Passing Through

David Lynch passed away today at the age of 78. The world feels a little dimmer without his enigmatic presence, but his legacy remains luminous. My friend Aaron Barker said something that struck me deeply: "We are so lucky to have shared the earth with him and to watch his movies come out in real time, in theaters." I couldn’t agree more. Experiencing Lynch’s films as they debuted—a new puzzle to unravel, a new dream to inhabit—was nothing short of a privilege.

Beyond his films, I’ve always been drawn to his other creative pursuits—his paintings, sculptures, and the raw, tactile worlds he created outside of celluloid. I’d love to see some of his larger works in person someday. There’s a visceral energy to the footage of him painting on his patio, cigarette in hand, surrounded by Los Angeles light and shadows. Something about that scene—the juxtaposition of his methodical chaos and the serene environment—feels universally appealing. It reminds me of how creating art can feel like carving a sanctuary out of the ordinary.

Of course, Lynch’s patio was perched on Mulholland Drive in Los Angeles, a place that served as a muse and backdrop to much of his work. And here I am, on Dogwood Drive in Hapeville. But perhaps that’s the beauty of it—art blooms anywhere, in any space we carve for it. There’s something serendipitous about reflecting on Lynch’s creative spaces now, as I’m contemplating setting up my own. A little haven where ideas can ferment and evolve, where raw energy can take shape, and where the everyday can be transformed into something extraordinary.

David Lynch taught us to embrace the strange and the beautiful, to find the sacred in the surreal. He showed us that art is not confined by geography or convention—it’s born of a desire to create, to understand, to connect. Today, as I think of Lynch and his patio, I’m inspired to build my own space. Maybe it won’t overlook the glittering lights of LA, but it will be mine. And that’s enough.

Rest well, Mr. Lynch. Thank you for the dreams.