Definition
Aug. 28th, 2003 10:33 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rinueI think I have come to an understanding of my hatred toward Thomas Kinkade, the so-called "painter of light." It's not that I think his pictures are hokey, although I do. It's not that I hate the mentality of forced nostalgia for things that never were, (damn you and your Christmas, Charles Dickens). It's not even that I'm offended by the way Kinkade blatantly steals the terminology used to define the groundbreaking work of the French Impressionists. No; this goes much further than that. It cuts at the deep and abiding question of what defines art.
I put it to you that art is defined by its creation. That is, art is something (whether physical or intangible) created by an artist (in the case of found art, the "creation" occurs at its discovery, not its making), which uniquely expresses an emotion, provokes thought, or supplies beauty. "Unique" is an integral part of that definition, as otherwise the art is not being created -- it is being copied. The Mona Lisa is art, but a poster of the Mona Lisa is not art; it is a repilca of a piece of art. By the same token, if I sculpt a teacup and then make three identical teacups to sell, only the first is a piece of art. (Of course, if I made them as a set, then they would all be art - they would simply all be one piece of art.)
(With performance art this obviously gets a bit more complicated - is a play still art the fiftieth time it's performed? It does change from night to night - there's a certain amount of interaction between performer and audience - but for the most part it is simply repetition. The play itself remains art, but the performance is only art the first time it happens, if even then. [I've seen some bad performances.] This is why I tend to go opening night, even though I realize the play will run more smoothly later in the run.)
Thomas Kinkade does not try to create something unique; Thomas Kindade tries to create the same thing with every canvas. I'm not just talking about the fact that you, I, and ten thousand other people can own the same painting of lighthouse number three; I'm talking about the fact that there's no real distiction between lighthouse number three and stone bridge number ten. The work never progresses; it never grows more complex. It never tries a new emotion, or even a new color palette. The brush style is stagnant; an insight is never offered into the subject matter. Ordinarily, when one views a series of works by an artist - Van Gogh's sunflowers, for example - one gets the sense that he's attempting to delve, attempting to understand, attempting to master before he moves on. Kindade is never going to explore, Kinkade is never going to learn, and Kinkade is certainly never going to move on.
It just wouldn't be profitable.
Which is fine; there's nothing wrong with making a living by your work.
But the man has the gall to call himself an artist.
I put it to you that art is defined by its creation. That is, art is something (whether physical or intangible) created by an artist (in the case of found art, the "creation" occurs at its discovery, not its making), which uniquely expresses an emotion, provokes thought, or supplies beauty. "Unique" is an integral part of that definition, as otherwise the art is not being created -- it is being copied. The Mona Lisa is art, but a poster of the Mona Lisa is not art; it is a repilca of a piece of art. By the same token, if I sculpt a teacup and then make three identical teacups to sell, only the first is a piece of art. (Of course, if I made them as a set, then they would all be art - they would simply all be one piece of art.)
(With performance art this obviously gets a bit more complicated - is a play still art the fiftieth time it's performed? It does change from night to night - there's a certain amount of interaction between performer and audience - but for the most part it is simply repetition. The play itself remains art, but the performance is only art the first time it happens, if even then. [I've seen some bad performances.] This is why I tend to go opening night, even though I realize the play will run more smoothly later in the run.)
Thomas Kinkade does not try to create something unique; Thomas Kindade tries to create the same thing with every canvas. I'm not just talking about the fact that you, I, and ten thousand other people can own the same painting of lighthouse number three; I'm talking about the fact that there's no real distiction between lighthouse number three and stone bridge number ten. The work never progresses; it never grows more complex. It never tries a new emotion, or even a new color palette. The brush style is stagnant; an insight is never offered into the subject matter. Ordinarily, when one views a series of works by an artist - Van Gogh's sunflowers, for example - one gets the sense that he's attempting to delve, attempting to understand, attempting to master before he moves on. Kindade is never going to explore, Kinkade is never going to learn, and Kinkade is certainly never going to move on.
It just wouldn't be profitable.
Which is fine; there's nothing wrong with making a living by your work.
But the man has the gall to call himself an artist.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2003-08-28 11:06 pm (UTC)She doesn't get why my eyes gloss over at his "exhibitions".
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Tzarcasm
(no subject)
Date: 2003-08-29 10:35 pm (UTC)-C
(no subject)
Date: 2003-08-29 10:33 am (UTC)Volunteers to post large signs saying "Schmuck" at the nearest Thomas Kinkade Gallery?
Coyote.