What's trivial about it?

I agree, and that's a great quote. This is what always happens when I make threads about aesthetics; I just agree with everyone. So boring. :P

But I don't think a majority of posters here would agree with that idea of experience driving their philosophy. Or rather, they're unaware that it does, and so would disagree.

What's trivial about it? — Noble Dust

It's infertile. Where do we go from there? It's not provocative for any sort of change or revelation. Just another truth, like 2+2=4.

So far you've just made assertions that it's trivial; I was hoping you had an argument to make about it.

So far you've just made assertions that it's trivial; I was hoping you had an argument to make about it. — Noble Dust

Well I've explained that I meant that it's not productive - we have nowhere to go from it. And I've provoked you - threw you a bone - to tell me where we go from it to prove me wrong X-)

But I don't think a majority of posters here would agree with that idea of experience driving their philosophy. Or rather, they're unaware that it does, and so would disagree. — Noble Dust

I'm old now, but I was a pretty screwed up kid. I didn't know what I felt. I was numb a lot of the time. I've spent decades learning to become aware of my internal life emotions, thoughts, patterns. Also, I'm an engineer and I've had to spend a lot of time understanding the basis of reasons behind my professional actions. I generally know what I know and how I know it. What I believe and why I believe it.

Also, I'm an engineer — T Clark

And I'm a non-practicing engineer :P >:O

I don't feel provoked; I'm getting bored. How does the idea that "we don't have anywhere to go" from the realization that it's up to us to make sense of our lives make that realization trivial? That doesn't make sense.

I'm a screwed up kid myself (I think you have to be in order to enjoy the new Twin Peaks), so I appreciate the wisdom.

Which parts? — Noble Dust

Are you asking which parts Mark Frost had a hand in or which parts made sense? If the latter, on a literal level the entire thing made sense. The fireman has to put out the 'fire' (nuke goes off and the bell starts ringing) and has enlisted numerous agents to get the job done. The FBI are also working to this end and have informants like Ray in Dopple-Cooper's gang.

But underlying that is the metaphysical attitudes concerning Lynch's own philosophy. And this is the interpretational part, that "everything that is a thing comes from consciousness" and that it may all be a story of someone making sense of their abuse by their father (Laura is the one).
No matter how she tries to escape, she always wakes up back to its reality. So in a very real way she is pulling her reality together to justify it.

This Lost Highway quote is a fairly good summary for that:

Ed: Do you own a video camera?

Renee Madison: No. Fred hates them.

Fred Madison: I like to remember things my own way.

Ed: What do you mean by that?

Fred Madison: How I remembered them. Not necessarily the way they happened. — Lost Highway

If the latter, on a literal level the entire thing made sense. The fireman has to put out the 'fire' (nuke goes off and the bell starts ringing) and has enlisted numerous agents to get the job done. The FBI are also working to this end and have informants like Ray in Dopple-Cooper's gang. — JupiterJess

There are connections like that which make sense, yes, but that's not "the entire thing". Even something so simple as "has anyone seen Billy?", or why there were so many one-off characters having conversations at the Roadhouse, are more of what I'm referring to. As for the weirder moments, it's still unclear to me what the frog-bug was, and who's mouth it went into. But I mostly agree with you.

And this is the interpretational part, that "everything that is a thing comes from consciousness" and that it may all be a story of someone making sense of their abuse by their father (Laura is the one). — JupiterJess

Yeah, I really loved that he brought her back in. That was unexpected to me. I think that's a valid interpretation. I always interpreted the first two seasons as trying to make sense of sexual abuse in general, and the "cycle of abuse"; I interpret Leland's lines in his death scene to mean that Bob was also a real person who abused him in his childhood.

We, the observers are as necessary as the artist, as the work, as the whole history of art.
— Cavacava

Yeah, again, i've made that point on this forum for awhile now. I'm not sure how it's a response to my question about beauty being it's own referent.

Your question is in response to my statement that art:

If it had a purpose then it could not be beautiful, because what is beautiful must be beautiful as such with no ulterior motive or interest beyond itself as it is.

What I mean here is that there is no interest extraneous to the work, which makes the work beautiful. A work of art such as many of Norman Rockwell's Saturday Evening Post covers are witty and extremely well accomplished, but they are kitschy, because their aesthetic effect relies on our momentary empathetic response.

