Cincinnati, Ohio: Prospect Street, Gloucester
I had visited Cincinnati's art museum once before. In 1990, I asked my cousin who I was visiting there what to do while I was in town. She smiled wryly, sucked on her cigarette, and said, "You could always go see the Mapplethorpe show.""I thought they closed it down."
"They had to open it back up while the court decides."
I ran over to the museum to see in person the show that launched the early-1990s tempest about national funding of the arts. I discovered to my disappointment that I had already seen the show a couple of months earlier at Chicago's Museum of Contemporary Art. I had assumed that this show which caused such contentiousness in Cincinnati couldn't be the one that showed without much fanfare in Chicago. But it was.
When I saw the show's photographs at the Cincinnati museum, I had all to myself a gymnasium-sized room full of Mapplethorpe's large portraits and prints of beautiful flowers.


"Every time we make the national news, Cincinnati looks like a horse's behind," my cousin lamented. In the same year, they made national news when a little old lady who had freshened someone's expired parking meter got ticketed by a Cincinnati cop.

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