There was a line twisting up and down the street outside theï¿½Jack Titlon Gallery on the Upper East Side before David Lynch even showed up. The first wave filled both floors of the gallery, eyeing his paintings, but mostly, eyeing the door. In comes David Lynch, into a space teeming densely with shiny-eyed, shivering fans. Look how nice he’s being!
Even as that one dude takes a self-shot with an iPhone — an iPhone! ”Hey, David!” “Mr. L-l-l-lynch…”ï¿½posed for dozens and dozens of photo-ops and quick compliments. Confronted, essentially, with a sea of fan-boners that slowly carried him into the second room, inching, inching towards the back room’s door until finally, slipping inside and leaving behind a hushed vacuum of awww from the unlucky ones without a photo. It was heartbreaking. Some of these kids dressed up! I think.
Then, David Lynch mysteriously appeared upstairs for more photos and as some ( tipped off) scrambled up the stairs, weaved through the grinning fan mob, brushing communal drool off their shoulder… all just to “meet” Lynch. What kind of person would do that? What kind of person indeed.
Ahem ahem. AHEM.