But what fascinates, what sets our imagination on fire is the work it self (not its context but certainly its contents)
— Cavacava

What? How can you say the audience is as important as the artist, and then say that context is not as important as content?

The beautiful work of art is a product of its context, but it is not a beautiful work of art unless it transcends that context, unless it is avant-garde, in this sense. A concept limits meaning to what is denoted by that concept, a beautiful work of art utilizes the free play of the imagination to illuminate new meanings beyond our ordinary concepts. [like Van Gogh's 'Shoes' The negative part of the dialectic.

Since all experiences are different there is no single correct interpretation as I said previously and as I think we have discussed in the past the experience of a work of art depends on how in tune one is with the work.
— Cavacava

Wait, so which is it, according to you? Is there no single correct interpretation of a work, or does "how in tune one is with the work" determine the interpretation?

Yes, there no single correct interpretation of a work of art, but some interpretations are better informed than others and several interpretations may share similar points. I don't think what is beautiful in a work of art can be pinned down into singular terms. The experience of a beautiful work of art transcends the art object, it plays with our imagination freeing it to explore new options, vistas, concepts and relationships. In order for this to happen the observer must connect with the work, on its level.

I wonder whether beautiful means 'beautiful' in the conventional sense in art. I think Lucien Freud's works are beautiful, but not in the way the word in generally taken.

Any Twin Peaks fans here? — Noble Dust

I binged watched the entire original series and most of the recent season in a few sittings (and the final few episodes as they were released)...

It's was definitely an oddessy. I would say that I'm a fan in the sense that I'll watch the inevitable next season, but like a lot of people I do take some umbrage with the most recent direction the show has taken.

This brings up an interesting philosophical problem: does art reflect reality? Should it? Does art carry an intrinsic message? Is Lynch, for instance, trying to specifically show us the weirdness of our everyday lives, or is he simply responding to an aesthetic instinct, and finding what the results seem to indicate only after the fact? Is this sort of surrealism-made-real philosophically nihilistic? The ending to this new season, for instance, was sickening; I literally felt sick after watching it and had trouble sleeping that night. Not because of any horror element, but because of the element of the unknowable; the meaninglessness that seemed to permeate the finale. — Noble Dust

[SPOILER WARNING]

The show begins like most murder mysteries do; idyllic setting, the introduction of ambiguous characters to relate to, and the sudden murder of a pure and innocent victim. The incredibly polite and pleasant agent Cooper instantly becomes the lovable center of the show: the main lens through which the audience deciphers the unfolding plot. For the entirety of the season, as Cooper's situation progressively worsens, I found myself mostly just hoping for Cooper to get a decent coffee, and clean lodgings - at a reasonable rates. The FBI itself becomes like an arbitrary standard of normalcy; consistent, well disciplined, and logical.

The assortment of FBI agents in my opinion and their lovable and arbitrary consistency is perhaps the only running theme which allows the viewer to maintain a superficially coherent perspective for the duration of the show (like a buoy of sanity). As Cooper unfolds the central mystery of the first two seasons, like the audience, he becomes utterly battered by absurdity and confusion as the answer to any question only leads further down the disturbing rabbit hole. By the time season two ends, Cooper becomes trapped in a figurative and literal prison of absurdity. Almost everything is shown to be a facade which gives way to mystery and confusion: the Idyllic nature of Twin Peaks, the purity and innocence of the original victim, and Cooper's firm and well regimented grasp of reality.

I'm not entirely familiar with the circumstances of the show's original cancellation, but it probably had something to do with the fact that the entire show became so confusedly turned on it's head that the audience just couldn't stomach it. Where was Lynch originally going to go had he produced the third season back in 1992 rather than "25 years later"? Well, he was probably going to have Cooper slowly claw his way back to normalcy by tying all the weird and mysterious elements of the show into a symbolic exploration of "consciousness" ( whose final message or meaning Lynch may or may not have actually planned out). He likely would have inter-twined all the side-plots into one inevitable conclusion, but since the audiences just couldn't digest it, twas cancelled.

