The Sarasota Kiss

On the big bend that Tamiami Trail takes to circle the Sarasota Bay stands a Kiss. It's two stories high and historically correct depicting a sailor kissing a white uniformed nurse. Perhaps you remember it from the end of WWII as probably the most recognizable photo from that joyous time. The statue of styrofoam stands with only the waterfront and an endless mile of boats, their masts forming a scraggly fence along the docks, as a somehow apt background. The sparseness of intrusive buildings on that site, and the incongruity of it's size truly stops traffic. People often park their cars quickly to have their pictures taken with the plastic couple. But there is a fly in the seaside.

Residents of this beautiful and dignified city aren't taking to incongruity as well as the town visitors. There seems to be quite a bit of resentment in spite of its famous creator, J. Seward Johnson, possibly simply because it's not exactly what the average retired boomer expects to see labeled sculpture. After all, there is the elegant courtyard sprinkled with traditional statuary at the Ringling Museum, a suitable model for what sculpture should be and Mr. Johnson has obviously not chosen to follow this artistic ideal.

Letters to the editor have poured in to the newspaper, luncheons have served as discussion boards, and suddenly art critics are sprouting in every condo on the trail. Opinions, though, are beginning to shift in the wind as more of the contemporary sculpture arrives around town as part of the city-wide display currently taking place. The critics are now faced with art which must be explained to be appreciated, if even then. The letters are pouring in echoing even stronger confusion in the face of the truly twisted images that make the Kiss seem innocuous in comparison.

Witnessing this mental chaos via news media while I visited the area was interesting. This seems to be the pattern of public opinion followed throughout history. Robert Crumm's cartoons have become art not long after parents were horrified by them. The Impressionists were shunned as art pariahs when the movement began and now it's hard to find a more popular style of painting. Still life paintings were considered the bottom rung on the subject matter ladder, but they lend themselves well to traditional living. This, however, was the first time I ever saw such a rapid turn-around from the ever fickle public. Even more amazing was the knowledgeable art terms from both the pros and cons. They may have been stodgy, but their reasoning was well expressed.

I plan to follow the story through to its eventual end via the Sarasota Herald. I believe that as it disappears from public notice, the Kiss will become a beloved part of the Sarasota cultural scene and widely missed if or when it is removed.

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