Key West. Its Heart and Soul.

A tropical paradise. Indeed it is. But really, what IS Key West? What truly distinguishes it from all the other places on the planet?

The weather was perfect while we were there. The unfiltered sun was intensely hot. Temperatures were in the mid eighties, but the humidity made it all miserable. Cigarette smoke and its gases were present almost everywhere on the island. Alcohol consumption was gratuitously extravagant. Noise was constant with randomly spaced ear-shattering blasts of motorcycle engines suddenly revved high with a muffler cutout opened while they waited downtown for the red light to turn. Some cars and trucks were not much quieter. Other cars pounded the pavement with syncopated woofer energy that made your feet tingle. Disturbingly amplified band noise competed with other distortingly amplified band noises as you walked along the audio promenade which would normally be called a street. Views of quaint buildings, trees, shops, bars and all were crammed behind great coils of wires strung from poles and then coiled and jumbled and twisted into great magic-marker-like scrawls seemingly always interposed between the view and the viewer.

Still seeking the heart and soul of Key West I headed into the art galleries - here, I reasoned, will I find the great views of paradise that I am now clearly seeking in the wrong places.

Indeed paradises were depicted in there, but these paradises all seemed to have a European twist to them. Great mansions, horses pulling carriages, there were some sea shores indeed, but these all had mountains rising behind them. Several studio visitors were gathered before three magnificent snowscape paintings - again of some neat, clean, cool European magic paradise. Another gallery had a large display of naked women, most in bas-relief, all representing not quite so much the female form perfected as a metamorphism into spiritual archetypes of glory. Not at all like the sweat-drenched women walking around in baggy shorts and floppingly open short sleeved shirts with hair frazzling out from under their soggy sunhats.

So I sought out the artists themselves. And I found a few of them. Mostly they were surprised at my question. One proudly told me that more alcohol was consumed here per-capita than in Las Vegas. Another told me that there were a LOT of weddings here. Another one told me that the roosters were one of the distinguishing objects d’art here, but admitted you couldn’t hear or see them except in the “old town”, certainly not on Duval Street. (I did see one there - at the Episcopal Church). But compared to the Philippines or Thailand or the Bahamas, the Key West roosters seemed quaint, even though they are supposedly descended from the fighting game cocks once bet upon by Hemingway.


Most of the pictures displaying tropical paradises in these galleries were of palm fronds and great showy flowers, and arrogant roosters, all gaudily dressed up in slightly fluorescent or psychedelic colors. Perhaps that is an artist’s  attempt to paint the noise of motorcycles without mufflers, shots sounds, of the car and trucks, the cigarette smoke, the "professionally wasted" looking men communing with dark bottles at the bars and the blaring band noise.

So there were pictures painted of paradises galore, both near and far, fanciful  and imaginary.  But there were no pictures of Duval Street.  I wondered why?  Although I really knew.  Obviously, if there is a "heart and soul" of Key West, it would not be seen on Duval Street, so I went elsewhere.  But since I had seen no paintings of Duval Street, and I felt it deserved its own recognition, so before  I ventured out into the Old Town I did my own painting of Duval Street to provide a suitable remembrance of it.  My rendition of "Duval Street" is shown above.

Later I spent a considerable amount of time in the "old towns", the cemetery, some good restaurants and some of the show places.  More to come.