Since seminary I’ve been gathering books on art and trying to learn about a subject and discipline that escaped me for so long. I’m no expert, of course and have never claimed to know much. But there is art I like a lot and art I do not like.

For years I have bemoaned the artistry of Thomas Kinkade. When I picture the quaint, fairy-tale like house beside a perfect stream nestled among picturesque hills and vales full of glorious trees, I would decry such “precious moments-ness.”

But if I am honest -which is hard in matters of art – I must admit how much I would like to live in a place like that. Mainly because I want all the fairy tales to be true. There is not so deep inside of me a longing for all that he is trying to capture. I am sure it is not cool. And it is not technical. But if I were to stumble upon such a scene, I am sure it would bring me joy. And I cannot imagine for moment saying, “No, No, this is all wrong! Too perfect!”

Certainly, I cannot be alone. For even the most discriminating artists and critics would, if on a hike, be glad to come upon such a place and be glad to take tea in such environs.

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