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Desire and Identity, the loss of Identity, the loss of any kind of mental stability...thats the world of Lynch's cinema, his Fantasy is a spectral declaration of a deranged Self, so addicted to passion of self-destruction .

Just remember the narrative of Mullholland Drive or Lost Highway, the patterns of the whole Noir film tradition are coming back: deconstruction of personality, devilish femme fatale, the death and eros in psychotic terms.

But Lynch is not just a postmodern neo-noir director. His films go beyond the forms, his focus is the depiction of a fantastic world where the most horrible thing is the absence of the reality. 

From this point of view the Fantasy of Lynch is not a Surreal one but neither Hyppereal. It is a Fantasy where the pleasure does not exist, the woman is not even the object of passion, a Fantasy that adores itself and abused memory, identity, senses, people, sex and fear in order to dominates the mind of the damned heroes.

Check how Hollywood is reflected in Mullholland Drive. The space of a horrible psychedelia, dreaming situation and not a real space, the representation of Eros fragmented in tormented bodies and souls. The Hollywood is a hybrid location of dream and nightmare, a symbolic actor of a Fantasy that is struggling for its freedom through the submission of Hollywood to subconscious.

David Lynch's fantasymake us addictive with it, almost pervert to dream the end of our identity , dream a sexual violence against our naive faith that in this world we are still masters of our mind..











The name of success: Warhola drop the final “a”
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“Here she comes, you better watch your step / She's going to break your heart in two, it's true”. Femme fatale. Your song. Your portrait.




  • Andy, take a little snooze. No more photos. No more songs. No more sketches now, babe.
  • But, mom, “I'd like to be a gallery / Put you all inside my show”.


Andy Warhol. The top of the pop. Born in 1928 in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania to Slovak parents. During his childhood: he lost his father, he was frequently bed-ridden because of an affliction of the nervous system, he realized and developed his skill sets. Photography and drawing. Blended with tons of wit and tons of ink.


1940s. USA uninviting. Bleak. Grim. Blue. Post Depression and WWII years. But Andy made it through. Because he saw, sensed, discovered. The hub of creativity, avant-garde and advertising. The city so nice, they named it twice. Caput mundi. New York, New York.

He becomes an illustrator for Vogue, New Yorker and the list goes on. Because, “Andy went to the heart of the matter – he knew...”.


1950s. The Beat generation is here to slam the door, beat the mind, fight lethargy, win the game. Andy's career is booming. First solo exhibition, first illustrated book, first group exhibition, first awards, more exhibitions, more awards, more travels, more fame all around the world.


1960s. “Andy Warhol looks a scream / Hang him on my wall”.

  • (Painting uncovered.) What do you see?
  • Yellow hair, red lips, blue eyeshadow, pink face. And a tiny mole.
  • Kind of kitschy and banal?
  • Kind of like pop and trending. I can't take my eyes off it! It's the colours, the look, the lips. Oh, yeah, definitely the lips.


Fame, money, success. Creative orgasm. You have to catch the beat.

“Andy walking, Andy tired

Andy take a little snooze”.

Andy painting, making sculptures

always looking for his muse.

Andy publishing, filmmaking

and avoiding taboos.

Andy musical production,

Andy's photographs diffuse.

Andy massive, Andy-culture,

Andy's famous yahoos.

Andy haunts all the shadows of the popular abuse.

Oh, look at these shoes!


  1. The foundation of his art studio. The Factory. Massive production of art prints, posters, shoes among other things by the Warhol superstars. Innovative, chaotic, legendary. Every day something new. Mass media, pop culture, “the American Dream, optimistic, generous and naïve”. Pop art is here to blur the boundaries between “high” and “low”, to embrace the commonplace, to praise the materialistic, shining, often pointless, always erotic glory. Το show off. And be just fine with it.


“When you think about it, department stores are kind of like museums.” So, let's make art! “I, Am, the Man”. The artist. The creator. And these are my divas. “Cause everybody knows / (She's a femme fatale)”. First there is Marilyn and then Liz and Jackie and Brigitte. The eye of the artist. The intense colors, the pure look, the perfect lips, the clear message. Flawless. Beauty will not grow old.

“He'll think about paint / And he'll think about glue”. Warhol's groundbreaking design ideas influenced countless artists and pervaded the world of fashion. Versace in his Pop Art Collection, 1991, made him synonymous with high fashion.

He died in 1987. But he never did.




SUMMER: a feeling of immortality
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You run and jump in the sea

You crave to feel

You play with the waves

You crave to live

You are a drop in an endless ocean

Your lips taste like the sea

You close your eyes; your eyelids caressed by the warmness of the copper-coloured sunlight, gently, as if by a feather.

You sink your feet in the hot sand, you get lost in the sensation that you have become one of its myriad grains

You let your hair loose, free to be taken by the wind

You breathe it in; it smells like jasmine and dreams

Your soul can breathe

 It has substance, form


And it’s red

Like the most beautiful sunset

Like the red August moon

With an ice cream in your hand and nostalgia in your heart

You become a kid again and run by the sea with your soulmate, as if no one can see

Freedom, carelessness, oblivion

Cramped in a club – a chance to escape

You find yourself climbing the highest rock you can find

Hand in hand with love

Watching the rain of stars – kissing, dreaming, wandering of the senses

You fall madly in love, fiercely, irrationally like a teenager

Your skin bursts with pleasure

You dance until the first light of dawn

In a beach with your childhood friends holding you close

Around a fire

The songs, the dances, and the laughter you shared as children drifting in the air

Your new soul is born and it is full of light, colours, smells, and senses.

It reaches infinity, the unreachable, and the ideal

It launches, it drifts in an endless universe

A feeling of immortality like no other

Summer – unseen joy, unspoken.


Margaret Chala


 cover photo : David Hockney , A Bigger Splash.