Surely you can't be serious.

"Kinkade has said the light that streams through his paintings is the light of Jesus. But some of his gallery owners have accused the artist of using shared Christian values to defraud them. They say he persuaded them to open galleries in areas that couldn't support them — and then competitively undervalued his own paintings."

“Suppose you had never heard of Kincaid and you saw one of his paintings in a respectable art gallery,” responded my friend Steve. “Suppose you found out that Kincaid cut off his ear and died a long time ago without any money. Can you say with certainty that your opinion of his aesthetics would be the same?”

thomas kinkade seemed like a tommy bahama, cargo shorts, and mandals kind of guy. for that, i could never have respected him.

RIP

Welcome back, Alex.

His burial site is rumored to be beneath one of his galleries in Westfield Downtown Shopping Plaza in his hometown of Sacramento, CA.

visitors are asked to swab secretory materials on the carapace of Kinkade's mausoleum out of reverence for his proclivity for ritual territory marking

a buddy of mine who works for the Westfield plaza hospitality crew helped set up Kinkade's final art display and said that Kinkade sprayed about 95 gallons of blood into the crowd per exhibit

This man is not dead.

wait, so washing machine is lying to me?

It's not the first time, as you well know.

Drugstore Christmas cards weep.

before his death, he had cleared up a long-standing etymological problem regarding the name of the Knights Templar's object of reverence: a figure known as Baphomet, a name with pagan connotations. Baphomet, the Sabbatic Goat, was Father Mithras, a man portrayed on the cubical stone which was the corner of the Knights' revered Uconic Temple. a smoke screen, presumably.

upon the cubical stone's cupola: the inscripution COAGULA

I'll never forget the day that I met Thomas Kinkade. He has a Keillor-esque presence, and when he speaks to you, you feel as if his paintings are speaking through him.

I met him in the Winter of 2007 while I was working as a lifeguard at the Wilton P. Hebert Health and Wellness Center in Beaumont, TX. He was in town for a signing and came to my pool for his daily swim. A thin layer of frost coated the grass outside, so the only pool available was the indoor pool which was understandably crowded. As he entered, a few lanes opened up for him. It was clear that in the regular swimmers' eyes, he had earned his right to choose any lane he wanted. He chose the second to the right.

After a few laps of freestyle, he spoke to me from the edge of the pool. "Young man", he addressed me, "could you toss one of those kickboards my way?" I walked down and handed a kickboard to him and he smiled and thanked me. He went on to do about 10 more laps with the board, and I must say, he had strong legs probably up until the day he died. After the laps with the kickboard, he called me over once again to bring him a towel. After detaching his goggles and resetting his stop watch, he spoke a few words that I have thought about to this day. "Water", he said, "Is very good for the body." He took a sip from his bottle and continued. "Everyone knows that. Some will even tell you that water is good for the soul. What people seldom tell you and what I want to share with you now, is that water is good for the body's constitution." The only thing that I managed to say was a timid "have a good day, Mr. Kinkade", and before I knew it he was gone.

About thirty minutes later it was time to check the chlorine and ph levels in the water and I wasn't the least bit surprised to see that the ph had taken a turn for the worse.

this thread is truly pitiful

his stuff is total mass produced cultural masturbation. He had a store in Savannah, and I think one down near Austin, just seemed very gaudy, like that woman who used to paint rainbows and unicorns and crap.

bad memory-association for me with this guy. My ex-mother in law loved this guy and would "show off" her 3 kincaide paintings like they were Picasso or some shit. Now every time I see his name or his work it reminds me of how much I wanted to hatefuck her.

It's not too late, Ruddock. If there is one thing Kinkade's death has taught me, it is that we must make the most of our time among the living . Carpe socvusus!