by Christina Seymour

Lynch on Lynch is a book of interviews with a man who dislikes talking about his art—intrigued? As he says, “I don’t like talking about things too much because, unless you’re a poet, when you talk about it, a big thing becomes smaller.” This book is a breeze because Lynch says things just like that, simply and with innocence. And with refreshingly skewed imagination:

“You know what dogs are like in a room? They really look like they’re having fun. They’re bouncing a ball around and chewing on stuff and they’re kind of panting and happy. Human beings are supposed to be like that. We should be pretty happy. And I don’t know why we’re not.”

“Black has depth. It’s like a little egress; you can go into it, and because it keeps on continuing to be dark, the mind kicks in, and a lot of things that are going on there become manifest. And you start seeing what you’re afraid of. You start seeing what you love, and it becomes like a dream.”

Maybe Lynch is a poet in disguise.