At this point I should say that there's a particular phenomenon that greatly afflicts show-writing which occurs when a writer opens up mysteries and questions which they have no present idea of how to solve, and ideas whose meaning they wish to explore but have no guarantee of coming to any meaningful understanding of. Without planned endings, writers sometimes must scramble to tie everything up at the end, and that scramble makes for painful and displeasing conclusions. Originally I think the show did suffer from a bit of Lynch not having any sweet fucking clue where he was really going with everything, but as experimental art he could have done a lot worse. If he had the full deck of cards to complete the third season rather than having to continue the story with aged and missing characters, the third season probably could have delivered a satisfying conclusion (the defeat of Bob and the emancipation of Cooper from his physical and mental incarceration) but alas the ratings were not there.

People were intrigued by the show and it was very well produced, so it did develop a bit of a cult following, but the final straw that made the third season possible was a vague reference made during season two: "I'll see you in 25 years", which was a line delivered without context or explanation at the time (originally it most likely was an allusion to Coopers eventual death). 25 Years later, here we are with the third season. It's a great example of that "write mysteriously now, actually solve that mystery later" which the show is rife with.

At the outset of the third season, like the now mentally unhinged Cooper, as a viewer we really have no clue at all what is going. In some ways as connections are revealed and Cooper eventually regains his mental faculties things start to make more and more sense, but somewhere along the line the progress toward sanity halts, and Cooper and the audience are inexorably sucked back toward deeper mystery and more confusion (although Cooper himself seems to be informed by a mysterious guiding force which he trusts).

At the end of season three, Cooper and the audience are shat out into a fresh new hell of confusion where everything is different. "We live in a dream" can be an interesting idea, but not when it is used to leave behind so many loose ends; then it's just a tragic departure. The atmosphere of mystery that Lynch creates is initially what sucks us in to the show, but ultimately it becomes so pervasive that we yearn for normalcy. The fragility of perception and understanding is the main theme the show reflects, and it teaches us to appreciate the normalcy we do have. I don't think Lynch wanted to portray things as meaningless, but rather how meaningfullness can degrade into unknowable absurdity.

Like poor Bilbo Baggins in his tale "There and Back Again", we spend the majority of the experience wishing only to return to our comfortable hobbit hole of understanding, except there is never any "Back Again", and the destination is the terrifying and utterly unknown.

The idea is that life often doesn't make sense. — Noble Dust

This brings up an interesting philosophical problem: does art reflect reality? Should it? Does art carry an intrinsic message? — Noble Dust

I agree that life often doesn't make sense; in fact in a certain way I would say that it never makes sense, insofar as life is not susceptible to being understood in terms of the deliverances of the senses. It is (empirical) reality that always makes sense because it is the realm of the senses, it is what is always already understood in terms of the senses.

So art, inasmuch as it is art as opposed to mere representation, never "reflects reality", it reflects life, which is by no means the same thing.

The main thing to know about David Lynch is that he is not only a completely sick minded idiot, but that he's the sort of idiot that other people fall for. Nothing he has ever done was of any value. A sick mind spewed upon the world accepted by fools and money makers.

The main thing to know about David Lynch is that he is not only a completely sick minded idiot, but that he's the sort of idiot that other people fall for. Nothing he has ever done was of any value. A sick mind spewed upon the world accepted by fools and money makers. — charleton

Shut up! he explained.

What I mean here is that there is no interest extraneous to the work, which makes the work beautiful. — Cavacava

I'm not sure how an "interest" would make a work beautiful, but isn't context something extraneous to the work that makes it beautiful, as you say bellow, more or less?

The beautiful work of art is a product of its context, but it is not a beautiful work of art unless it transcends that context, unless it is avant-garde, in this sense. — Cavacava

Yes, there no single correct interpretation of a work of art, but some interpretations are better informed than others and several interpretations may share similar points. — Cavacava

Better informed about what? If there are lower and higher levels of being informed (education, if you will), does that mean there can only be better informed and less informed interpretations of art? If so, how would that matter if no interpretation is "correct"? What's the value of being better informed about a piece of art if there are no "wrong" interpretations? Why not just experience art without any information? I'm not sure you can have "no single correct interpretation", but then also have a hierarchy of interpretations. The hierarchy suggests an underlying objective value; "no right [and therefore no wrong] interpretations" doesn't suggest value beyond the subjectivity of the individual interpretation.

