I spend a lot of time reading on random topics on Wikipedia just for shits and giggles. When I’m burning a DVD of data, or when I am running all sorts of other things in the background, I just like to read. While I have plenty of books I find it difficult to switch from screen to printed page. It involves more eye strain that I first thought. In any event, I should really be furling a lot more of what I read just for quick retrieval.

One thing that I came across today was the concept of kitsch, which seems to be pervasive wherever one wants to find it. The reason I say that is because I think that in today’s “art-inundated” world there is a yearning for the unique and the truly different. That yearning seems so pervasive among those who wish to be highbrow—or those who already are—that their tastes in art are so esoteric as to defy the aesthetic. Then again, I digress into a few other themes, primarily the grauitously grotesque (see: Piss Christ) and bombastic irony (see: Ecce Homo). Nevertheless, I have observed that esoterica for the sake of uniqueness is almost a direct effect of an aversion to anything kitschy. I personally think that the line between the kitschy and the popular has been blurred by the very same “connoiseurs” of high art that have marginalized themselves into appreciating “art” like the ones I mentioned above.

As if kitsch itself has no value; which it does. It fulfills a need for something pretty but impersonal—to fill up cheap motel rooms and pretentious coffee shops—and in some cases, even humorous. It also serves as a “grey noise” in which we can be comfortable with, when really good art is hard to find and the “high art” pieces that fill galleries simply alienate us. So go ahead, if you really like Thomas Kincade stuff, don’t be afraid to admit you like it. There are more of you than you think.