"This is what makes Thomas Kinkade ["one of the most financially successful artists in the world" now "beset by legal troubles," but that's not our point here] exasperating: He is both a creator of some of the most inspiring [that's debatable] paintings of the past two decades and a producer of some of the worst schlock [no question] ever manufactured by a talented artist," writes Joe Carter, linked by the Anchoress.
"I took a gander at your link of his 'real' stuff (left) vs this dross (right)" as blogged by Joe Carter, we wrote in the comments at The Anchoress's latest post about self-described "painter of light" Thomas Kinkade's "saccharine little cottages on exclusive little coves in a perfect little world." We'd been vaguely aware of Kinkade's vapid motel-friendly "art" — and even been fond of some of his appropriately sugar-coated Xmas card illustrations — but would never have given it a second thought had not the Divine Miss Scalia brought it to our attention. Here's what we wrote in her comments:
Obviously sold out. Proved what I already knew in my heart, not to mention my art-educated eye. The popular stuff has no soul, no sense of space, none of the mystery of the early-morning or late-afternoon light. No contrast of values. Totally made me think of the bland dumbing down of statism, where everyone gives up one’s individuality for the “greater good of the whole.” By contrast, the individualism and yearning and Chekhovian/Bergmanesque aloneness of, for example, John Singer Sargent’s portrait of the Daughters of Edward Darley Boit.
"Ominous use of dark and light and lengthy sequences without dialogue characterize both Tiny and Baby's and Ingmar Bergman's films," we wrote a couple of years back, comparing the cinematographic style of the Chelsea Grays' "Want your supper?" with that of the great Swedish director's "The Virgin Spring" … "in the magic light of a setting sun, Baby (left) and Tiny are at it again, inviting our camera's eye to explore the sounds of silence," we blogged years later in "Lengthy sequences without dialogue."Greeting-card art. The last thing Kinkade's "mass-marketed" travesties are about is 'light." He takes the low road, trying to dazzle with all light all the time. The result is a bland sameness throughout. The light fantastic is revealed only by the dark that surrounds it, like the wolves that lurk just outside the campfire of civilization waiting for the light to dim. Without the darkness there can be no light.