I binged watched the entire original series and most of the recent season in a few sittings (and the final few episodes as they were released)... — VagabondSpectre

I did the same thing, lol.



Interesting that the atheist here wants the comfort of the known, and the theist here relishes the nihilistic unknown in the show. :P

But on a surface level, I can understand why you weren't satisfied with the show. A lot of people weren't. I might be in the minority, I don't know. What appeals to me (along with the real as surreal piece that I talked about) is the classic Lynchian dream-logic. I have pretty vivid dreams, sometimes where the dream feels more real than the reality I wake up to. The last two episodes of the series felt just like that in a weird way. The surrealism felt...real. I guess at the end of the day I can only philosophize about the show so much; I enjoyed the show on a visceral, aesthetic level, which is how art should be enjoyed anyway. Lynch hit a deep nerve of some kind for me. Not the case for everyone.

So, Vagabond, do you think art reflects reality? Should it?

in fact in a certain way I would say that it never makes sense, insofar as life is not susceptible to being understood in terms of the deliverances of the senses. — Janus

Interesting distinction; when I say "doesn't make sense" I mean it colloquially; things don't work out the way we anticipated in our lives. I don't literally mean "sense" as in the five senses. I'm not sure why it would be necessary to address the question that way.

So art, inasmuch as it is art as opposed to mere representation, never "reflects reality", it reflects life, which is by no means the same thing. — Janus

I get that, but again, I'm struggling to see how you took the phrase "doesn't make sense" in order to make that point, when clearly that colloquial phrase isn't trying to make that distinction.

Interesting that the atheist here wants the comfort of the known, and the theist here relishes the nihilistic unknown in the show. :P — Noble Dust

I also find this interesting...

How can you really relish that much unknown though?. The final two episodes were in your words, nauseating.

If I had to describe that particular instance of nausea, it would be the result and angst resulting from having no sweet clue what is going on around you or what the immediate future might hold. It's something both my evolutionary endowed instincts and my rational mind utterly rebel against.

But on a surface level, I can understand why you weren't satisfied with the show. A lot of people weren't. I might be in the minority, I don't know. What appeals to me (along with the real as surreal piece that I talked about) is the classic Lynchian dream-logic. I have pretty vivid dreams, sometimes where the dream feels more real than the reality I wake up to. The last two episodes of the series felt just like that in a weird way. The surrealism felt...real. I guess at the end of the day I can only philosophize about the show so much; I enjoyed the show on a visceral, aesthetic level, which is how art should be enjoyed anyway. Lynch hit a deep nerve of some kind for me. Not the case for everyone. — Noble Dust

I can see the nerve that Lynch keeps rapping on, it's just that in myself it is perhaps dead or atrophied.

The show has a distinct existential message that it reveals through the medium of Cooper's metaphorical and somewhat literal descent into madness: the world is other than how we perceive; what really are we?

The constant subversion of expectations and the erection of mystery is the cognitive and emotional battery Lynch uses to strum that particular nerve. Perhaps as an atheist with a conscientiously constructed epistemological world view (one that is required to support my existential, moral, and emotional outlooks) I'm forced to rebel against this kind of ontological assault because so much of my understanding of everything is therefore at stake.

I wouldn't say the show was totally unsatisfying though, it just didn't satisfy me by offering me a useful understanding of things in the traditional sense. It turns that story telling model on it's head and instead communicates precisely that there may be a hard limit to the usefulness of our traditional understanding of things (our materialist, empirical, western understandings).

Here's a great example. In the following scene agent Cooper is explaining the origin of what he describes as an intuitive deductive technique. As the viewer the scene is interesting but ultimately we need to cut Lynch some creative slack to let him get away with it. After completing the series though, it's clear that this scene is one of the early salvos meant to chip away at our understanding of the world, to confuse us and make us doubt what we know, what can be known, and how we can know it.

This scene is dripping with the elements I've described: inexplicably taking place in a forested area, a comfortable helping of good coffee is applied to soothe and prepare us for the strange turns which are about to take place. Something like smooth jazz begins playing, like some kind of grease to make it all easier to swallow.



Whatever motivated Lynch to write this scene trying to write this scene also seems to be the main motivation behind the entire series: to make us question everything and to pull every thread until the entire garment has unraveled..

