When I was two my parents and grandparents and I took a road trip from Boston, where we all lived together, to Toronto, where my aunt and uncle had recently moved into a new downtown high rise. What memories remain of that visit are only flashes, images, but the one thing I recall vividly is the statue of the pissing cupid that adorned the building lobby. Because I had no concept of either art or kitsch, my two-year-old reaction was disgust. Why would anyone publicly display an act I knew was conducted in private?
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