Diane
Diane wrote:In Old Town, there are several small plazas where musicians sometimes play. It makes a lovely, relaxing break from shopping and walking.
Bob and I were pleased to see that one art gallery in Old Town had to go out of business. I can't remember the guy's name, but he is the one who paints cute little cottages with light shining through the windows. They are all pretty much alike, yet they sell like hot cakes and they aren't cheap. Cheap sentimentalism. Guess I have a mental block for his name.
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I despise Thomas Kincaid ---BBB
ticky-tacky houses from "The Painter of Light"
By Janelle Brown
Mar 18, 2002
To reach The Village at Hiddenbrooke, A Thomas Kinkade Painter of Light Community, you must first cross the San Francisco Bay Bridge and drive 30 minutes northeast of the city. You pass the cozy liberal bastion of Berkeley, the smoke-belching oil refineries of Richmond, and cross the girdered Carquinas Bridge before entering the tract-housing grid of suburban Vallejo. Just beyond the Marine World Africa USA theme park -- next to a Smorga Bob's restaurant and a Rite Aid -- there is a freeway signboard with the slogan "Get Away, Every Day. The Village at Hiddenbrooke," which features photographs of green grass, placid golfers and the steak dinners they presumably eat for dinner.
The Village at Hiddenbrooke lies just over the hill from Vallejo, where the city peters out into cow-dotted farmland. Hiddenbrooke is a 2-year-old development of 10 planned communities clustered together on 1,300 acres, with a golf course at the center. Thomas Kinkade's village is its most recent, and most high-profile, addition. Its opening in September drew a crowd of more than 2,000.
The village is, according to its marketing material, a "vision of simpler times," a "neighborhood of extraordinary design and detail" with "cottage-style homes that are filled with warmth and personality" and "garden-style landscaping with meandering pathways, benches, water features and secret places." The covers of the promotional pamphlets feature a Thomas Kinkade painting of a charming, rain-dappled village -- complete with church steeple, families out walking the pet Dalmatian and thickets of flowers.
All of this -- the golfing and steak dinners, the rain-dappled Dalmatian doggies and the happy-go-lucky hollyhocks -- sounds so absolutely charming and idyllic that it isn't surprising that the village doesn't quite live up to its billing. What is surprising, though, is just how far short of the mark it falls. I arrived at Kinkade's Village expecting to be appalled by a horror show of treacly Cotswold kitsch; I was even more horrified by its absence.
The Writer of Dreck
By Laura Miller
With his appalling new novel, Thomas Kinkade, "The Painter of Light," makes a strong bid to become the world champion of vapid, money-grubbing kitsch.
To understand the Village, you must first understand who Thomas Kinkade is. Thomas Kinkade, Painter of Light, bills himself as "the nation's most collected living artist." His paintings are typically luminous landscapes of romantic rustic villages, serene rivers, cozy churches, darling stone cottages and flower-strewn cobblestone streets -- or, as he categorizes them on his Web site, "Bridges," "Gazebos," "Seascapes," "Holidays," "Gates," "Inspirational," "Lighthouses" and "Memories."
For every setting, Kinkade chooses a dramatic lighting scenario: neon purple sunsets, glowing cottage windows, tumescent clouds, bright springtime sunshine. His work is sentimental, patriotic, quaint and spiritual, offering the kind of images you might find in turn-of-the-century children's storybooks. Many of his works refer directly to God, prayer and the Scriptures. (Paintings might be titled "The Hour of Prayer" or include a brass plate engraved with a Psalm).
Thomas Kinkade has sold some 10 million works -- "paintings" isn't exactly the right term, since most of the items are merely prints that have been "highlighted" with a few daubs of paint by the "master highlighters" who sit in Kinkade's 350 galleries and do their magic right in front of the customers. These works, much like Beanie Babies, are sold in limited editions, which spurs Kinkade's fans to pay outrageous prices -- thousands of dollars, typically -- for them. (Regardless, his company, Media Arts, is currently in serious financial straits, and has posted losses for four straight quarters).
Kinkade has parlayed his fame into an entire country-cottage industry of Kinkade-licensed products, as seen on QVC -- home furnishings, La-Z-Boy chairs and sofas, wallpaper, linens, china, stationery sets, Hallmark greeting cards and so on. Kinkade has also recently co-authored a novel. The Village at Hiddenbrooke bills itself as the culmination of Kinkade's vision: an actual manifestation of the quaint cottages, charming gazebos and inspiring landscapes in his artwork.
Except that it isn't. What you find in the rolling hills behind Vallejo is the exact opposite of the Kinkadeian ideal. Instead of quaint cottages, there's generic tract housing; instead of lush landscapes, concrete patios; instead of a cozy village, there's a bland collection of homes with nothing -- not a church, not a cafe, not even a town square -- to draw them together.
Great for teaching techniques, though 