So, Vagabond, do you think art reflects reality? Should it? — Noble Dust

Art does reflect reality (what else should/could it reflect?), and yes I think it ought to. Twin Peaks reflects well the uncertainty and imperfection that is present in the human condition, and I think a major hurtle in life has to do with accepting dealing with that uncertainty and imperfection.

Perhaps as an atheist with a conscientiously constructed epistemological world view (one that is required to support my existential, moral, and emotional outlooks) I'm forced to rebel against this kind of ontological assault because so much of my understanding of everything is therefore at stake. — Noble Dust

I think that's it. The theistic sense of something "larger", "higher", etc, is actually compatible with the sense of the unknown. Apophatic theology has more potency vs. kataphatic. (sounds weird to suggest that TP would be compatible with theism. I'm sure any of my old church friends would be appalled by the show).

I wouldn't say the show was totally unsatisfying though, it just didn't satisfy me by offering me a useful understanding of things in the traditional sense. It turns that story telling model on it's head and instead communicates precisely that there may be a hard limit to the usefulness of our traditional understanding of things (our materialist, empirical, western understandings). — Noble Dust

Sounds like Lynch was successful then. :P

Here's a great example. In the following scene — Noble Dust

I actually found that scene completely hilarious, but I know what you mean, it was definitely a foreshadowing of the darker moments of confusion to come.

Personally the deeper reason I enjoyed the show, I think, is because of my current state of belief/philosophy. I'm kind of in limbo, and the sense of non-real limbo in the show actually has a weird comfort to it for me. I find it necessary to explore that place, whether in the show, my experience of it, or the realm of ideas. The scene where Diane sees herself standing by the motel entrance, with it's almost complete lack of ambient sound, was actually beautiful to me. Terrifying and beautiful at the same time (the hair on the back of my neck literally bristled when that happened). I would say the same for the horror of the last scene of the season.

Art does reflect reality (what else should/could it reflect?) — VagabondSpectre

Potential reality, for one.

Interesting distinction; when I say "doesn't make sense" I mean it colloquially; things don't work out the way we anticipated in our lives. I don't literally mean "sense" as in the five senses. I'm not sure why it would be necessary to address the question that way. — Noble Dust

To say that things don't make sense is not to say that they "don't work out the way we anticipated in our lives" but is to say that we cannot understand them, that they do not fit into the context of our general human understanding of reality. This "general human understanding of reality" is precisely the understanding which is given in terms of the intelligibility of the world delivered to us by the senses. Things are real to us when they make sense; and are surreal when the normal (causal) connections between events cannot be seen to obtain; that is when they don't make sense.

So art, inasmuch as it is art as opposed to mere representation, never "reflects reality", it reflects life, which is by no means the same thing. — Janus


I get that, but again, I'm struggling to see how you took the phrase "doesn't make sense" in order to make that point, when clearly that colloquial phrase isn't trying to make that distinction. — Noble Dust

I didn't refer to the phrase "doesn't make sense" at all in that response to your question. I am making the distinction between reality and life; where the former is understood as a collective representation and the latter is subjective affection. What do you mean by 'reality'?

Do want to prohibit others from extending and developing what they find in your OP, and insist that they not stray from exactly how you want to interpret the ideas you have presented there?

To say that things don't make sense is not to say that they "don't work out the way we anticipated in our lives" but is to say that we cannot understand them, that they do not fit into the context of our general human understanding of reality. This "general human understanding of reality" is precisely the understanding which is given in terms of the intelligibility of the world delivered to us by the senses. Things are real to us when they make sense; and are surreal when the normal (causal) connections between events cannot be seen to obtain; that is when they don't make sense. — Janus

Alright, that makes sense.

I didn't refer to the phrase "doesn't make sense" at all in that response to your question. — Janus

You said:

I agree that life often doesn't make sense; in fact in a certain way I would say that it never makes sense, — Janus

But I guess that's not the exactly the same, apologies.

Do want to prohibit others from extending and developing what they find in your OP, and insist that they not stray from exactly how you want to interpret the ideas you have presented there? — Janus

I would have hoped you would know the answer is no; did it not come across that way?

