We are a commune of inquiring, skeptical, politically centrist, capitalist, anglophile, traditionalist New England Yankee humans, humanoids, and animals with many interests beyond and above politics. Each of us has had a high-school education (or GED), but all had ADD so didn't pay attention very well, especially the dogs. Each one of us does "try my best to be just like I am," and none of us enjoys working for others, including for Maggie, from whom we receive neither a nickel nor a dime. Freedom from nags, cranks, government, do-gooders, control-freaks and idiots is all that we ask for.
I will not have my standards of beauty tampered with by degenerates.
Elites, take your Alfred Jarry, Andre Breton, and Andy Warhol and leave beauty to the individual to decide.
De gustibus no est disputandum.
Interestingly, last December I was looking for a new office calendar. I'd never heard of Kincaid, but liked what I saw, so that's what I bought. Meanwhile, I'm reading Gaddis' "The Recognitions". For the third time.
Kincaid seems to merge Art Nouveau and the Pre-Raphaelites --his value control is comic-strip --receding objects just get less color and more white, with no suggestion at all of the atmospheric effects which cause distant objects to shoot less of their color into the eye. Many painters have trouble with this --they 'd rather not accept how little information actually is seen and how very much is conjectured, or conjured. Thus the tree in the distance is painted as though it's a smaller and slightly washed-out companion of the near tree. Kincaid could've taken another look at the landscape in the distance behind Mona Lisa. And yes i realize how insufferably fatuous all that sounds --is --i am. Who am i to crit a famous money-making painter, and all that. But that's just the point --if you are going to be famous and well-paid, dammit, do it right --or else you expose the entire enterprise of making a market in aesthetic value as so rigorlessly subjective that art fame is simply bestowed on just whoever happens to be standing where Lady Luck drops her hankie.
An interesting book on this subject is Toward a Theology of Beauty by John Navone.
It seems to me that the post modern narrative is always anti traditional. One gets their street cred, so to speak, by assaulting the former strengths of our society. Their logic necessarily throws out the baby with the bath water.
--and that's probably a healthy thing for a culture's twenty-somethings to do for awhile --if the rebels can retrieve the tossed-out baby --which is 'the future', which in time will prove priceless --someday after the toss out, after the gold rush, after the fall, after the commune folds, after the people get tired of the shaman (the shame-man) telling them how hard he works to help them.
I still believe that Thomas Kincaid did more epateing of the bourgeoisie than any of the new "shocking" artists.
Ha!! True. Worse, however cynical he actually may have been, he did it by being sincere.
Today your average aspirant to the higher cultural castes is no less sensitive to what's in official aesthetic approval than any late 19th C. French petite-bourgeois taking his cues from the Beaux-Arts School.
Me neither, really. Painting is hard. I've tried. Buddy of mine in school was an art major - I would hang out with him in his little studio, we would drink beer & he would paint. Since I was just sitting around jawboning and drinking, he cajoled me to at least try to paint something.
He did teach me that I actually can paint stuff, but with incredible painstaking tedium. It takes a certain kind of visual / tactile skill I don't have and found very hard to develop.
One of my kiddos worked in a shop repairing and framing and cleaning art for a few years. They had to care for many Kincaids which were roundly and appropriately despised. The guy was an awful painter. That said, I don't care anymore what art people like. No skin off my nose.