Backstory: Clowning around on Florida's 'Culture Coast'

The criticism and vandalism of the clown statues "has been sad for the clown community," he adds. "They can say all they want about Sarasota being artsy.., but Ringling Brothers put Sarasota on the map."

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In a downtown park where many of the clowns are clustered, white-haired couples and children stop to gawk or pose for photos. "Anyone who doesn't like these are just goofy, grumpy people who are afraid to be happy," says Tonya Forestin, a stay-at-home mom admiring the figures with a friend one recent afternoon. "What could be bad about something that makes people smile?"

Plenty, say some local artists, many of them transplants from Northern cities. They were drawn to Sarasota as much for its climate and natural beauty as for a vibrant cultural scene that includes a ballet, opera house, and renowned museum of fine art, founded by John Ringling himself.

"It says something about us as a city," says Elizabeth Van Riper, a painter, sipping coffee with a group of fellow artists at a Starbucks across from a row of clown statues. "Is it stuck in the 1940s, or is it forward looking?"

Public art "is the city's wardrobe," Virginia Hoffman, a sculptor and former chair of the city's Public Art Committee, says from across the table.

"And," adds Beth Surdut, another artist, "do you really want it to look like Bride of Chucky fallen into Ronald McDonaldland?"

Though police say there is no link between the artists' criticism and the vandalism, the attacks on the statues have clouded what exhibit detractors say was an important debate over public art.

Frank Creaturo, a local painter hired as a clown repairman, says he has been called on to patch up 27 of the 50 clowns, which are shuttled to his downtown studio in moving vans. The attacks have been so vicious that he has had to mend some with the same Bondo putty that auto-body shops use on dents. His own artwork – abstract paintings and street scenes of old New York – has been pushed to the back burner. "People will pass by the studio and go, 'There's the Clown Doctor'," he says. "Forget about Frank Creaturo the artist. Now I'm being called 'The Clown Doctor'."

Then he excuses himself. A clown statue at the airport has been beheaded, and he has to go.

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In recent weeks, the clowns have come under tighter security. Police have beefed up patrols. A local businessman has donated surveillance cameras. And Tidewell Hospice, the exhibit's sponsor, has hired a private security guard and clustered the statues in more central locations to deter vandals.

In December, the Sarasota Herald Tribune, published a front-page story on "coulrophobia," or clown phobia, and quoted a local psychologist's assessment that "clowns by their very nature are frightening beings that evoke fear."

The 50th and final clown statue, "Caboose," unveiled outside a local library last month, was designed with features less likely to incite coulrophobes, or at least pranksters who might see a simpering life-size clown statue as too inviting a target, especially after a night of heavy drinking.

"I just didn't want any big grins or any scary eyes," says Judy Robertson, the graphic designer who painted Caboose. She gave her clown heart-shaped lips, big eyelashes, and crystal blue eyes. "I wanted it to have a real good spirit."

Officials at Tidewell Hospice have met in recent weeks to discuss the possibility of ending the exhibit early, concerned about the effects of continued vandalism on prices at the May auction, where the hospice had hoped to raise $1 million. Asked whether she would stage a similar fundraiser again, Tidewell's president, Marge Maisto, smiles and, after a long pause, says, "Probably not."

As some now see it, the clown controversy is proof the circus never left Sarasota. "I'm sure John Ringling is probably looking down from above, just laughing like crazy," says Lou Ann Palmer, a three-time Sarasota mayor and former contortionist. "He may even have his clown nose on."

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