I would have hoped you would know the answer is no; did it not come across that way? — Noble Dust

No, not really; I was just being provocative. :)

I think that's it. The theistic sense of something "larger", "higher", etc, is actually compatible with the sense of the unknown. Apophatic theology has more potency vs. kataphatic. (sounds weird to suggest that TP would be compatible with theism. I'm sure any of my old church friends would be appalled by the show). — Noble Dust

I have a suspicion that if your Church friends could get past some of the sex and violence of the show they would actually be fascinated by it. Magical realism (in terms of the existential implications of the plot, as opposed to the epistemic one's I've outlined) is very much an emotional boon of theism. Transferable souls, essence, good and evil; TP is deeply nested within a traditionally theological alley.

Sounds like Lynch was successful then. :P — Noble Dust

Well yes and no. It's a lesson I've already learned throughout the course of confronting the gaps in my own understanding of the world and exploring the epistemological limits of observation, empiricism, and reason.

Through TP, Lynch makes us wonder whether or not some strange and imperceptible reality may actually be the case (what are we?), but to actually be impacted by this dilemma we need to go through an actual experience which makes it fundamentally real and relevant to our lives.

Without this experience, like Yetis and ghost stories, the extraordinary realities depicted by TP become mere possibilities of what really exists (what we really are). Without any real evidence each successive extraordinary claim becomes more obscure and less verifiable than the last; less intellectually extraordinary. At a certain depth of speculation, the possibilities become so numerous that none of them seem special, like turtles all the way down.

I do enjoy entertaining those possibilities which raise interesting questions, but intellectually I'm all to aware that fundamentally it's all speculation that exists in a space I believe it is impossible to rationally navigate. I do live with the understanding that nothing or almost nothing I think I know is absolutely certain or a ground floor of reality. As an atheist with a supposedly god-shaped hole, constructing moral and epistemic foundations (from very scarce and minimal starting points when bereft of "God") has absorbed the lions share of my intellect, and as a result they're minimal and robust. New evidence of hidden realities such as TP describes could come along, and there is room in my psyche for me to accept it, but without that evidence these speculations of hidden realities do not challenge my current "knowledge" in any relevant or new way.

I actually found that scene completely hilarious, but I know what you mean, it was definitely a foreshadowing of the darker moments of confusion to come.

Personally the deeper reason I enjoyed the show, I think, is because of my current state of belief/philosophy. I'm kind of in limbo, and the sense of non-real limbo in the show actually has a weird comfort to it for me. I find it necessary to explore that place, whether in the show, my experience of it, or the realm of ideas. The scene where Diane sees herself standing by the motel entrance, with it's almost complete lack of ambient sound, was actually beautiful to me. Terrifying and beautiful at the same time (the hair on the back of my neck literally bristled when that happened). I would say the same for the horror of the last scene of the season. — Noble Dust

Have you ever seen or read "Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency"? (there's a British reboot of the show which is quite good). If you haven't seen it I do recommend it (Frodo is in it!!!). In a way it's like TP but instead of discomfort being the result of enduring mystery and confusion, serendipity and trust come to dominate. [SPOILER ALERT] The Dirk Gently series communicates the concept of 'the interconnected-ness of everything" and like TP uses hidden an mysterious magical truths as thematic plot mechanics. I absolutely love the show (much more than TP) because it explores the unknown with a fantastical but ultimately appealing and intriguing direction as opposed fear and discomfort as destinations.

It's true that I would like it if these hidden and fantastic truths such as alternate dimensions, the interconnectedness of everything, and a benevolent God, actually were the way things really are , and so the entertaining escapism of exploring these ideas is indeed enjoyable to me. Rationally speaking though they are but flights of fancy...

Potential reality, for one. — Noble Dust

I'm reminded of a discussion I think we had (I almost always remember the ideas I discuss, but I easily forget who I discussed them with) where I outlined my approximately categorical rejection of a certain genre of lofty claims. Possibilities like eternal souls and alternate dimensions are among the most interesting and appealing ideas that are out there, but they're also among the least substantiated ideas that are out there. The revealed "fictional truth" contained in TP is in some sense a possible reality, and thus it reflects in some way what we know or can know (or don't yet know) about reality. I suppose art could reflect nothing from reality, but how then could we ever interpret it? Even abstract art can be taken as a reflection of an abstract and absurd aspect of life itself.

