I didn't watch much TV as a kid and I don' t watch it now. I don'

In the unfolding saga of human creativity, there are moments when one medium of expression emerges as superior and others fall into obscurity, or at least lose their sheen in the eyes of certain creators. David Lynch’s words, "I didn’t watch much TV as a kid and I don’t watch it now. I don’t find anything beautiful or unique to the medium, and the only thing you can do on TV that you can’t do in film is make a continuing story – which is so cool!" are not just a dismissal of one form of art but a reflection of the transience of media and the search for something deeper, more meaningful. Lynch, like the ancients before him, seeks not just entertainment, but art—a medium that speaks to the heart, challenges the mind, and stirs the soul.

In the ancient world, artists and creators were often called to reflect the world not as it was, but as it could be. The Greeks viewed art as a way to achieve truth—whether through sculpture, theater, or philosophy. Socrates famously warned against relying too much on the sensory world, as it could obscure the deeper truths that art should reveal. Likewise, David Lynch—a master of storytelling in his own right—understands that some mediums, like television, have become mere reflections of the world’s surface, while others, like film, have the potential to dive deep, providing layers upon layers of meaning. For Lynch, television, despite its ability to tell a continuing story, fails to offer the same artistic depth as film does.

The Romans, too, appreciated the value of storytelling, but they understood that true art must be intentional and serve a higher purpose. The epic poems of Virgil and Homer were not merely stories—they were the vehicles of culture, defining the values of the Roman Empire and the Greek world. These epics were not serials; they were grand, sweeping tales, meant to reflect the heroic nature of human existence. Lynch’s admiration for the continuing story in television mirrors this ancient understanding of storytelling, where the narrative is not simply for entertainment, but serves a deeper purpose—shaping culture and provoking thought across time.

Similarly, consider the legendary Shakespearean plays that evolved over time, often being performed in continuing installments. These plays, especially the histories and tragedies, captivated audiences not just by their individual acts, but by the unfolding of characters and events that were intertwined over the course of many performances. Shakespeare understood the power of continuity in storytelling, allowing his audiences to follow the arcs of their favorite characters over time, creating a rich, layered narrative that couldn't be contained in a single performance. In the same way, Lynch sees the unique ability of television to build complex and evolving stories that allow audiences to experience a living, breathing narrative—a quality not as easily achieved in the confines of the film.

However, there is a stark contrast between the timeless appeal of classic cinema and the allure of television. As Lynch himself points out, the beauty of film lies in its contained storytelling. In ancient Greece, Plato wrote that the art of film, like the art of sculpture, must be an expression of perfection—an ideal form encapsulated in a single moment. Film captures time in a way that is intense, unyielding, and fleeting. It allows the viewer to experience a complete narrative—beginning, middle, and end—without the distraction of episodic breaks or diluted subplots. Television, on the other hand, is built on the promise of continuity, of layers of plot that unfold over seasons, making it unique in its ability to develop long-term connections with its audience.

This reflection on the medium of television also brings to mind the ancient practice of oral storytelling, where stories evolved over time, often told in chapters, like the sagas of the Norse or the epic Mahabharata of India. These stories were not bound by a single moment or a contained frame, but unfolded over generations, each telling building on the previous one. Like these ancient narratives, television has the ability to create a universe—one where the viewer becomes part of an unfolding drama, contributing to a living, breathing myth that is shaped by time and the participation of its audience. For Lynch, this continuity is perhaps the most intriguing element of the television medium, as it has the capacity to evolve in ways that film, by its nature, cannot.

The lesson from Lynch's reflection, like the ancient wisdom of philosophers, is this: mediums are tools—powerful, transformative, and capable of shaping the world in different ways. Each medium, whether film, television, or theater, has its own strengths and limitations, and the challenge of the modern artist is to understand the unique potential of each form. Lynch’s appreciation for the continuing story in television invites us to reflect on how we use the tools of our time to tell stories that matter, that speak to the human condition, and that evolve with the world around us.

In our own lives, we must learn to appreciate the different ways we can create and express ourselves. Whether through writing, film, music, or action, we must embrace the power of the medium we choose to use. And like the great storytellers of the past, we must recognize that every choice we make—whether in art, work, or relationships—creates a story that will unfold over time. Let us choose to craft our narratives with purpose, to create lives that are rich in meaning, and to use the tools at our disposal—whether cinema or television, words or images—to express the deepest parts of our soul.