While the kiss in a billion form has been the subject matter of art forever, I thought Pierre Fouche's The Kiss, the centrepiece of his show Convoluted Involvement at Bell-Roberts, was a particularly nice version. It gave a tip of the hat to both Klimt and Rodin's version without it being an overt reference. The whole thing was crocheted out of cotton which is one of those labour intensive practices (considering the thing is life-size plus) that normally does my head in.
The intense patterning and reduction made the work very distant from it's erotic content, which I found interesting. It's an almost cold scrutiny, a passionless mechanical observation of romance. Far from this making it an emotionless work it was tragic: life lived through a medium, or through observation, is pitiful and abject and in the end quite deathly. It's not a smooch, it's The Kiss with capitals.