This is a reposting, intended with respect for Kinkade's memory even though his persona was ripe for satire.
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You've probably seen the magazine ads. There’s a village with all the houses facing a winding canal instead of a street — sort of a miniature Venice, without the pigeons.
It is dusk. Old-fashioned gas streetlamps line the canal and golden lights glow in the windows of the stone houses.
The ad is for plates or framed prints or coffee mugs with these romantic images, available for five installments. The picture was created by Thomas Kinkade, Painter of Light.(TM)
I’ve never met anyone with a trademarked name, and I’ve certainly never met anyone with a descriptive title as a surname. It harkens back to an earlier day, doesn’t it? Sir Lancelot, Defender of Damsels or Slayer of Dragons.
Maybe it’s just as well that we all don’t have titles like that. It might reveal more about what others think of us than we’re prepared to know. I might be Lydieth, Bringer of Peace, to my face, but then again, I might be Lydieth, Cause of Nausea, behind my back. Your boss might be Carrier of Ulcers or Ignorer of Deadlines. Your spouse might be Burner of Burgers or Loser of Keys. It’s a little reductive.
Recently I heard in a news story that Kinkade has extended the reach of his painted beam of light to the planned community business. There’s now a Thomas Kinkade, Painter of Light, housing development, where you can live in one of those stone cottages along the winding canal with the gas streetlamps. Is it always dusk there?
How old do you suppose a person might be before a title like Painter of Light is conferred? There might be several titles over the course of a lifetime, making it tough to keep up with old friends.
Hey, did you hear about Jane, Carrier of Extra Pounds? Didn’t she used to be Jane, Wearer of Size 2? What happened to her?
You didn’t know? She married John, Fryer of Lard, and they had four kids. She hangs out on weekends with her friend Marge, Wearer of Tarps, and they bake brownies all day. But her sister Renee, Stapler of Stomach — now, she kept her figure and married that lawyer Bruce, Chaser of Ambulances. They bought a house in that Thomas Kinkade, Painter of Light, village that went up. Lost their dog in that canal when it rained in the spring, and can’t use the front yard at all — you wouldn’t believe the things that wash up on the doorstep. And when the tide’s low, the smell isn’t so romantic, trust me. But otherwise, they love it there.
What do you suppose were the titles Kinkade nixed? Merchandiser Without Restraint? Robber of Readers of Parade Magazine? Competitor for the Franklin Mint?
I shall remain, Lydieth, Keeper of Cash, and avoid the temptation to begin an installment plan for one of those commemorative plates. But if someone wanted to start calling me Lydieth, Bringer of True Wisdom, I wouldn’t object.
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Lahni
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Comments
But then, in adulthood, the reality of the reason for my Knighthood would be revealed....shame and destitution would follow....so.......................I guess I'll go for the Trademark:
Gary Justis, Walker of Dogs(TM)
Could anyone these days even fathom the hydro bills?
As for the trademarked name...now you've gone and got me wondering what my title could be! Gobbler of Cookies is the forerunner for now.
As far as the name, I wouldn't mind being considered a"Photographer of Light" but mostly likely I would be "Keeper of Stuff" . BTW - nice to meet a fellow Arlo fan :)
Thinking some more this morning about Kinkade, it occurred to me he was less an artist than a confectioner. I don't buy cotton candy anymore but I remember the thrill of those first two or three perfumed bites that immediately dissolved into tiny nuggets of sugar. Pure novelty, always associated for me with happy times. That's what Kinkade sold. Memories of moments in early childhood when the magic of unblemished bliss seemed attainable. How nice it would be to see a silhouette or two in the windows of that brightly lit house, or maybe family members on the porch or playing in the snow. Somebody noted yesterday - Scarlett? - how eerie it looks, like a gingerbread house intended to entice unsuspecting children, that there's no human warmth evident anywhere. She nailed it. If you look at the picture more than a few seconds, it's almost Stephen Kingish in its hint of horror around the corner. Maybe if Kinkade could have teamed up with Rockwell or Grandma Moses the result would have contained the essential elements of truly memorable nostalgia rather than the unexamined glimpse of a fantasy that almost instantly dissolves in the mind.
I have three kinkade paintings coffee mugs a very good artist good friend presented me with last Christmas. I think they are lovely and perfect for warm liquids.
I was a fan of Norman Rockwell growing up, often being told he was an "illustrator" not an artist. I was disdained for liking the cartooning of the Disney brand, too cutesy I was told. I was told by someone very close my own art was too photographic and not modern arty enough. it was my take, my artistic vision. what I wanted to do and i wondered why someone would push their judgment (my being WRONG to draw as I did) so hard on what was organically me doing my thing as if i had a choice. i mean, i guess i did, but emotionally and intuitively i was not inclined the other way. at least not when first assaulted. since then i have experimented with abstract art and enjoy it, but getting pushed there long ago made me dig in my heels and it took me longer to experiment. maybe the criticizer was telling me something important, but the I'm okay you are so not tone cancelled out any value in the message.
i think kinkade inspires maybe a not so great "group think" in both directions. People who get caught up in the "Kinkade worship of others" and people who get caught up in the "too cool for school superciliousness" of the elites.
For an artist to brand himself so profoundly and successfully in America impresses even though was it 60 Minutes revelations of the Kinkade factories that made me gasp. Who gets to be a successful artist in America seems a real crap shoot. So much subjectivity and POLITICS. Crappy cronyism politics once again, but is there any other kind? Kinkade went to crappy marketing. So be it.
Vermeer was a painter of light, too, and as far as I know was not dissed for it. :) Vermeer had to seek out mentors to be an artist. Kinkade took it to the people. I have no problem with them embracing him.
Whatever gets you through the night. I am talking about the people here, whatever gets them through the night, brings them some pleasure.
That people take joy from art, no matter who's, is not a problem in America, when there are so many dire problems to be focused on. It stirs up a strong whiff of classism that jars me, in fact, to have it such a strong issue, even though the varying factors trigger the "issue" but there is an underlying elitism that troubles me from the dissers.
I guess I am not leaving the Kinkade issue alone, am I, as I said above, though this is the first I have verbalized my take?
See what you have done? :)
Best, libby
I have been razzed by coworkers for rescuing worms off of the sidewalk so they wouldn't fry in the sun. (I thought everybody did that.) My students were appalled when I didn't just stomp a waterbug that was in our classroom and shooed it out into the hallway instead. I have an essay I've never finished that starts with me noticing a tiny commemorative plaque above a spiderweb I allowed to remain in the bathroom so long that it had historic significance in the arachnid community.
And we all really tried to find artistic value in those overly commercialized paintings and the sweetness that Kinkade conjured up in those pieces.
I love you guys--you reaffirm my faith in the world on Easter Sunday. What a great thing.
Thanks for all your thoughtful comments and the ratings!
Lydieth, Over-Sentimentalizer of All Things
This was never intended to be disrespectful to Kinkade as a person. It would take a great sweetness of spirit to create the art he did, and there's no denying his skill with a brush.
But he wasn't forced or compelled to use the Painter of Light phrase after his name, and it did come across as a little heavy-handed and would be odd if adopted by others.
Therein lies the job of the wannabe humor writer: to exaggerate what exists, hoping to make a reader laugh. If, instead, what I wrote caused you to feel hurt or disrespected, I am sorry. I never try to hurt anyone. Humor doesn't have to be mean to be funny.