perfidy

Thomas Kinkade is the self proclaimed "Painter of Light" who has somehow, in defiance of all standards of taste, decency, excellence and marketing, managed to franchise his pathetic, cookie-cutter soi-disant "art" into a nationwide franchise. Are you experienced? Well, I languished in blissful ignorance of the Thomas Kinkade phenomenon for years, as it metastasized after I moved to the East Coast. (And much as I love the midwest, the midwest is that part of our fine country most susceptible to all forms of treacly kitsch.) My first encounter with Black Thom and his franchise of horror was in a slightly rundown yet comfortable mall on the outskirts of Akron, Ohio. My mom and I liked the place because while it had the standard issue mall stores, it did not have crowds of fashion victim teens who looked like they'd just walked through an explosion in a shrapnel factory. It did not have crowds at all, and we liked that. A slow paced mall where you'd never have to jostle, or even talk with, anyone.

Over in the corner by the May Company, I saw a glimmering of light. What ho? A new store? That hadn't happened since 1991. I looked and saw the proud sign, "Thomas Kinkade, Painter of Light(tm)" I turned to mom, and asked, "What the hell is that?"

Mom explained that this was a new thing, a franchise cheezy art store. All art by one no-talent ass clown, rather than hundreds of no-talent ass clowns as was the traditional practice. Well, greed is good, I thought, and said, "Let's take a look." As we got closer, my anticipation grew. Swelled, in fact. This would be more fun than the time I got kicked out of the scientology center in Columbus for walking in an responding to every question for twenty minutes with a single response: "Excuse me?"

We entered the dimly lit premises, and I looked about me in something akin to horrified wonder. Surrounding me were bad paintings. But not just any old random bad paintings. Bad paintings all in a single style. A style that stopped short of the mastery displayed by the wacky tree painting guy on PBS. A style that focused on, well, light. Everything was stagelit. From all sides. Every painting had more colors than it deserved. The subjects were the worst sort of Hallmark cloying sentimentality. Pretty trees, houses, quaint villages, all lit up by the guy who designed the lighting effects for Pink Floyd's last concert tour.

I forced my way deeper into the store, stunned into silence. I noticed that up high, out of the reach of children, hung the expensive paintings. The exquisite taste and burning desire for light of those who would purchase these fine works could not be satisfied with the mere overuse of lighting techniques using mere paint. These paintings had something extra. They had actual lights. Hooked to batteries and shit, and capable of heating a small room.

I could not contain my disgust. I turned to mom and asked, "Who would buy this shit?" My mom, clearly agreeing but too polite to say anything, merely nodded in the direction of the other customers. From that point on, I restrained myself to pointing at the really, really bad ones, and laughing.

But the cool kids over at Something Awful have done far more, and shown no restraint whatsoever. Below the fold, a couple examples:

This one really captures the essence of how Kinkade does his thing, while at the same time ridiculing it:

And these two are just fun:

Go check out the rest.