I've been bingeing Schitt's Creek (for the third time) while my husband is off gallivanting in Norway. One of tonight's episodes had a scene involving a grant for public art awards, to be decided on by the Schitt's Creek town council. After several suggestions are batted down, Moira Rose pulls out her own proposal: a sculpture park.
I’d like us all to close our eyes and picture three to five hundred acres of carefully manicured lawn, accessorized with sculptures from some of the world’s most significant cultural contributors. On your left, a whimsical gestalt by David von Schlegell; on your right, a playful abstract by Isamu Noguchi; dead ahead, your senses have just been affronted by a Magdalena Abakanovicz. Now, imagine an even more splendacious art park in your very own backyard! Council, I humbly present: Rosewood.
Mind you, Schitt's Creek is—well, just about what you'd expect from a name like that. Sophistocated, not: with the marked exception of the Rose family. Though perhaps "pretentious" is the better word for them? (You really need to be able to "hear" the above quote in Moira/Catherine O'Hara's voice for any of this to make sense.)
In any case, I was curious about these named sculptors. And here's a little sampling.
David von Schlegell (1920–1992), "whimsical gestalt":
Isamu Noguchi (1904–1988), "playful abstract":
Magdalena Abakanovicz (1930–2017), "your senses have just been affronted by":
Meanwhile, the crass and crude mayor, Roland Schitt, protests that there's no way they're going to get a Noguchi or a Schlegell—which just adds to the joke.
What wins in the end: a singles week, an idea Moira stole from her daughter, then expanded from an evening to an entire week, but only to (she thought) elevate her own proposal—not realizing that a singles week might win.
If you haven't seen Schittt's Creek, much of this won't mean much to you. But the hubris of late-twentieth-century sculpture should.
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