I’ve been trying to think of a way to sum up Daniel Johnston, and I don’t think it’s possible. I will say, however, that he comes closer to blurring the line between art and life than any other performer I’ve ever witnessed.

Functionally speaking, art reminds us of all the ways in which a mostly meaningless, upsetting or tedious existence can also be quite magical. It’s a potent resin made up of the very stuff it describes (life) but with none of its subsidiary attributes.

And obviously art must make use of life or it devolves into mathematical and senseless repetition. Trust me - I tried my best to become changed by randomly painted and projected celluloid meant to represent a concussion and only managed to come out of the experience with a headache and a vague sense of wanting to hurt the filmmaker.

With Daniel Johnston, it’s nearly impossible to extract the life he’s lived from the nature of his performance. His career and personal deterioration are fiercely entwined, for one thing, and his successes have as much to do with the sad and lovely figure he cuts as the overall impact of his tragic tinker toy lyrics (that sounds derivative though it’s not meant to – I’m not a poet like Daniel Johnston).

When he appeared onstage last night, he was comfortably dressed in a loose fitting jogging outfit. Though his gaze was direct and affable, his hands shook violently at his sides throughout most of the performance, to such a degree that at times he seemed to be throttling the microphone when he held it. Otherwise, he bobbed happily on some invisible sea, finding his way from instrument to microphone - more often than not with the side of his head, though he remained unperturbed and beaming.

He played guitar for the first few songs and piano for another, but for the most part, his trademark vocals were aptly accompanied by guest performers Adem (on a miniature pipe organ painted wagon-red and circus themed) and James Yorkston (on a homemade accordion box instrument). Their compassionate and unpatronising regard for the performer provided a gentle shield against any sadness his overall predicament might have inspired, and it became very powerful and sweet all at once.

Union Chapel was just the venue for this mesmerizing event, and it was packed to the rafters with exactly the mix of people you’d hope and expect to turn up to a Daniel Johnston gig. The atmosphere was one of complete adoration, and the show finished with a standing ovation for Daniel Johnston, who returned to sing his a cappella Devil Town.

He’s been singing about romantic love vainly and for so long that I honestly believe that he’s forgotten the meaning behind the words – not that this makes the songs any less meaningful or believable. It’s as though he manages to somehow transcend the societal strictures to which he couldn’t conform and instead elevates himself and his art to the mythic proportions of what that love probably symbolised for him.

He’s a friendly ghost who appears to us more solidly than any apparition could ever manage, and although true love never found him, when you watch him struggling in a gentle light to describe these things, you get the sense that he’s instead been found by some unknown something of equal import.