In a collision of chaos and control, this limited run of 10 screen prints channels the unsettling metamorphosis of David Lynch’s psyche—literally. Using wax and volatile, eroding inks, these pieces were designed to decay, their surfaces cracking and bleeding as the materials warred on paper. The result? A haunting alchemy where Lynch’s face unravels into his Twin Peaks doppelgänger—the Black Lodge version, all shadow and static, like a broadcast from a dying TV.
 
Each print is a fleeting performance: the ink reacts unpredictably with the wax, ensuring no two degradations mirror one another. Some fragments of Lynch’s visage dissolve into abstraction, while others crystallize into eerie clarity—a metaphor for the duality of identity and the creeping dread of the Lodge itself. This isn’t just art; it’s entropy as a collaborator.
 
By design, these pieces refuse permanence. They’re punk in their impermanence, rejecting the pristine in favor of raw, evolving narratives. To own one is to freeze a moment of collapse, to hang a fragment of controlled chaos on your wall.
 
Why 10? Because decay is intimate. Because Lynch’s worlds thrive in the margins. And because supporting this kind of reckless, independent art means more experiments in the unknown—more wax, more ink, more beautiful corruption.
 
Snag one of these vanishing acts and you’re not just buying a print. You’re preserving a ghost of the process, a relic of how art can mirror life: messy, transient, and gloriously unresolved.
 
Own the unraveling. The Black Lodge is waiting.