I have now made the official acquaintance of Mr. Thomas Kinkade. For some reason, this had eluded me so far in life. Whole months, even years, have gone by, and the only relevance that the name “Thomas Kinkade” had for me was that Cranky had started a Pit thread about him.
But this morning, while waiting at the Christian bookstore for the girl to come back up front with my order of Sunday School materials, the Curse had come upon me, and I had ample opportunity to study a display of his work.
[sound of violent retching]
So I went and looked at this thread, and although the impulse to flame and rant was burning strong within me, I realized it might be a mistake to bump a two-page thread from last June, since to all appearances Cranky has bravely managed to pick up the pieces and put her life back together again. Why reopen old wounds? And after reading my way through it, I came to the humbling realization that there was really nothing I could say that could improve upon what had already been said.
This is what I was looking at in the store–a demo of this. And this quote sums up exactly what I felt. You are as perceptive as you are wise, O Sara of the Nachos.
And in closing, I’d like to take the liberty of editing Cranky’s OP, pursuant to her second post to the thread. Think of it as a rectification, a clarification–no, a restoration…
"If I never see another fucking painting of a fucking quaint cottage, I’ll die a satisfied woman.
This fucking guy is some kind of fucking marketing genius. Who the hell adds a job description to their fucking name like that? George, fucking slayer of dragons. He now has his own fucking retail outlets. That’s right, entire fucking “galleries” dedicated to selling just his fucking stuff. I also saw that he has a fucking book out. Yes, just because this fucking guy can paint fucking bestsellers, that qualifies him to write fucking homilies about life and living.
Painter of Light my ass. Vermeer, maybe. Not Thomas fucking Kinkade."
I’d never come across him either until I was walking around with my Aunt and we happened across one of his “galleries” She spoke in hushed tones “he’s so wonderful, he’s the painter of light, you know” like he was the pope or something. She made me go in there with her while she bought a calendar. I needed to drink heavily after that.
I missed Cranky’s thread - thanks for the cliff’s notes on it!
Having missed (or, inexplicably ignored?) the thread on it’s first go-round, I looked up TK on the web and…I don’t hate him. Maybe repeated exposure will generate hatred, but while I find him deriviatave and very, VERY repetitive, I think his technique’s good and some of his pictures (the ones that DON’T feature the one Munchkinland-esque hut) are somewhat evocative. Here and here are a few of his paintings I kind of like.
I admit I had to wade through about seventy craptacular “Munchkinland at Sunset”, “Munchkinland in Winter”, “Munchkinland at Night”, etc type paintings to find those few, but I like those few.
<perfect straight line for someone>
Have you lost all respect for me?
</perfect straight line for someone>
I’m no artist, not by any stretch of the imagination. I made an attempt to draw Tigger yesterday, because my daughter asked me to. When I finished, she looked at it and said “Mama, that not Tigger. That Piglet. Draw Tigger!”
So now I’m wrestling here–I can’t even draw Tigger well enough to fool my own three-year-old, but I firmly believe that Thomas Kinkade’s “art” sucks ass.
I was in the craft store today. While perusing the cross-stitch leaflets I discovered that Thomas Kinkade fans who simply cannot fulfill their needs in mall galleries can now spend untold hours recreating his works in cotton floss. This is a truly horrifying prospect, as I can only imagine receiving such a work of art from a well-meaning grandmother and feeling obligated to display it.
Welcome to the world of lowest common denominator art.
I’ve surfed past soap operas with more content than all of his work put together. This guy must use schmaltz when he mixes his paints. He probably listens to Kenny G. for inspiration while he sketches out his next quaint-structure-next-to-the-quaint-bridge-over-the-quaint-millpond-near-the-quaint-forest picture.
Frick all-mighty, this @ssclown makes Leroy Neiman look like Pablo-effing-Picasso. We need to jam his paint brushes where the sun don’t shine, wrap this turd in his own wet canvas and weight him down with a couple gallons of interior latex (his true medium!) before throwing him off a pier.
Can you say, “precious”? “Treacle”? “Drivel”? I keep looking for the Franklin Mint trademark at the bottom of his ads. I think this gobbler spent way too much time playing with mommy’s “Precious Moments” figurines. Either that or he’s deep breathing his own paint fumes. The “painter of light” designation is merely a truncated version of the truth. More like:
“Painter of light-weight tripe!”
I wouldn’t trust this twit with painting my house!
Hey, the Franklin Mint is pretty nice for collector dolls. AND…they hold the rights to the House of Faberge, and have been making traditional Faberge eggs in the original design.
Trust me, it’s nice.
And I LIKE the Precious Moments little bunnies, but I’m a sucker for animals.
And I have been known to like a Kenny G. song or two when I was younger. (Even though I don’t like the guy himself).
Actually, Thomas probably listens to Yanni and Anne Murray.
Zenster: How DARE you even MENTION Thomas Kinkade and Precious Moments in the same sentence!
Precious Moments sucks, no doubt. But there’s suck, and then there’s the Kirby-level sucking that TK has reached. Chrome-off-a-trailer-hitch suck. Paint-by-numbers-black-velvet-Elvis-is-Michelangelo-compared-to-this suck. The kind of suck that makes those of us who believe in a Deity think that maybe we’re wrong.
[hijack] It’s actually a LOT harder to paint with dark than with light. Be it the naked eye ( someone’s home, carefully lit), paintings, still photographs or motion picture film. Anyone can make an image very light. Very few artisans can make an image incredibly dark, yet maintain the dramatic tension.
I won’t do a full-on snotty hijack about the film industry, let’s instead look at Vermeer. His use of light and shadow is impressive. We all love his use of sunlight, the man knew how to illuminate a woman’s puss. However, the next time you are in front of a real one ( opposed to the deck of Vermeer playing cards I’ve got around here somewhere ), look at the corners. He used ratios like a fucking…well…well…Master !! Sometimes there’s SO little in the dark areas to see, but what is there is always important. Subtext, a bit of humor,what-have-you. He used it all, including the darks.
This Jamoke?? He’s the Hormel of painting. Grind in enough Mad Painter Disease-tainted meat, and you get the likes of him I’m with y-all all the way on this rant. But… one does paint with dark with incredible effect.[/hijack].
<–slathering on Poetic Wax, so as I can wax poetic. After all, it’s not what you plainly see, it’s what you don’t quite see.