Thomas Kinkade has died at age 54. One of his fans eulogized him on Twitter:
My opinion of Kinkade's work would be unpopular or offensive to some people I love dearly, so I've resisted publishing my essay "Thomas Kinkade: Pornographer of Light™." (Thesis: Kinkade's portrayal of light in his art is a distortion to the point of idolatry, just as pornography is a destructive distortion of true sex.)
Technically, my "essay" is just a catchy title* and a thesis. But be honest: shouldn't the rest just write itself? As it turns out, no; but the AV Club did publish an obituary that hits a lot of nails on the head, and will probably serve as my final excuse for never swinging the hammer myself. It may just preserve some of my dearest friendships too.
*And I owe that title to a friend (who I won't name here unless he asks me to) who once remarked: "I'd rather find porn under my son's mattress than a Thomas Kinkade painting on his wall." I'm pretty sure he was exaggerating, but the juxtaposition got me thinking.