If I had to sum up my beef in a single sentence, it would not be that TP paints a picture of reality which I object to, but rather that Lynch is merely painting a picture of his own broad uncertainties (epistemic, existential, ontological, etc...) and so doesn't himself know where he is going. We're just along for the thrill ride on his roller-coaster of confusion, and into the apparent darkness of the unknown.

[SPOILER ALERT]

Cooper has already escaped the Black Lodge and overcome it. Perhaps the White Lodge will inevitably be reached if Lynch can find a way to get there. Where he is currently at is perhaps encapsulated in this quote from Windome Earle when he describes the White lodge:

"Once upon a time, there was a place of great goodness, called the White Lodge. Gentle fawns gamboled there amidst happy, laughing spirits. The sounds of innocence and joy filled the air. And when it rained, it rained sweet nectar that infused one's heart with a desire to live life in truth and beauty. Generally speaking, a ghastly place, reeking of virtue's sour smell. Engorged with the whispered prayers of kneeling mothers, mewling newborns, and fools, young and old, compelled to do good without reason ... But, I am happy to point out that our story does not end in this wretched place of saccharine excess. For there's another place, its opposite:"

I think Lynch views reason as loveless and inherently shrouded in darkness, which makes sense given the direction of the show's first two seasons. In 25 years, since, do you think Lynch might have changed much?

What I mean here is that there is no interest extraneous to the work, which makes the work beautiful.
— Cavacava

I'm not sure how an "interest" would make a work beautiful, but isn't context something extraneous to the work that makes it beautiful, as you say bellow, more or less?

The beauty in a work of art evolves dialectically out of its normative context. The negation of what is contained in the concept of the object enables new concepts to be formed or associated with the object. The beauty in the work frees our imagination from the normative constraints of our concept of the object which enables us to associate new ideas, concepts with objects such as with Van Gogh's shoes. [/quote]

Yes, there no single correct interpretation of a work of art, but some interpretations are better informed than others and several interpretations may share similar points.
— Cavacava

Better informed about what? If there are lower and higher levels of being informed (education, if you will), does that mean there can only be better informed and less informed interpretations of art? If so, how would that matter if no interpretation is "correct"? What's the value of being better informed about a piece of art if there are no "wrong" interpretations? Why not just experience art without any information? I'm not sure you can have "no single correct interpretation", but then also have a hierarchy of interpretations. The hierarchy suggests an underlying objective value; "no right [and therefore no wrong] interpretations" doesn't suggest value beyond the subjectivity of the individual interpretation.

I believe that our judgement of what is or is not aesthetically pleasing is a question of taste and some people have a better senses of taste than others. A person who is tone deaf is not going to have the same taste as a person with perfect pitch. Who would you rather hear whistle a tune?

A great work of art is a unique experience that expands our horizons. The value of an interpretation of a work of art lies in its ability to describe the work and some descriptions are better than others. Whether it is superior knowledge, or sheer talent, it does not make a difference. A good interpretation provides a guide for the observer, it establishes connections which may not be apparent to all observers. The experience of a work of art is personal, but it may be enriched if you understand more about the work. I would have had no idea of Radiohead's hidden syncopation in its "Videotape" without the tube video, it was there but I was unaware, now I listen for the beat, and it enriches my experience of the song.

I have a suspicion that if your Church friends — VagabondSpectre

Old church friends. ;) Not that I wouldn't associate with them, just that I don't anymore, by nature of having "fallen away"... That being said, you'd be surprised; I know a few folks (my older brother included) who, as Christians, are fairly open to these sorts of ideas. The stereotypes don't run as wide as the river of experience...

Without this experience, like Yetis and ghost stories, the extraordinary realities depicted by TP become mere possibilities of what really exists (what we really are). — VagabondSpectre

Hmmm. I would say that if you find TP interesting, it must be because of some glimmer of your experience that resonates with the show. Unless you enjoy it purely on escapist terms.

