Caroline burnett painter biography

So, the other day I stumbled upon a rather charming French impressionistic painting online – you know, the kind with that lovely, soft Parisian street scene. It was signed "Burnett," and being the cautious type (especially when it comes to potential online finds), I did a quick search for "artist Burnett."

The first thing that popped up was Google Shopping, showing Burnett artworks priced anywhere from a couple of hundred to over a thousand dollars. My initial thought was, "Wow, what a steal!" because the one I was eyeing was going for a mere nineteen bucks, plus shipping. But then I noticed something odd – none of the Burnett paintings on that auction site had any bids. And I still had this nagging feeling of not really knowing who this "Burnett" actually was, so I kept digging.

After scrolling through a few unhelpful results, I found a website that piqued my interest: an article promising to unravel the mystery of Burnett paintings. The author discussed some of the theories surrounding these works before landing on a rather straightforward explanation: the artist was likely Caroline Burnett, an American artist who lived and painted in Paris during the latter part of the 19th century. Apparently, she's even listed in "Who's Who of American Art." The article mentioned her preferred medium was oil and that she consistently signed her paintings "BURNETT" in the bottom right corner. It was noted that while some in the art world and collectors appreciated her work, it was often the everyday person who simply enjoyed the vibrant scenes she depicted.

Finally, some solid information! Satisfied with this discovery, I continued to browse the website, which seemed to belong to a UK-based antiques dealer. However, I found it peculiar that almost every item listed was marked as already sold, except for one chest. And when I clicked on the chest, there was no option to buy it or add it to a cart. It felt a bit… off. Could the site be a bit of a facade? But why go to the trouble of creating a seemingly fake shop just to elaborate on the story of an artist?

This "Burnett" had me hooked again. My search continued, leading me to mentions of various Burnetts – a C Burnett, a W Burnett, a Ron Burnett, a Carolyn Burnett, and a Caroline C Burnett, who even had an AskART profile with biographical details. This suggested that perhaps there *was* a real artist behind the name, or at least multiple artists with similar signatures, which could explain some of the confusion.

I also stumbled upon Yahoo Answers threads where people were asking about the signature or the value of their "Burnett" paintings, often without receiving a definitive answer. It seemed like a lot of people were in the same boat – intrigued but unsure about the origins and worth of these pieces. This made me wonder about the journey these paintings had taken, ending up in various corners of the world.

A potential explanation did occur to me: perhaps some individuals had been misled by online sellers in the past and were now trying to resell these paintings on auction sites or at flea markets to recoup their losses. It wasn't a complete answer, but it offered a plausible scenario for some of the lower-priced listings.

Then, I found an online forum specifically discussing Burnett paintings, and that's when things got really interesting. People who had bought Burnetts decades ago, or found them in family homes across different countries – Oregon, Texas, Australia, New Zealand, Singapore, Turkey, Germany, France, Spain – shared their experiences. The paintings had been acquired from reputable art dealers, door-to-door salespeople, and thrift stores, with prices ranging from a thousand dollars to just a few cents. One person even reported seeing a Burnett selling for two thousand dollars in a Brussels art gallery. The theories about their origin were just as varied: Parisian street artists, factories in China, San Franciscan art students, and a real C Burnett from Britain or America who painted in different decades.

At this point, I wasn't just curious; I was completely engrossed. It felt like I had stumbled into a genuine art-world puzzle. I even started imagining a documentary where I'd travel the globe, interviewing these Burnett owners, culminating in a grand reveal of the artist's true identity – maybe it was even Banksy playing an elaborate prank! I mentally patted myself on the back for not impulsively bidding on that nineteen-dollar painting.

But then, just as I was preparing to share my findings, ready to expose this "mystery," I found one more result – a question answered by an expert appraiser on a justanswer.com-type site.

The appraiser stated that paintings by Caroline C. Burnett frequently appear at auction and typically sell in the $125 to $200 range for smaller pieces, with larger ones fetching $200 to $300, or $400 to $600 for a pair. The explanation was rather anticlimactic: these mid-century Paris scenes were likely produced in large quantities for the tourist market. Their value was primarily decorative, though the appraiser noted that people today appreciate their quality and they remain popular.

After hours of online sleuthing, the "mystery" of Burnett paintings seemed to unravel in a rather simple and unglamorous way. Sometimes, what feels like a complex puzzle just turns out to be a series of similar, smaller pieces. You meticulously unwind a ball of yarn only to find… a long piece of yarn.

In hindsight, maybe I should have bought that painting. Perhaps I could have made a small profit. But honestly, I probably wouldn't have sold it. It was pretty, and sometimes it's nice to just own something aesthetically pleasing. I had become so focused on the story *behind* the art that I forgot to simply appreciate the art itself. I was so caught up in potentially uncovering a grand narrative that I overlooked the simple visual appeal.

In a way, I had become a caricature of someone overly concerned with conceptual meaning, perhaps… I had become Modern Art.

I was idly browsing one of those online marketplace sites the other day when a painting caught my eye. It was a rather charming piece, a French impressionistic depiction of a Parisian street, all soft hues and delicate brushstrokes. Signed simply "Burnett" at the bottom.

Being a bit cautious before hitting the "bid" button, I did the usual Google search for "artist Burnett." The very first result was from Google Shopping, showcasing works by this "illustrious" artist with price tags ranging from $250 to $1500. My initial thought was a quick calculation – the one I was considering was a mere $19, plus shipping! What a potential bargain, I mused.

