By David Foster Wallace
Ostensibly a suite record at the filming of misplaced street for prime journal yet in fact a way more bold piece than that; as you could in simple terms count on from Foster Wallace. this is often extra a nuanced (and very humorous) interrogation of the total Lynchian aesthetic with Wallace attempting to get directly in his personal brain why he's so occupied with Lynch's work.
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Extra info for David Lynch Keeps His Head
Don't forget to lock the doors the fishes [unreadable] me they hate me. Love form DANA In the painting, what's moving is that the text of the note is superimposed such that parts of the mother's head obscure the words - those are the "[unreadable]" parts. I do not know whether Lynch has a child named Dana, but consideringwho the artist is, plus the painting's child's evident situation and pain, it seems both deeply moving and sort of sick that Lynch would display this piece on a wall in his movie.
Certainly plenty of critics have observed, with Kael, that in Lynch's movies "There's very little art between you and the filmmaker's psyche (not even the Lynch-crazy French film pundits who've made his movies the subject of more than two dozen essays in Cahiers du Cinema - the French apparently regard Lynch as God, though the fact that they also regard Jerry Lewis as God might salt the compliment a bit . ) 42 198 David Foster Wallace . . " They've noted the preponderance of fetishes and fixations in Lynch's work, his characters' lack of conventional introspection (an introspection which in film equals "subjectivity"), his sexualization of everything from an amputated limb to a bathrobe's sash, from a skull to a "heart plug,"43 from split lockets to length-cut timber.
It brought home to us -via images, the medium we were suckled on and most credulous of -that the very most important artistic communications took place at a level that not only wasn't intellectual but wasn't even fully conscious, that the unconscious's true medium wasn't verbal but imagistic, and that whether the images were Realistic or Postmodern or Expressionistic or Surreal or what-the-hellever was less important than whether they felt true, whether they rang psychic cherries in the communicatee.