"Public" and "art" are the Romeo & Juliet of the dictionary, star-crossed words that should never have been allowed to meet. By encouraging them to hang out together, we assured that all dialogue about their union would forever be dominated by the firebrand fringes of society: the tiny minority who believe it is government's function to support totally uncensored artistic expression, and the equal number who worship at the altar of puritanical self righteousness. God bless America.

We need to have this little talk today because once again these guerrilla cadres of art appreciation have kidnapped the best intentions of our brightest leaders. A little background: The Des Moines City Council gives $415,000 a year to the nonprofit Greater Des Moines Public Art Foundation (GDMPAF), which takes shelter now under the umbrella of the Greater Des Moines Community Foundation. That group inspires the promotion of public art with matching grants. It has two marvelous projects on its plate: A $250,000 "Chess Park" which would castle its king in the downtown Western Gateway; and a $150,000 "Shining Maze" which would restore some much needed community involvement with the new Iowa Events Center (IEC).

We bet most of you haven't even heard about these projects, but that you have heard about two pieces of public art that recently removed their bras outdoors. Marty Davis' sculpture in Ankeny, with a nude etching so discrete it's nearly impossible to see, enraged some of Oliver Cromwell's foot soldiers in that suburb. And the Des Moines Project's spray-painted "Naked Angel" became a media magnet, survived a city council judgment and applied for GDMPAF money for artistic breast enhancements.

The most memorable public art travels not with outrage, but with irony. Consider the Olympic flame that burns eternally, but only for a fortnight. Or the Statue of Liberty, which welcomed 19th-century immigrants to a desolate rock that supported no life. Similarly, Claes Oldenburg's "Crusoe Umbrella" was created at Nollen Plaza when there were no trees tall enough to produce shade anywhere downtown. The flawed umbrella teased our urban shortcomings and invited us under its illusory protection, becoming an endearing symbol of Des Moines.

Anna Gaskell's "Shining Maze" could do the same. Gaskell's (Anna is the sister of this publication's co-owner and editor, Jon) plan calls for an evergreen labyrinth with flat-screen projections. Imagine watching brightly dressed fans from Strawberry Point and Lost Nation meandering through the four seasons of Iowa. Like the best public art, this could redeem the space it reflects upon.

The IEC's Wells Fargo Arena is the architectural equivalence of the New Orleans police force - everything commendable about it is in danger of being overlooked, because it failed its mandate in the spotlight. It was built under contentious circumstances. First it suspiciously avoided the normal legal process that would have required voter approval of such a public expenditure. Then its political shepherds shut out local independent contractors by challenging Iowa's right-to-work law with a very political project labor agreement. For those reasons, its detractors were able to paint the arena as an elitist indulgence, built at the expense of the common man.

Given that background, the architects' mission should have been to deliver something open, accessible and democratic. Instead, the building has the vibes of a medieval castle - a moated fortress on a hill with seriously limited entrances and parking for the unprivileged masses. Staircases, necessary to negotiate the stacked and labyrinthine concourses, are wasted with railings that unnecessarily reduce their width. Multiple layers of distinction (club, loge, suite, etc.) segregate the community into economic apartheid.

Unlike public architecture, however, public art is always democratic. Chess, like soccer, is an international language that busts barriers. A common public chess arena would desegregate all human distinctions except talent. Des Moines boasts a significant artist, Mary Kline-Misol, and art company, Sticks, that use chessboards as media. And Chess Park is a brilliant idea for Des Moines.

"Maze" would transform its space similarly, by helping us laugh at the labyrinthine ordeals the Events Center, and all the bureaucratic creations of public life, puts us through. By demonstrating that we can all get equally lost here, Gaskell's art reminds us of our commonality. And it demonstrates that public art can have outrageous fun without removing its bra in public. CV

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