Roy Galán just wrote this stunning tribute to David Lynch (translation by DeepL):
In a world deeply committed to transparency, drowned in the explicit, immersed in that imperious need to understand everything until there is nothing left but the language that has been ruined by so much use, David Lynch’s cinema has given us the veiled, that which cannot be grasped, that which is elusive, everything that vanishes when we think about it.
Lynch did not teach us to daydream, but to wake up in dreams. In that disturbing and disturbing lucidity because it makes a fissure in our reality, everything that is there behind our eyelids, in our heads. The images of his cinema are lodged between yours, to then grow without permission inside you: images that are like an echo, that beat, that stay. An ear cut off in the grass. A woman cradling a log. Two women in a stalls, holding hands. A creature that does not stop crying. The good fairy who visits us.
Cinema has the ability to abruptly interrupt your story to make it bigger, to make you inhabit more space and more time than you simply have. It also has the ability to be a place to return to, a landscape that no one can demolish, change, gentrify or improve. Movies are a perfect replica of your first home, everything (but you) is in the same place it was the first time you lived there.
David Lynch’s films will always be an opportunity to ask the fire to walk with us, to defend the unknown.
And, like his films but in a different and much more modest way, I feel like this image will never stop giving:
