Some time ago here in Second City, it was proposed that razor wire be suspended over St Patrick's Street as an artistic statement. Within days, a cacophony of voices cried: "Enough!" And that was the end of that. But it begs the question of whether public art should reflect the public it is imposed upon, and become creativity by committee, or remain the domain of the artist. The ideal scenario is when the mind of the artist and perception of the public connect without contrivance. But as the ideal is rarely achieved, the conflict between committee and individual will raise its head again and again.

The installation of public art has undergone exponential growth in Cork over the past couple of years, a trend that can be only beneficial to city and citizens alike. But one piece stands head and shoulders above the rest. It is a monumental statue designed by John Hogan, commemorating the life of Fr Theobald Mathew, "the apostle of temperance".

Cast in bronze and towering over St Patrick's Bridge, his right hand stretches out at waist height, as if to say: "Give up the demon drink! I haven't touched a drop since I was that height." And more often than not, an empty pint bottle balances precariously on the apostle's left arm.

Second City is a port town, which probably explains the number of ale houses scattered through its maze of downtown streets. How a man expounding the virtues of sobriety can be held in such high regard in this city of drinking dens is amusing, to say the least. But perhaps a star shines brightest in the black of night - and perhaps the people of Cork were crying out for a saviour to lead them from the darkness of drink. Because to this day, when Corkonians give up the jar, it's still referred to as being on the TAC - the total abstinence crusade. The larger-than-life effigy of Fr Mathew is affectionately known as De Statue.

It not only fits comfortably into its location, but it has also become the location. For generations, courting couples have arranged first dates at De Statue. Our bus timetable tells us all buses leave from De Statue. The main municipal taxi rank? You've guessed it.

Even a line from the street ballad The Boys of Fairhill - "De smell off Patrick's Bridge is wicked, How do Father Mathew stick it?" - elevates De Statue to animated status.

I could drift into platitudes on the affection in which De Statue is held, but I won't. Although, last Saturday, I rented a copy of Barfly, the Barbet Scroeder film from 1987 that reinforces the need for deliverance from the devilish clutches of drink.

It was written by Charles Bukowski, a man whose work celebrates the underbelly of gutter life and thrives on getting down and dirty with alcohol addicts, and is the story of Henry Chinaski (Mickey Rourke), a tortured alcoholic poet who connects with Wanda Wilcox (Faye Dunaway), a bar broad and pseudo prostitute kept in low-life style by Wilbur, her sugar daddy.

Soon there is a second woman in Henry's life: Tully, a well-to-do literary editor blinded by Henry's brilliance and intrigued by his lifestyle. Henry's love is superficial and conditional, and self-preservation and self-gratification are the order of the day.

Barfly is a black and brutal film that opens with Henry lying in a pool of his blood, following a brawl fuelled by Henry's self-loathing - ironically, the film ends with Tully and Wanda rolling around on the floor, battling it out for Henry's love.

There is little or no redemption in the story, yet the superb acting of Rourke and Dunaway, the excellent script by Bukowski and the insightful direction of Scroeder elevate Barfly to a must-see film.

Getting back to De Statue, though, my favourite piece of public art is only a few yards from its base, and must be the smallest free-standing public sculpture in the land.

Measuring five inches by 24 inches, it is a limestone water trough for dogs, sculpted by Seamus Murphy. This monumental minnow scoffs at Father Matthew as if to say: "sure, you'd always give a thirsty dog a drink."

Public art? Ever since the cave drawings of Stone Age man, one man's art has been another's graffiti. But if you come to Cork and you're looking for a bus, a taxi, a date or even a piece of sculpture, just ask any man, woman or child. Even the dogs on the street will tell you where De Statue is. Now that's public art.