We'll see your giant tapeworm and raise you an eight-metre-tall phallic owl, a meaningless mess of mangled roadside metal, a garish, steel-plated orange moth and a polished stainless steel "goon-bag".

Sorry, Sydney, but no one knows abstract and befuddling taxpayer-funded public artwork like Canberra.

If the thought of just one big upturned milk crate sends your blood pressure soaring, spare a thought for the citizens of the national capital who live in a Pompeii-like giant art space where statues, sculptures and bizarre, inexplicable objects almost outnumber the living.

We've forked out for more than 130 pieces of public art in the ACT thanks largely to an ill-fated Percent for Art scheme, which for years committed 1 per cent of new capital works expenditure to public artwork.

The scheme was axed in 2009 after a heated debate about public art during the 2008 territory election.

Yet the obsession continued.

Former chief minister Jon Stanhope, a true champion of public art who once said that only ''Philistines" and "rednecks" were opposed to it, took great pleasure in unveilling a $400,000, eight-metre-high fibreglass owl in 2011 that now towers over Belconnen, supposedly representing wisdom and a guardian spirit.

It was instantly dubbed "penis owl", given its unfortunate likeness when viewed from certain angles.

And the pack of life-sized dogs on the central business district's City Walk frozen in time as they charged towards the Civic Carousel?

"The dogs symbolise the intersection and tensions between the wild and domestic, the rural and the urban space, and animals and humans," the ACT government website on public art helpfully advises.

And what about the four bronze statues installed next to the Civic Carousel in 2009 that were reportedly inspired by the ancient Greek myth of Icarus?

The ACT government assures us that the sculpture "encourages sympathy with Icarus' unbridled exuberance and an acceptance of its inevitable tragic consequences".

And, of course, every city needs a bronze statue in the city centre referencing the Lithuanian folk tale about Egle, a woman who married the king of sea serpents.

"No longer able to withstand the call of the land, Egle returned and became transformed into a tree," reads the unexpectedly entertaining government website.

Do not forget the rusted sculpture inside the Belconnen Community Health Centre, which apparently "portrays a poetic journey of the spirit".

"The sculpture is one of a series of works through which the artist explores the concept of a journey as a metaphor for the search for meaning in life," reads the government's description of the work.

And the meaningless mess of mangled roadside metal?

Well, that is one our favourites. Officially it is known as The Rhizome sculptural marker near the Gungahlin Drive interchange in Canberra's north – a ''17m by 10m metal structure designed to resemble Australia's indigenous grasses''. Unofficially it is the roadside scrap-heap left when a metal recycling truck lost its load.

So there you have it. Go ahead, Sydney, get flustered about your oddly shaped sky-noodle and oversized hipster furniture.

But if you want a real jaw-dropping taxpayer-funded art experience, you know where to find it.

Yours,

Canberra.