I owe Thomas Kincaid an amends. I don't think I'm the only underproducing semi-talented artist that was jealous and scornful of his commercial success achieved on the back of his sap-happy vision of sugarplum fairies and froth relentlessly marketed to the great unwashed.
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| This is the gag photoshop that I found on the nets pretty funny right? |
I found this parody on the interwebs not long ago and had a laugh and sent it to my friends who laughed along. After all we were true artists struggling to produce and , without that kind of lizard-brain centralizing vision we will sell here and there and be glad and hang our shit on our own walls and be content. And who doesn't know somebody who in the midst of a perfect life has run off the road in a beautiful spot?
When Thomas Kincaid died a few days ago there wasn't much to the report, and he wasn't very old, 52, but I was relieved that this sappy bullshitter was at least going to cease generating more sappy bullshit and the malls of America would be a little less obnoxious for it.
But when I read today that Kincaid was one of us, a struggling alcoholic who, after a period of sobriety had relapsed one night and as deliberately as an old cop with a revolver, drank himself dead in the space of a few hours.
And now we will look at this picture again and we will see something completely different.
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| Once I knew about how Kincaid went out this gag wasn't funny anymore. |
At that point this supposed parody became, for me, a frightening prophecy and a warning and a tragedy of the first order. This shit is no joke.
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