" A dream has come true with the release of Thomas Kinkade's Christmas Cottage, the first in a number of inspirational movies about my difficult boyhood. As I re-live what were, despite many hardships, golden years, I realize that God must have had a hand in some of our miraculous escapes. The home payments we scraped together, the injuries we barely avoided, the holidays we somehow managed to celebrate - these are my small dramas.
In the film, I'm at work, painting a study of Christmas Cottage, -- the radiantly lit, loving home that sheltered and supported the development of my character. We are releasing the official Christmas Cottage print especially for my many loyal collectors.
-Thomas Kinkade
More collectables and information at the Thomas Kinkade's Christmas Cottage movie store
Visit the official movie site for the latest movie information including a personal video greeting from Thom, movie trailer, photo gallery, cast information and more. www.ChristmasCottageDVD.com"
I will not be especially critiquing this painting or print or whatever the fuck it is, because the printed material accompanying it is so astounding. I mean, you have to almost admire the colossal fucking Ten Times Jew level of sheer utter nerve and moxie
of this guy: he's a billionaire selling shit and he's whining and weeping about how tough his childhood was. Oh for a private detective to actually research this long suffering saint. I smell a load o' bullcrap huge enough to absorb all the water in New Orleans from the storm George Bush caused. Is it possible anyone on earth actually gives a rat's ass about this self-absorbed- painter version of an Amway Representative? I mean, ok, ok, ok, he's been married for 300 years, he has ten daughters, he had things tough, this crap shack on the river means so damn much to him, and he hides his kids' initials in the trees like Bev Doolittle hides ducks in the reeds, Jesus Christ, God Almighty, His very own Lord and Savior, give it a fucking rest, dude. He has learned THIS and he has learned THAT and his life is peaceful, and the storms are quieted, and he sees that the path of tranquility is the path of pancakes and syrup.....I mean when you are this low-a-level of pontificating narcissist, can you imagine the below-low level of SYCOPHANTS that he must have adhering to his skin? And another thing: about this "shaping of his character." How did this godawful apparition of a haunted whorehouse manage to "shape his character." And what IS his character: someone who is CAPABLE of painting pictures you can actually look at without having to spend two subsequent weeks in the hospital to recover from, but instead paints the overturned contents of psychedelic toilets? What kinda "character development" DOES that. Is his "character" someone who can spill as many blathering bromides and rancid platitudes onto a page as he spills gargoyle-ugly colors onto a canvas? And what the fuck is it with the goddamned mother fucking "Christians" who are convinced it is so fucking important for YOU to know - not only what unprovable supernatural events THEY believe in - but you also need to know that THIS FUCKING PREOCCUPATION WITH PERSONAL HOLINESS THAT THESE FUCKING MONSTER SELF RIGHTEOUS CHRISTIAN BASTARDS WALLOW IN is, heh heh, psssst, always a little bit of a sideshow come-on to get you into the tent. I was raised in a traveling carnival. I can smell a self-righteous con ten miles away. Whether it's bad painters claiming a good seal of approval from the diety, or whether it's the Masons dressing you in their buttless apron and saying with self-righteous insistence that it aint gay..... it's all the same bullroar.
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