RIP David Lynch

Fix your hearts or die.

Howdy, friend.

I don’t react publicly to celebrity deaths often, but the news of David Lynch’s passing hit me hard.

At the tail end of high school, I was planning on studying literature and creative writing in college. Then I came across a passed-around copy of Lynch’s Lost Highway. It’s hard to describe how Lost Highway made me feel. Weird? Unsettled? I watched that VHS until the cover was worn, then passed it to a friend who I thought needed more mystery in his life.

Lost Highway was my first dive into Lynch, and from there I devoured as much I could get my hands on from my local Blockbuster, reveling in how his work made me question everything. At a time when I was searching for meaning, Lynch helped me see what art could be—and who I could be as an artist. Like the literature I’d later discover in college, this film showed me how profound and serious film could be. So, I decided I would study that in college, too.

There’s a clear throughline in how I’ve returned to my illustration work by way of literature and film, especially the latter. Film unlocked a deeper understanding of how imagery work and how they make us feel. In many ways, David Lynch is the reason I’m working now as an illustrator.

But he means something else to me, too. When I began the long journey of letting my gray hair grow out—the “real” me I’d been so afraid to face, thanks to a lifetime of body dysmorphia—I saw an interview he gave for Twin Peaks: The Return. His silver pompadour bobbed messily with every nod, shimmering under studio lights. He pulled it off effortlessly. He was gray and stylish. That vision helped me see a path forward in my own gray journey—a path toward healing.

Thank you, David Lynch, for the art, the self-acceptance, and the meaning-making you’ve inspired in so many of us. ♡

– RJR