Perverse pleasure

This isn't about sexually perverse pleasure. I wouldn't know anything about that.

(Ahem...)

No, this is about the fact that it gives me a teeny little thrill...I get a perverse kinda pleasure...when the rich and/or famous, quasi-rich and/or famous, the "morally pure"...the high and mighty...fall off their carefully constructed but architecturally unsound pedestals.

The religous leaders who get caught with their pants down. The acclaimed 'sports heroes' who in reality, set piss-poor examples to those who look up to them. Those who would have you believe that there simply is no better looking, richer, more intelligent, more powerful, more talented, more virtuous, ambitious or morally sound human being than they. You get the idea.

Perhaps a teeny, tiny part of my perverse pleasure could possibly be attributed to jealousy. Sour grapes. But I really believe that most of it is about the hypocrisy. Of all the human faults and foibles, hypocrisy is perhaps the thing that I abhor most. I simply have no regard...no respect whatsoever...for hypocrites. Even moreso when the hypocrite is someone 'public'. Someone whom others look up to and admire.

I have FAR more respect for the 10 dollar hooker on the corner, who will unhesitatingly admit that she's a hooker (unless she thinks you're an undercover cop, I mean) who charges 10 bucks than I do most politicians who'll do the same thing....screw your brains out for 10 bucks...but lie about it.

Does that make me a bad person?

On second thought, don't answer that. It probably does. But I think I might be in good company.

Christine

posted a little piece about

Thomas Kinkade

.

"Painter of Light". Indeed. I wonder if God, whom he calls is his "art agent", told him to piss on Winnie the Pooh? I mean...c'mon...Winnie the Pooh? The story's just too...bizarre...NOT to be true.

Now, I've often said that 'art' is totally and completely subjective. If you like it...if it speaks to you...then...well...it's art. Whatever floats your boat. Everyone's got an opinion. I also think that becoming a truly 'successful' artist...one that actually makes big bucks...is far more a matter of luck than of talent.

That's exactly what I thought the first time I ever saw one of Kinkade's pieces. He does have talent. But it's certainly not artistic talent, at least in my opinion. It's a talent for picking up on what people...excuse me, sheeple...want. The far edge of the baby-boomers and the elder set, more specifically. His work is homey and kitschy and nostalgic. It's supposed to make you feel warm...supposed to make you yearn for gentler times...yesteryear. Cozy, lighted cabins at dusk. Children in horse-drawn sleighs.

Blech!

I caught an episode of 20/20 once, I think it was. One of John Stossel's 'Gimme a Break' segments, maybe. He gathered several VERY important art critics together and presented them with maybe 6 different paintings by true 'artists'. And one by a chimpanzee, saying only that they ALL were done by aspiring artists. Invariably, the critics picked the chimp's painting as showing the most talent. That's gotta tell you somethin about 'art'.

I'm sure that, truth be known, there are lots of famous artists out there that are laughing their asses off at the rubes who buy their art...they're laughing all the way to the bank. The truly talented ones are starving in their garrets simply because they haven't been lucky enough to be in the right place at the right time.

I've often thought that that it's particularly ironic that many artists never receive the attention they deserve until after they're dead. I've also often wondered if that'd ever happen to me. I have a lot of paintings out there that I've given to friends and relatives as gifts or that I've sold at craft shows and such.

Though I figure it'd be just my luck, I really hope that no one ever 'discovers' me after I'm dead. I'll be sooooo pissed.