Art & Entertainment – The Social Critic

There is something attractive about defrocking a figure of faith-and-family-values virtue, particularly one of great commercial success who has endeared himself to an endangered minority: the American middle class. The late Thomas Kinkade, who died of unnamed causes Friday, made an easy target. The self-anointed “painter of light” specialized in idealized scenes hearkening to a more innocent and bucolic time. Such art might be expected from a pastor’s wife or a bookish introvert yet it was the high degree of contrast between the artist’s placid and peaceable imagery and his real-world foibles and flaws that made him an irresistible subject for personal and artistic attack.

In the wake of Kinkade’s untimely death at age 54, the Los Angeles Times rehashed a 2006 exposé in which the painter was portrayed as a drunken, ruthless and foulmouthed hypocrite. Whatever one may believe about the man, the art world has stood firm about his vision: Kinkade is a commercial success but his paintings do not merit creative or historic memory.

Kinkade’s artistic legacy is as much in question as his personal one.

The flurry of reader comments and criticisms at the news of Kinkade’s death belies the ire of Kinkade’s many collectors and fans, befuddled that the art world has yet to embrace the prolific painter as one of their own. And it brings into sharp focus the growing disparity — and the unresolved debate — between what the public buys and the critics praise. Andy Warhol was and is an immense commercial success. Clearly it is not the act of being wildly successful that makes an artist a pariah. Rather, it is Kinkade’s idyllic vision that rankles the art world elite. Somewhere the meme took hold: paint something inscrutable or obtuse — a Rorschach test on canvas — then and only then does it possess merit in the contemporary context. It was only a matter of time before the self-taught, folk artists and mainstream “populists” fell out of favor.

Even among casual onlookers the aesthetic battle lines are well established. Art enthusiasts and collectors who fancy themselves “in the know” mimic the art world’s shock and disdain at those who dare defy the convention that one must be wholly unconventional — perhaps even emotionally disturbed — to enjoy critical acclaim. All the while, consumers who enjoy art from the gut rather than the head continue to ask why art critics are so very, very harsh. Indeed, there is something to the question to be asked.

The fine art world has successfully indoctrinated would-be artists and the culture at large: Artistic themes that portray a simplicity a child can appreciate don’t constitute “art”. Themes that favor innocence over angst don’t merit discussion. Depictions of widely-held ideals over cynical self-revelation are unworthy. Even the time-honored practice in which artists interpret the social issues of the times are in short supply. The Great Recession, and the 21st Century in particular, is notable thus far precisely for how little the arts and entertainment community has managed to reflect or acknowledge a faltering American Dream nor a social criticism of globalization at large. Instead, art critics and creators-of-the-moment exude the idiosyncratic and the narcissistic. And therein lies the “Kinkade paradox”: the esoteric, quirky and self-preoccupied art that is championed for its creative singularity carries an equal albeit opposite potential to be culturally out of touch — if reinterpreting the “real world” through a myopic lens is in fact the sanctioned goal.

The emotive loss of color and character within the art community is a loss to each and every one of us. For every wall of conformity that goes up, diversity goes down.

Art, like beauty, is in the eye of the beholder. The market spoke and the market liked Kinkade. The art world elite have done more than spur a debate. For years, generations even, they have kept a lot of creative people in jobs they have even less talent for because the thought of going up against non-art creating critics and cutthroat collectors and curators offends the sensibilities of sensitive, creative or contrarian individuals.

This is how the creation of art becomes a closeted pastime. This is how art is abandoned in childhood, in dumpsters and in storage lockers, too.

More people should be invited to partake of art, not fewer. Nothing could be further from the aim of creative expression than to place aspiring creators in a box consisting of a “right” and a “wrong” way to go about pursuing a personal form of expression. The art world has been dominated far too long by cultural snobs and professional critics who have erected academic dogmas and creative doctrines, who have codified styles and themes — quashing the pure and simple joys of creative expression and aesthetic appreciation. If the art of Thomas Kinkade translated to the masses an appreciation for beauty, the painter has, in fact, invited and inspired more people to appreciate that which only the imagination can conceive.

If anything can be gained from Kinkade’s lifework, it ought to be the art world’s willingness to see itself in a new and more honest light.

Art is not what someone says it is — or isn’t. Art is about people. By people. For people.