Without any real evidence each successive extraordinary claim becomes more obscure and less verifiable than the last; less intellectually extraordinary. At a certain depth of speculation, the possibilities become so numerous that none of them seem special, like turtles all the way down. — VagabondSpectre

That might be fine for philosophy, but what about art? I think that's the missing piece in your critique here; art doesn't use your reason; art isn't "robust" and minimal (it can be). Art is primarily seductive, in a sense. It's more immediate than reason; the experience of "what the fuck is going on, why are there two Coopers??" is not only emotional and dramatic, but it does have a philosophical underpinning that grounds the immediateness of the experience. Why are there two Coopers? What does that mean philosophically? Two identities? Someone being other than they claim to be? Someone having an outer (real world) and an inner (philosophy forum) life? But the immediate experience is visceral, not reasonable. Why begin at a (further off) abstract position, when the immediate position for inquiry is, by nature of experience, the now?

I'm all to aware that fundamentally it's all speculation that exists in a space I believe it is impossible to rationally navigate. I do live with the understanding that nothing or almost nothing I think I know is absolutely certain or a ground floor of reality. — VagabondSpectre

What does rationality obtain, then? Robustness? What does that actually mean if it's not certain? If reality, ala TP is not beholden to rational observation, then you would need to let go of that fundamental grounding and search for something else; something not irrational, but something intuitive. Something that begins with, and trusts in, experience.

New evidence of hidden realities such as TP describes could come along, and there is room in my psyche for me to accept it, but without that evidence these speculations of hidden realities do not challenge my current "knowledge" in any relevant or new way. — VagabondSpectre

You actually are precluding the possibility of those new hidden realities by beginning with evidence (presumably of the reasoned/material kind) as the litmus test for their possibility. In other words, it's a self-fulfilling prophecy; "I'm open to the unknown, as long as it is measurable".

Have you ever seen or read "Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency"? (there's a British reboot of the show which is quite good). — VagabondSpectre

No; would I like it if I'm a TP fanatic? :P

It's true that I would like it if these hidden and fantastic truths such as alternate dimensions, the interconnectedness of everything, and a benevolent God, actually were the way things really are , and so the entertaining escapism of exploring these ideas is indeed enjoyable to me. Rationally speaking though they are but flights of fancy... — VagabondSpectre

So what is this escapism drawn against? A cold, harsh world devoid of meaning? A world in which interconnectedness, benevolence, and the like are Lovecraftian abominations? Or, a world in which the escapism of a telos is wrong, and yet, we can find a nice atheistic balance in which the best possible world is found for each individual, until their immanent (and inherently nihilistic) painful death, followed by the heat-death of the Sun? Escapism from what? A belief in life generally? A belief in meaning? A belief in human value?

Possibilities like eternal souls and alternate dimensions are among the most interesting and appealing ideas that are out there, but they're also among the least substantiated ideas that are out there. — VagabondSpectre

How many religious texts and commentaries have you read?

I suppose art could reflect nothing from reality, but how then could we ever interpret it? — VagabondSpectre

Through imagination! The mother of worlds...

If I had to sum up my beef in a single sentence, it would not be that TP paints a picture of reality which I object to, but rather that Lynch is merely painting a picture of his own broad uncertainties (epistemic, existential, ontological, etc...) and so doesn't himself know where he is going. We're just along for the thrill ride on his roller-coaster of confusion, and into the apparent darkness of the unknown. — VagabondSpectre

Fair enough; I don't count that as a beef; I count that as a valuable contribution to the human condition.

Where he is currently at is perhaps encapsulated in this quote from Windome Earle when he describes the White lodge: — VagabondSpectre

God, I hate Windome's character; badly played and so unessisary to the plot. And I would guess that that dialogue was written by Frost, not Lynch.

In 25 years, since, do you think Lynch might have changed much? — VagabondSpectre

Considering I'm almost 50 years younger than him, I have no idea. :)

I have an unhealthy tendency to mirror the debate styles of my interlocutors (see what I did there :P ), so I was just trying to parse through exactly what your terms meant, since I found them confusing. I'm still not sure what the overarching point you were making in the context of the OP was, but I do get the gist of your distinctions.

I'm still not sure what the overarching point you were making in the context of the OP was, but I do get the gist of your distinctions. — Noble Dust

I was really just answering your question as to whether art should reflect reality in the context of making a distinction between life and reality. This is related to my reading preoccupation at the moment, which is Michel Henry. He makes a phenomenological distinction between life as lived and the external world (relaity) which is in some ways is not dissimilar to Berdyaev's distinction between being and spirit. In Berdyaevian terms it would be to say that art reflects (or should reflect) spirit, and not being as understood in the objective sense.