacLachlan joked that he didn’t always know what was going on when Lynch directed him, but when it comes to how to interpret him, he puts it perfectly: “He valued you as a unique individual to make of it what you wished.”

What emerges is a philosophy that suggests being at ease with the world lies within this approach—the ability to be happy asking your own questions and knowing that definitive answers don’t really exist out there. His passing, amidst the backdrop of the LA fires, raises just as many questions. But his meditating ascension at least assures us that he remained at peace as he made his journey. Everyone who has paid tribute offers a unique window into how David touched and continues to touch their life. MacLachlan says Lynch literally created him.

Chrysta Bell offers us hope that he has just moved to a new phase when she mentions the cardinal that flew to her when he passed—reminiscent of the end of Blue Velvet, when the robins come and bring “blinding love.” From that inner circle of loved ones to people on the extremities—fans of his movies, painting, music, to the Twin Peaks superfans (showing handmade doilies of each character)—they have been pouring forth to show how he has shaped their lives.

What is striking is that these impressions are all nuanced. None are the same. One portrait seller in India did not even know who he was, yet sold portraits of him as a “White God.” Somehow, he was drawn to his energy after encountering his image. Like Lynch said: “We are like the dreamer who dreams, and then lives inside the dream.” He created whole worlds for people to dream in, and you can feel that thread running through all the tributes that have been pouring forth.

“We are like the dreamer who dreams, and then lives inside the dream”

The journey towards film only began because he was a painter who sought to make “moving paintings.” After Six Men Getting Sick, he gained more and more momentum until The Grandmother got him a place at the American Film Institute, where Eraserhead was made. Painting remained a key facet of his artistic life. In his later years, he seemed to live in the studio, painting and smoking cigarettes (until he gave up a few years ago), reveling in these simple components. Works like Raw Meat Bird, with its textured bloody bulge set against a gold background, still hold the same mystery that runs through all his work. As in his films, his fascination with natural decay was something he explored in every medium.

For the series Shaky Flies in the Mud, he again refused to elaborate on any “meaning.” He preferred that the audience feel something themselves. The most he would say was that he “loved texture.” Feeling was also something Lynch could transmit to his actors—often communicating with them wordlessly. Sometimes, he would simply look into their eyes and say, “Okay?” without having said anything prior. His work taps into a deep reservoir of emotion that transcends the limitations of words. We never know why Frank in Blue Velvet connects so intensely to Roy Orbison’s In Dreams, yet we feel it. The high notes visibly pain him, taking him to some other place. Hopper’s character keeps calling the track “Candy-Colored Clown”—like a baby needing its pacifier.

Sound plays a major role in the feel of Lynch’s work: from the signature industrial hum he layered into certain scenes to the longing, ascending score of Twin Peaks, conceived with longtime collaborator Angelo Badalamenti. He also knew when not to use sound—like in Lost Highway, when the party music fades out as the Mystery Man appears, creating an unsettling effect.

Twin Peaks: The Return was often lovingly bookended with haunting musical performances by a rotation of artists at the Roadhouse. Over time, Lynch gravitated more toward sound, creating albums that merged his love of ’50s music with industrial elements, like Crazy Clown Time. One of his latest works, the powerful Cellophane Memories, saw him collaborate with Chrysta Bell. Her vocals provide a haunting, emotionally resonant life raft amidst a soaring, ambient soundscape.

“Keep your eye on the donut and not on the hole”

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His work always leaves the audience “room to dream,” as it was one of the things he valued most. The only time I’ve ever seen him angry or remotely phased is in a clip where he rages against curbing the creative process for tight, studio-enforced scheduling:

“It just drives me nuts that we have to do it in two days. We were always up against the clock. This is absolutely horrible.
We never get any extra shots.
We never get any time to experiment.
We never get to go dreamy or anything.
I could have spent a week in the Fireman’s, I loved that place, and dreamed up all kinds of stuff.”

This creative lifeblood is explored in his book Catching the Big Fish, where he likens the best and most worthwhile ideas to the big fish that swim in deep waters. Yes, there will be things in the shallows. But the truly rewarding ideas take time and exploration.  The genesis of Eraserhead over a number of years—while living in the basement of his film school—is a prime example. Part of that was due to budgetary constraints, but it also aided his creative process. He was always able to “beat the page” and go beyond the constraints of writing, improvising magic in real life.His exploration of ideas began at a young age. Growing up in 1950s Boise, Idaho, whenever he came to his parents with an idea, they would never reject it. Instead, they would get the toolbox out and help him bring it to life. This sensibility only deepened when he embraced Transcendental Meditation in the 1970s. He later promoted its benefits for others, founding the David Lynch Foundation in 2005 to help people heal from stress.

The term Lynchian is even in the OED, defined as juxtaposing the everyday and mundane with the sinister. While his work is often noted for its darkness, I don’t think he is dark just for the sake of style. Rather, he is so keenly perceptive that he taps into a darkness already lurking beneath the surface, giving it form and symbol—it is always balanced. There is great light in his work too. A joy in simple pleasures, embodied in characters like Dale Cooper, who delights in cherry pie, the smell of a Douglas fir, or “a damn fine cup of coffee.” These small joys were ones Lynch himself cherished. You could see this in his daily weather reports, his posts appreciating a single song or thought, or even in how he fixed his favorite trousers with glue. He was never happier than when turning the Big Boy diner into his own office—getting into a sugar-fueled flow state and jotting ideas on napkins. So beyond the work, Lynch lives on through the enthusiastic spirit from which all of it was born—one completely devoted to “the art life.” A spirit that gives hope to dreamers everywhere. A magical thinker, he encouraged each of us to nurture creativity in whatever small way we can. To take joy in creativity in its purest forms and not allow ourselves to be defeated.

As he would say: “Keep your eye on the donut and not on the hole.”
That spirit will live on in all those who continue to be inspired by him.

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Mysteries Of Love

Credits:

Artist: David Lynch / @davidlynchfoundation
Text: Jamie Macleod Bryden / @jamiemacleodbryden
Editor: Maria Abramenko  / @mariabramenko
Assistant: Annalisa Fabbrucci / @annalisa_fabbrucci

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