Ten Almaden Boulevard is the most prestigious business address in San Jose, California. It towers over the downtown business district like a moored steam liner, with seventeen stories of glass and steel fronting the street, and a gaping three-story glass foyer that looks like it could swallow its visitors whole. Big corporate tenants like Merrill Lynch, Kidder Peabody, and Citibank have leased full-floor suites in this building. If you’re at Ten Almaden, you’re big time.
The day I arrived for a meeting in early May 1994, I wasn’t going to visit a national brokerage firm or an international bank branch. I was going to visit the offices of a painter. But not just any painter: Thomas Kinkade, the Painter of Light. The only artist ever to be traded on the stock market.
I had driven my Volvo station wagon up from Santa Barbara and parked in the attached garage, taking the polished brass elevator to the ninth floor. From the minute the elevators opened, the opulence was staggering. Everything reeked of money. I had been an art rep for a few years, and had experience with licensing artists’ images for greeting cards and calendars and many other products. I was used to making deals in cramped gallery offices, turpentine-smelling studios, and industry trade shows. Nothing could have prepared me for the wealth of this company. It had recently been renamed Media Arts Group Inc. from its previous name, Lightpost Publishing. The company’s acronym, MAGI, gleamed on a polished stainless-steel plaque at the reception desk, lit dramatically with studio lighting. Everything did indeed seem magical.
A friendly young receptionist announced me over an intercom, and another smiling assistant approached and led me toward the conference room, where she said my meeting was already waiting for me. We walked across the marbled floors, through the warm cherrywood-paneled hallways with wainscoting and brass accents, beneath soft pools of gallery lighting, and past the long stretches of glass windows that afforded a stunning view of the entirety of San Jose.
I knew that Thomas Kinkade was staggeringly successful, but nothing had prepared me for the sense of limitless wealth that pervaded every inch of the Media Arts offices. There wasn’t a single person in the art publishing business who didn’t know the name Thomas Kinkade. I was in awe of him, and couldn’t help but steal glances around the hallways in hopes of catching a glimpse of the Painter of Light.
When we reached the conference room, I was ushered to a thirty-foot glass conference table, upon which a silver tray of tall glasses with ice and a decanter of water stood. The three men on the other side of the table stood and reached out their hands to greet me. I shook everyone’s hands, nodding to each.
“Eric Kuskey. Good to meet you.”
Dan Byrne, senior vice president of marketing, a tall, burly guy with bushy hair and a grizzly bear’s handshake, smiled an affable smile, pumping my hand vigorously.
“Welcome to the chocolate factory.”
“Where’s Willy Wonka?”
“Painting in the garden.”
Marketing director Kevin Sacher, a robust man with a tousled head of hair, stood beside Dan. He had joined Media Arts from the Franklin Mint, and he and I had crossed paths a few times at the trade shows. Kevin, who had just moved to San Jose from Philadelphia, had called me to tell me he was working for Thomas Kinkade. I remember feeling a little jealous of his good fortune. I was an art representative and he said the company was seeking to diversify, and promised to bring me up at the appropriate time, so I could introduce the artists I represented. He kept his promise, and here I was. He shook my hand and introduced me to Ken Raasch, who asked me to show them my samples. I sat down facing the three men and opened my briefcase to show them the work of one of my artists, Nancy Faulkner.
Ken Raasch was notably different from the other two. Dan and Kevin were midwesterners, with an understated quick wit and an ironic gleam in their eyes. Ken hailed from Northern California, and was dressed impeccably in a finely tailored Italian suit and stylish Italian shoes. His hair was perfectly coiffed, and his golden tan suggested a life of wealth and leisure. He had a stick of lip balm and a bottle of eye drops in front of him, and used them both repeatedly throughout the meeting. I displayed my transparencies, catalogs, greeting cards, and hundreds of color copies. Ken gave the materials his full attention; he said he was pleased with what he saw, while the other two men nodded approval. Ken said that they were adding more artists to their program to meet all tastes in the art market. He added that this could work out well for us all.
I glanced at Kevin, and he winked at me and smiled. Things were going well. Part of me couldn’t believe it; to be invited to become part of Thomas Kinkade’s company was like winning the lottery. It just didn’t get any bigger than Thomas Kinkade.
“So, what is your business plan with adding new artists?” I asked.
Ken explained that Media Arts was expanding its roster in order to diversify. Since the company had gone public, the pressure to show a quarterly increase in profits was enormous. Ken believed that Media Arts could replicate Thomas Kinkade’s success with other artists, and that diversification was the way to feed the Wall Street beast. He thought they had a winning formula that could be applied to artists of all kinds, meeting the different tastes of all kinds of art buyers.
Ken told me that he had recently acquired David Winter Cottages, a company that offered small collectibles by the famous British artist David Winter. The artist’s miniature cottage company had been struggling for years, and in looking for new blood, Ken had acquired the sinking ship for a great deal. I was thrilled that this wealthy and well-resourced company was now interested in my artist. So why stop at Nancy Faulkner? Media Arts wanted to expand into the collectibles business, and for good reason. The Bradford Exchange, a company that specialized in selling figurines and ornaments, collector plates and music boxes, was the biggest in the business, and Thomas Kinkade was their best-selling artist. As far as sales in collectibles went, Thomas Kinkade was considered superhuman. He was the one percent of the one percent; nobody sold like him. He was the Donald Trump of artists.
While Ken studied the portfolio, I decided to ask, “So, what other licenses do you guys have? Any other deals in the pipeline?”
Ken said they were more focused on growing the art business.
“The Bradford Exchange is your only license?” I asked, surprised. Ken responded that they didn’t have time for licensing. I told him it seemed to me they could be doing a lot more than just licensing Kinkade’s imagery with the Bradford Exchange. Ken listened with interest.
“I’d love to help you guys land some licenses, if you’re interested,” I said.
Ken considered for a moment and handed the materials back to me, saying they would give it some thought and be in touch.
We ended the meeting with pleasantries, and I felt it couldn’t have gone better. We were all in our thirties, with growing families and eager to build our careers. At that moment, these three men seemed like the nicest guys in the world. I packed my materials into my briefcase and drove back to Santa Barbara, excited by thoughts of all the potential artists I might bring to this company.
But I wasn’t prepared for the call I received a week later from Dan Byrne. He said there was good and bad news. The good news was that they were interested in my artist Nancy Faulkner.
There was a pause. I swallowed.
“What’s the ‘but’?”
Dan said that Ken was more interested in me. I was stunned, feeling light-headed with excitement.
Dan said Ken was offering that I become head of licensing at Media Arts for Thomas Kinkade. He also wanted to buy my company. It took me a moment to find the words.
“I don’t know what to say. I’ll have to talk to my wife . . .”
I could sense him smiling on the other line. We both knew I was in.
Within a month, I had convinced my wife to see the wisdom in the move. We rented out our house in Santa Barbara and found a place in Los Gatos, near the homes of Thomas Kinkade and Ken Raasch. I drove the family up to San Jose in the Volvo, my three kids strapped into their car seats, heading for our new adventure.
How much of an adventure it would be, I could have never imagined.
It was the beginning of the wildest ride of my life.