David Lynch: The Art Life

1

I think every time you do something

like a painting or whatever,

you...

you go with ideas.

And sometimes the past

can conjure those ideas and color them.

Even if they're new ideas,

the past colors them.

I was born in Missoula, Montana.

Then my parents got a house

in Sandpoint, Idaho,

and I lived there for two years.

So, I remember Sandpoint, Idaho.

Little Dickie Smith, my friend,

he and I

sat in a mud puddle under this tree.

My mother dug a hole, or my dad did,

that we could sit in in the hot weather,

and they'd fill it with, you know,

water from the hose,

and we'd sit in this mud puddle.

It was so beautiful.

And you get to squeeze mud

and sit with your friend

under the shade of this tree?

Forget it.

And then they moved

to Spokane, Washington.

In those days,

my world was very, very small.

It extended up to this grocery store

in one direction

and down to a friend's house,

which was, like, two houses down.

And then the other direction

down to my friend Bobby's house.

Mostly, we played outdoors all day

and we made our own guns

and we would play war.

And I would draw rifles and pistols

and airplanes and knives

and things like that

'cause the war

was still kind of freshly over

and, you know, somehow we all got into it.

Because I was always drawing,

my mother did...

This is the greatest thing she did.

One of the greatest things.

She refused

to ever have me have coloring books.

She did not do that

for my brother or my sister.

Somehow,

a really beautiful thing came to her

that those would be restrictive...

and kill some kind of creativity.

And she did not...

ever tell any off-color jokes.

She was totally against any racism.

She was religious,

but not preachy about it.

She was a, what you call,

a very warm and good person.

But she wasn't demonstrative.

She wouldn't grab your cheeks

and kiss you.

Not in a million years.

But you knew that she loved you

and wanted the best for you

and expected you

to, uh, live in a certain proper way.

I never heard my parents argue ever

about anything.

They got along like Ike and Mike.

Super happy household.

You know, as I look back,

I didn't think anything of it,

but I had tremendous freedom.

Nobody was overbearing.

It was as if there was

just a foundation of love,

and off we went, you know,

each in our own direction.

One night,

I kind of have the feeling

it was in the fall and it was pretty late.

Usually, my father would go outside

and yell,

"John?

David?"

And that would bring us home.

But this night, it must've been,

I don't know, close to that time.

It seemed to be pretty late.

I don't know what we were doing,

but from across Shoshoni Avenue...

out of the darkness

comes this...

like, uh, kind of like a strangest dream.

Because I've never seen

an adult woman naked.

And she had beautiful, pale, white skin...

and she was completely naked.

And I think her mouth was bloodied.

And she kind of came strangely...

walking strangely across Shoshoni

and came into Park Circle Drive.

And it seemed like

she was sort of like a giant.

And she came closer and closer,

and my brother started to cry.

Something was bad wrong with her.

And I don't know what happened,

but I think she sat down on a curb, crying.

But it was very mysterious,

like we were seeing

something otherworldly.

And I wanted to do something for her,

but I was little.

I didn't know what to do.

And I don't remember any more than that.

Like I said, maybe, you know,

my world was no bigger

than a couple of blocks...

up until high school.

Really no bigger than a few blocks.

And that's why I say huge worlds

are in, you know, those two blocks.

Huge.

Everything's there.

Everything.

And you could live in one place

and have everything.

The night before we left Boise...

it was a summer night,

but it wasn't, uh,

a joyful summer night.

There's a triangle of grass

between our house and the Smiths' house.

And at the base of the triangle,

there's a tree.

And... I must have said good-bye

to everybody.

The whole family was out there.

My dad was out there.

I think my brother and sister

were out there.

I don't know if my mom was there.

She might've been just inside the house.

And the Smiths were all out.

We were just out there.

And Mr. Smith came out.

And...

I can't tell the story.

I just... I never talk to Mr. Smith...

hardly ever...

but, boy...

Then we went to Virginia,

and the day I started school,

there was a huge hurricane.

And the rain was coming down.

You couldn't hardly see the school.

It was, like, dark almost.

It was so thick, this storm.

There were two other guys

starting school...

and those two guys became my friends,

but...

they were not the friends I should've had.

See, Boise, Idaho...

seemed like sunshine...

green grass, mowed lawns.

Such a cheerful place.

Such a great place.

Virginia seemed like always night.

And...

I developed spasms of the intestines.

I was... It was total turmoil.

I was smoking cigarettes...

uh, going into DC and drinking...

and sneaking out of the house at night.

It was, um...

It was like... It was almost like...

I couldn't...

control it, you know?

It just... It just

was what was happening.

My mother's

main saying to me a lot

was, "I'm very disappointed in you."

I was real busy...

not doing what she wanted,

especially when I was in the ninth grade.

I got in with a bad bunch

and got into a lot of trouble,

but I... I was really

living in hell.

I had to live two different lives,

and I always felt

that she thought...

And I don't know why she thought this,

and I don't know where this thing came in,

but I had the feeling

she thought

I had something really good in me,

you know, like a high potential.

So the reason that she would say

she was disappointed in me

is when she didn't see that thing.

Not as an artist,

but like just some kind of thing.

I don't know where she latched onto that,

but I kept kind of letting her down.

I never studied.

I never did anything.

I hated it so much.

I hated it, like, with powerful hate.

The only thing that was important

is what happened outside of school,

and that had huge impact on me.

People and relationships,

slow-dancing parties,

big, big love

and dreams.

Dark, fantastic dreams.

Incredible time.

I had a girlfriend named Linda Styles.

And one night...

And it was about 9:30 or 10:00.

Somehow I was on the front lawn

of Linda Styles' house

and I'm meeting this kid, Toby Keeler,

who didn't go to Hammond High School.

He went to private school.

And Toby told me his father was a painter,

and that, you know, kind of realization

that you could be a painter

popped... You know...

blew all the wiring.

And that's what I wanted to do

from that second.

So I begged him to take me

to his father's studio.

And at that time, Bushnell Keeler

had a studio in Georgetown.

And I only actually saw it once,

that next weekend.

I went... Toby took me,

Rate this script:0.0 / 0 votes