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| Thomas Kinkade's "Cobblestone Bridge" |
Thomas Kinkade died last week at the ripe young age of 54. His family claimed it was natural causes, though I'm not going to go into speculation on what kind of natural causes would kill a middle-aged man with no history of diseases. That's the coroner's job. I never thought much of Mr. Kinkade or his art, mainly because I associated the Kinkade brand with those pretentiously-lit galleries at the mall, sugary sweet paintings that seemed to lifted from a preteen girl's sentimental brain, and how he stole the phrase "painter of light" from the Impressionists. That last one was the product of an art history degree, but the other two were just a sign that my tastes in paintings did not run the sweet gamet. In short, like many in the professional art world, I found his paintings kitschy and designed to appeal to the masses.
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| Monet's "Boulevards des Capucines" |
But then, looking at those images again, I thought, 'What is it about them?' What did he do that Monet, Renoir, Degas didn't do better and more vividly. Why are people paying more than
$800 for a Kinkade that is mass produced, sometimes retouched, and often times not even painted by the man? Wouldn't it just be cheaper to buy a framed and matted print of a rain-drenched Paris? At least then you know that you're looking at a real place that exists.
