Thomas Kinkade, the Painter of Light (TM), says "Some future generation will discover [his 'personal work'] and say 'Wow, this guy was weird" (link).
I've got news for him: I think he is weird now. Indeed, I'd say that's precisely the point: the reason people gobble up the Elvis-Christmas, the first-church-of-NASCAR, and all the rest of the treats that roll of the Kinkade assembly line is that they are creepy beyond belief, and creepy sells. Don't think Rembrandt or even Picasso: think H. P. Lovecraft or Philip Dick, think Dean Koontz. He boasts about "eyeball capture" and "the demographic I bring," but there is a hint of shrill: "I'm the greatest nightmare the critics and the art museum have," he boasts, and he may be more right than he knows: get in touch with your inner nightmare, Thomas, and cackle weirdly all the way to the creepy bank.
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