
Sure, if you like all your art to use the same colors and for most of them to look nearly unidentifiable from one another, then, yeah, I guess he's okay.
I can describe nearly any Thomas Kinkade painting to you without ever having seen it. First, there will be some sort of structure, usually a cottage, maybe a castle as above. Secondly, it will probably be either sunset, or sunrise, or if not, there will be some sort of foliage or other to diffuse the light. Either way, there will be some softened source of natural light. Thirdly, it will look happy. It won't make you feel happy, at least not if you're me, but it will look happy and cute.
What would you have to do to a Kinkade painting to get me to buy it? I don't know...maybe, something like this:


Okay folks, meaning brothers and sisters in Christ, I have a bone to pick. How have our tastes become so pedestrian? Take literature for instance! We have some of the greatest minds since the Reformation among our ranks. We used to read Chesterton, and Lewis, and MacDonald. Now what do read?
LaHaye and Jenkins.
I'm sorry, but it's all very wrong. Kinkade is not the problem, but simply one of the symptoms. He wouldn't be so popular if you didn't buy his crappy, cliche paintings. We have a connection with the most creative being in the Universe. I know I've said it before, and maybe I'm beating a dead horse, but how is it that our creative faculties have become so handicapped, so numb? Our Father invented the stars, the oceans, and all the life therein. He invented us, and formed us from Clay. Yet, somehow, we, who should have the market cornered on art, disqualify so much that could serve as inspiration, paint ourselves into our little corner, and thus cut off circulation to our heart, our creative organ.
Note: I realize this post isn't too original, drawing from Kinkade as the subject matter. I would like you all to know that my decision to do it stemmed simply from my wish to ridiculously deface a Kinkade painting...digitally, anway. Thank you.
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