
I don’t even watch TV, and yet knew a couple of weeks ago that Heated Rivalry had broken containment. But I did not expect to ever find reason for it to end up here. And yet. The picture above is from the fourth episode of the six-part series, a sex-forward, gay hockey romance produced by a Canadian streaming service I’ve never heard of, using some undetermined amount of Canadian public media funding. It’s become explosively popular, and transformed its unknown leads from waiters into stars. But that’s not important now, or at least here.

What matters is that someone on Threads—if the post ever turns up in my instagram recommended grid again, I’ll credit them—posted the scene above, and noticed that the painting in between the two guys on the sofa is an abstracted version of the cover of the book from which Heated Rivalry is adapted:

So one guy in the secret eight-year situationship has a portrait of the two of them in a faceoff, hanging over his sofa—which could mean nothing. Honestly, I don’t know what it means, if it’s an actual plot point or just a production design easter egg. And if it was just a neat cover reference, I’d leave it floating on the internet.

But that painting is also similar in both form and approach to paintings by that most Canadian master of Canadian subjects, Douglas Coupland. In 2010 Coupland showed G72K10, a series of paintings geometrically abstracted from iconic landscapes by the Group of Seven, artists who formed the foundation of Canadian visual cultural identity in the early 20th century. “These are the images that the Canadian government officially used…to inculcate a sense of nationalism,” Coupland explained in 2012, “So when Canadians see my abstract works, they know they know what they’re seeing – they just don’t know why”

Is this hockey player’s painting supposed to be a Douglas Coupland? The character is Russian and living in Boston, so probably not. But does that mean the production designers weren’t referencing Coupland, or at least inspired by Coupland’s work and approach? Even the most seemingly incongruous element, the wedges of gold leaf, echo elements in Coupland’s most recent iceberg paintings, in 2023.

The show takes place over many years, and the scene above is in 2016. Which, for Toronto, was a Peak Douglas Coupland Art Moment. He’d just had two museum shows, and unveiled five public art commissions, including at least three new G7-related abstractions, in bank lobbies and plazas all over town.
Now popping geometric abstraction is not just Coupland’s; it’s a language employed by artists as varied as Odili Donald Odita and Dyani White Hawk. But the Canadian force is strong with this one. And Coupland’s low-key intense Canadian-ness seems to resonate with a show that itself has an exceptionally Canadian aura. It’d almost be weird if Coupland wasn’t a reference.
Previously, related, 2011: What I looked at: Douglas Coupland Roots Paintings