From the 2026 Kindling Arts Festival:
Fairy Floss
Leave it to a turn-of-the-century Nashville dentist and a local candymaker to invent cotton candy—a treat so delightfully mystifying they gave it the original name, “Fairy Floss.” (They still call it Fairy Floss in New Zealand and Australia). The name partly captures its delicate, cloud-like strands, and there’s perhaps a cutesy wink to dental hygiene, from a dentist whose invention brought over a century’s worth of cavities.
Now, before we dismiss this as only a cooked-up tall tale, let it be known that this story is 100% real, and it belongs entirely to Nashville. In 1897, Music City dentist Dr. William Morrison partnered with Nashville confectioner John C. Wharton to invent an electric spun-sugar machine. They patented Fairy Floss and debuted it at the 1904 St. Louis World’s Fair to massive acclaim.
Leave it to Deep Strange Productions and Kindling Arts to blow the dust off the history books, unleash a glitter cannon, and spill the real, deliciously scandalous tea like a late-night slumber party secret. Morrison and Wharton weren’t just melting sugar; they were melting into each other’s arms in a full-blown, tooth-throbbing gay romance.
Written and directed by Madeleine Hicks with music by Kara McLeland, Fairy Floss, the play, takes this giddy slice of Middle Tennessee history, wraps it in a pastel pop-art aesthetic (with singing puppets), and turns subtle queer coding into a hard-candy theatrical triumph.
I attended the July 25, 2026 performance at OZ Arts, which feels less like sitting in a typical theater crowd and more like stepping into a welcoming, effervescent gathering. The staff at OZ Arts, always warm and attentive, set the tone early as guests mingled over drinks. It was a packed, shoulder-to-shoulder house, but rather than feeling tight, the room felt alive with such a fun energy. There was an unpretentious, good-natured current in the air that made being jammed into a sold-out crowd joyful. We were thrilled to be there, excited for the performers, and eager to share in something special together.
Fairy Floss came alive through its stunning cast, led by Andrew Newton as dentist Dr. William Morrison and Seth Nathan Green as “Candyman” John C. Wharton. The dynamic between the two men at first develops as an anodyne, trope-heavy romance: the uptight professional colliding with the earnest dreamer. It’s a narrative structure that could easily crystallize as formulaic or overtly sentimental. Instead, Green and Newton approached these roles with total sincerity, turning a familiar narrative framework into something deeply grounding.
In a culture where LGBTQIA+ stories are so often burdened by trauma, allowing a queer romance to be unabashedly joyful and romantic wasn’t just entertaining—it was necessary. Green and Newton played the earnestness with zero cynicism, rendering what could have been a standard love story into a moment of genuine catharsis. It felt like a drink of cold water after a long drought.
The story granted the audience permission to invest fully in the Dentist and Candyman’s happiness without reservation or restraint. So, when the two finally shared their long-awaited kiss, the entire room erupted—not with merely polite applause, but in an overwhelming, shared cheer. A testament to the strength of the performers, the reaction also serves as a reminder of how rare and deeply needed this kind of queer visibility is.
Beyond the central love story, the play’s high-camp engine is fueled by a hilarious trio of teeth who function much like the Greek chorus in Little Shop of Horrors. While they served as the show’s audience surrogates, providing narrative and comic relief, they also delivered its most potent thematic punch: the show’s thesis statement confronting the erasure of queer history. Each actor brought a distinct dynamic: Emma Supica, who played Wisdom Tooth, and Sweet Tooth’s Blake Holliday drove the show’s comedy through their brilliant clash of personalities. Supica’s deadpan and stern pragmatism collided endlessly with Holliday’s intoxicating, dreamily sensual excess. Cammie York, as Baby Tooth, played up wide-eyed childlike innocence, only to pull off the show’s most powerful shift. Underestimated for their youth, Baby Tooth channeled a distinctly modern, Gen-Z urgency, stepping forward in a remarkably serious, academically cited turn to deliver the play’s core thesis on the historical erasure of queer experiences.
Fairy Floss’s theatrical ecosystem was completed by Gabe Cyrus as Canine, Christine Cordelia Copelan, and Haley Johnson. Seamlessly shifting between character work, physical ensemble numbers, and masterful puppetry, their relentless dexterity kept the production’s artifice surreal, fun, and engaging.
I encourage anyone to follow the Kindling Arts Festival on their website, https://www.kindlingarts.com, for information on all past and future Kindling Arts events. Also, visit Oz Arts at https://www.ozartsnashville.org for a list of their events, as well as a description of the various works of art displayed on their premises.
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A Georgia native, Stephen D. Turner moved to Nashville in 2023 with his partner of over thirteen years. When he isn’t hiking in the woods or enjoying the ocean, Stephen is a musicologist and tubist who teaches music at Tennessee State University.