However, a nagging doubt crept in. I noticed a distinct lack of bidding activity on other "Burnett" paintings on the same platform. Who exactly *was* this Burnett? My curiosity piqued, I continued my digital quest. After sifting through some irrelevant links, I stumbled upon an article that promised to shed light on the "Burnett painting mystery."

The article, hosted on what appeared to be a UK-based antiques site, presented a few theories before arriving at a seemingly definitive answer. It suggested that the artist behind the signature was Caroline Burnett, an American who lived and painted in Paris. Apparently, she's even listed in "Who's Who of American Art." The article noted her oil medium and consistent "BURNETT" signature in the bottom right. Painting in the latter 19th century, her inspiration was said to be the Parisian scenes around her. While her "Moulin Rouge" painting reportedly fetched $1000 in 1971, the article pointed out that her works have since sold for everything from pennies to significant sums, emphasizing the subjective nature of art appreciation and the apparent widespread enjoyment of her vibrant depictions.

Finally, some concrete information! Feeling somewhat satisfied, I continued to explore the antiques website. Strangely, almost every item listed, except for a single chest, was marked as "sold." And when I clicked on this lone chest, there was no option to purchase it or add it to a virtual cart. It struck me as rather odd. Could the entire site be some sort of elaborate facade? But what would be the purpose of creating a seemingly non-functional online shop just to perpetuate the narrative of an artist?

"Burnett" had once again drawn me into its orbit.

My subsequent searches yielded a plethora of similarly named artists: a C Burnett, a W Burnett, a Ron Burnett, a Carolyn Burnett, and a Caroline C Burnett, the latter even boasting an AskART profile complete with biographical details. This suggested that perhaps the "Burnett" I was seeing could be attributed to more than one individual, muddying the waters further.

I even found old Yahoo Answers threads from people seeking information about the signature or the value of their Burnett paintings, none of which seemed to have received truly conclusive responses. It was becoming clear that the idea of one singular, easily defined "Artist Burnett" was likely a misconception. But then, who created all these paintings, and how had such a web of uncertainty formed?

A plausible, albeit somewhat cynical, explanation did occur to me. Perhaps some individuals in the US had been taken in by a scam involving mass-produced paintings sold online in the 2000s, and were now trying to offload them on platforms like eBay or at flea markets to recoup their losses. It didn't explain everything, but it offered a somewhat logical scenario.

Then I stumbled upon an online forum dedicated to Burnett paintings, and that's when my understanding of the situation truly began to unravel.

Here, I found posts dating back to 2011 from people who had acquired Burnetts as far back as thirty years prior. These paintings had been found in grandmothers' attics, in the crawlspaces of new houses, purchased in Oregon, Texas, Arkansas, Australia, New Zealand, Singapore, Turkey, Germany, France, Spain. The sources were just as varied: reputable art dealers, door-to-door salesmen, and humble thrift stores. The prices paid ranged from a staggering $1000 to mere pennies. One poster even recalled seeing a Burnett priced at $2000 in a professional art gallery in Brussels. The purported origins of the paintings were equally diverse: Parisian street artists, factories in China, art students in San Francisco, and a real C Burnett, either British or American, male or female, painting in the 1920s, 50s, or 70s.

I was no longer just curious; I was completely engrossed. It felt like I had stumbled upon a significant, albeit low-stakes, art-world enigma. I had, in a sense, "exited through the gift shop" of the art world and found myself in a bizarre back alley of speculation and uncertainty.

And then, just as I was nearing the end of my digital exploration, ready to perhaps share my own convoluted findings, and even briefly entertaining the idea of a mockumentary where I'd interview these Burnett owners in exotic locations, culminating in the grand reveal that "Burnett" was actually Banksy... just as I was congratulating myself for my online sleuthing and my near-purchase of a potentially dubious painting, I found one more result.

This led me to a response from an expert appraiser on a question-and-answer site.

The appraiser stated that paintings by Caroline C. Burnett do indeed appear frequently at auction and typically sell in the range of $125 to $200 for smaller pieces. Larger paintings of similar Parisian scenes usually fetch between $200 and $300, with pairs sometimes selling for $400 to $600, noting the continued popularity of these mid-century depictions. The appraiser suggested the painting was likely authentic (assuming it was an actual painting and not a print) and that these pieces were produced in significant numbers for the tourist market. Their primary value, according to the expert, was decorative, though acknowledging that people still appreciate their artistic quality.

After hours of online searching and a growing sense of obsession, the "mystery" of Burnett paintings seemed to deflate in a rather simple and unceremonious manner. It was like one of those Russian nesting dolls that, after opening layer upon layer, just reveals a slightly smaller, very similar doll. Or like meticulously unraveling a ball of yarn only to end up with a single, albeit long, strand.

Perhaps I should have just bought the painting. Maybe I could have flipped it for a small profit. But honestly, I probably wouldn't have. It was pretty, and there's something to be said for simply owning something you find aesthetically pleasing. I had become so fixated on uncovering the "story" behind the piece that I had forgotten the basic act of admiration. I had become so caught up in potentially constructing a grand narrative that I had ignored the simple aesthetic appeal.

In a strange way, I had become a walking embodiment of a certain kind of over-intellectualized approach to art… I had, in a way, become Modern Art itself.