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RESOURCES

Thomas Kinkade, Painter for the Masses, Dies at 54 | NYT

Painting, Still Lively in the 21st Century | NYT

Where Are Today’s Steinbecks? | BBC News

Michael Jackson, the “King of Pop“, made an untimely exit from the stage of life after suffering a cardiac arrest Thursday, June 25, Brian Oxman, a Jackson family attorney, reports. More shockingly, Oxman told a CNN reporter that he warned the Jackson family that the star may be headed for a fate not unlike Anna Nicole Smith, who died little over two years ago following prolonged prescription painkiller dependence. Smith also lost her teenage son to a fatal drug interaction in 2006. In Jackson’s case, Oxman says the entertainer suffered chronic pain from a multitude of former stage injuries, among them a fractured vertebra and a broken leg.

Prescription drug abuse often starts legitimately enough. Life happens. We suffer injuries and accidents. And we don’t want to live like cripples before our time. But oftentimes the so-called cure comes with its own consequences.

The similarity between the average Jane or Joe and the Jacksons of the world seemingly ends in the doctor’s office. The average American who suffers a chronic pain condition, whether it is arthritis or severe back pain, is more likely to end up disabled as opposed to receiving pain management that succeeds in restoring one’s lifestyle. Celebrities, on the other hand, encounter the opposite: Eager to satisfy the demands of their high-power clients whose careers and lives must go on in a very public fashion, doctors are less likely to deny their well-known patients powerful forms of pain relief whether such medications are needed or not. The assumption on the part of the medical establishment, ostensibly, is that successful people who “have it together” are not going to throw it all away in pursuit of an addiction. Far be it from the public, all the while, to view a figure who is vibrant, charismatic and larger than life as weak, sickly or disabled. With enough drugs to combat the pain, life goes on as normal — until the consequences catch up.

The exact cause of Jackson’s fatal cardiac arrest, to be clear, is not yet known. Some suspect the superstar’s undernourished appearance, implying that the rigors of Jackson’s physical training program in preparation for a comeback tour are to blame. To that we now add the all-too-familiar specter of drug dependence. Let us not forget that Los Vegas headliner Danny Gans also died this month as a result of cardiac toxicity brought on by a legitimately prescribed painkiller. This is a story, sadly, that never ends. And that is the point. It should end, but it doesn’t.

Aside from the obvious — that drugs, even legitimately prescribed drugs — may lead to an untimely end, what does this tragedy have to teach us?

When singing sensation Susan Boyle, a contestant in the Brittish equivalent of “American Idol”, showed signs of stress and later admitted herself to a treatment facility, Simon Cowell, among others, cited her fragile mental state as the cause of her concert cancellations and erratic moods. In truth, however, the spotlight drives a lot of performers and public figures nutty. Eccentric behavior is much easier to brush off, however, when blamed on prescription tranquilizers, alcohol or illicit drugs. From Elvis Presley to Marilyn Monroe, celebrities of all generations, it seems, are pressured — if not explicitly than implicitly — to turn to drugs for answers rather than to allow anyone to see that their bodies, if not minds, cannot keep up with the frenetic pace of their lives. Were each of them, like Boyle, “unfit” and “ill prepared” for their success? Or would it be more accurate to say that this is the dark underbelly of celebrity — the reality check our celebrity-obsessed culture never confronts no matter how many famous people succumb to the inability to live up to their own or others’ expectations?

Let’s face it: We never want to accept deblitation. We never want anyone to grow old. But for a few fashionably naughty exceptions for sex, drugs and rock ‘n roll, we never want anyone to seem all that human, either. As the Susan Boyle “case study” shows, cruelty is aimed at those who are too old, too overweight, too fragile, too offbeat, too ordinary. We like our stars airbrush perfect, immune from the unglamorous slowdowns associated with age and chronic medical conditions. From concert promoters to ordinary fans, we the people seem more inclined to tolerate rumors of substance abuse than to accept the news that a superstar has reached the limits of their physical and mental stamina. Drug abuse and stardom may go hand-in-hand, whereas honesty doesn’t get you very far in a world where image is the only reality that counts.

To live in the fishbowl that is celebrity you have to be a little bit crazy. And if you aren’t off kilter to begin with, living in the glare of paparazzi camera flash will surely induce as much. But the blame belongs to society too. We are the ones who idolize celebrities’ lives, never willing to hear the admission that the pressures are too much and they can no longer live up to fans’ expectations. Doctors, too, are not immune. There’s a pill for that. A surgery that will fix it. And an expectation that enough is never enough.

We are the world — and the world killed Michael Jackson.

May he rest in peace.

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The Social Critic

Category: Art & Entertainment

We are the World — and the World Killed Michael Jackson