While I'm eating
ice-creambecause this is the second day in the 90ties here LOL, I like to thank you everyone - I enjoyed the interaction! Received lots of good suggestions about my brush from China. One conclusion I have made is that I will not use it for the oil medium, to preserve the hair of the brush. Also it's a keep sake, and I don't know if I'll come back to China.
Turning now to something completely different. With an artist there are the paintings, and there is her life. My life likens that of a pilgrimage. If you have ever read Pilgrims' Progress from John Bunyan, this is my walk on the road to the city of Mistaken Identity.
One time I had an argument with the then boyfriend W. of my daughter about the painter Thomas Kinkade. To clarify a bit, at our house, we call these discussions, but others call them arguments. W. presented Kinkade as a great painter. I responded that I didn't think he was a painter.
I could tell that did not sit well with W.
I should have seen the signs right then that W. would not fit in our family. On one of our family outings, he took us to his apartment. Then I understood. In the hall i saw he had invested in a real Kinkade.
Some years later I had given a workshop and lecture on art at a big youth conference. The next week, the organizers sent me a "Thank You" package in the mail. When I opened the package, my jaw dropped. You guessed it.
Among the items in the package was a copy of Kinkade's book (now on my Shelfari shelf).
My dilemma was that the organizers were my friends, and they thought the world of me, as well as my art. No matter what my own opinion was about Kinkade's art, the least I could do was to read the book.
Since it was a book about daily experiences, there were plenty of items I could relate to. He had many positive and practical suggestions about life. It started also changing my mind about his art (uh, kinda, sorta...), because I could see his motives behind his paintings. I still had a difficult time though the way he chose to visually express himself.
Another time I saw a calender he had done with his illustrations of sports. I thought, maybe he can paint. At least these are not sentimental cottages.
Around Christmas last year, my hubby had recorded all kinds of movies, because we refuse to see garbage, no matter how many cutting edge awards films have received. If you like garbage, just open up your garbage bin and smell the toxic fumes. You will smell like "it" afterwards. The wafts of toxicity sometimes invade my living room from some blogs (not the ones who comment on this blog:) ).
Coming back from my side path, hubby had also rented a movie called "The Christmas Cottage." We didn't know that it was about Thomas Kinkade's life. In viewing the special features, the producer gives the viewer a look into his world. His mom was single, broke.
Cobblestone Mill by Thomas Kinkade
When Thomas was on his bike rides, he would see the lighted houses of the more fortunate and long for an easier, more normal life. In his teens he started helping a painter across the street, cleaning his brushes, sweeping the floor. The painter would give him many of his views on art (why does that sound so familiar?). Later, after that painter had gone on, Thomas would paint these houses of his home town, filled with light.
My understanding about his life, slowly changed my views about his art. For most artists these two are so connected.
I still do not like his approach to the visual forms in his paintings, but I admire him in succeeding to make a living of what he loves to do: art, and to honor the giver of his creativity and all the people who have helped him to get to the place where he is now.