Pinecove Cottage

Ya know, I wouldn't be pickin' on this guy's art if he wasn't selling more paintings and photo offsets than Rembrandt. I mean, these paintings shit to high heaven, a place he mentions often in his self-promoting confessions of sanctity. I mean, lookit THIS fucking nightmare of glowing sludge. What the fuck is going on in that house that the fucking yard is being illuminated like Candlestick Park at 8 o'clock in the morning? And why isn't there a fucking breath of onshore-flow from that Straits of Magellan hammering the sea is giving the two inch frontage of that ship-wrecking shoreline that has a pine forest two feet away. Pine trees do not grow tall and thick by crashing seas in locations pleasant enough to build an elfin cottage so becalmed by magic that the smoke ambles airward as relaxed and serene as if basking in a Death Valley mid August summer. What the fuck is going on in that house that merits interior lighting strong enough to cook the grass outside?....nuclear experiments with heavy water? Wouldn't the fucking eye-searing lights inside be enough to heat the place, you need TWO fucking fireplaces going too? What's going on in there, is a volcano bursting through the goddamn floor? Who besides a moron would find this a relaxing scene? It's a fucking supernatural nightmare of impending disaster about to spill-over onto half the continent in an explosion of horrific cataclysm! But actually, nope, not at all, it's a normal Thomas Kinkade lunatic tribute to H.R. Giger and Howard Phillips Lovecraft disguised as Christianity as experienced by a possessed madman. It's a whirling cornucopia of Natural Law run amok. Let's see what the Artist has to say about this:

"I especially enjoy coastal areas where the rugged rock of the shoreline is densely grown with lush pine forest. Here life is doubly dramatic—for the surging crash of waves is answered in turn by the song of the wind in the sturdy evergreens. To clear a secluded piece of ground in the forest and build a cozy stone cottage suitable for a lifetime of seaside moments—that is a dream I'm sure is hidden deep in each of us.

— Thomas Kinkade"

As usual he begins with himself. He tells us what he "especially" enjoys. Well, that's great, Tom, probing ever-deeper into your
profoundly intriguing likes and enjoyments is something no one could ever get tired of, it is like mining a goldfield of thought, insight, and philosophy. The "dramatic...song of the wind" seems to run out of energy as soon as it reaches the languid smoke of the chimneys. Judging from my admittedly amateur status as a meteorologist I would say the "lifetime of seaside moments" in that cottage at that location would last about two days into the first storm of October. Perhaps however this is a rocky, pineland coastline in rural Nebraska. Or maybe it's on a planet in the Dagobah System of Episode Two of Star Wars. I wonder, has anyone but me has noticed that a lot of the trees in the "lush pine forest" are dying? Oh, and is that a STREETLIGHT out there in the middle of the yard? Is that thing supposed to reassure me that the owner is sane, and come on in? All it tells me is that the owner is nuts. And is it electric? Where are the power lines? Am I supposed to assume that this remote cottage of Gramma and Grampa on an uninhabited peninsula of Northumberland has underground powerlines? Is that where the owner stands to read the paper at 3 in the morning?