Statues don't just build themselves - The Chaff with Scott Stephenson
It has been exactly one week since the idea of a Betty White statue was introduced here, and already the community is bracing itself for what can only be described as organized chaos with a hint of civic ambition. The Chaff has learned a few things in these seven days: one, Betty White statues are not simple; two, we do not know how to make statues; three, municipal offices are full of people who look at you with a mixture of alarm and curiosity when you say, “Yes, we are attempting bronze, clay and possibly kinetic options simultaneously.”
The week began innocuously enough. A sketch was drawn on a napkin. A spreadsheet was opened, then immediately abandoned when we realized we had no idea how much bronze costs. Someone suggested we should “just call a sculptor.” Another person countered with, “What if we become sculptors ourselves?” This argument continues to this day, though now punctuated by frantic Googling and occasional cries of “Is epoxy a valid substitute for talent?”
Materials have become their own ecosystem of absurdity. Bronze is heavy. Marble is smug. Clay requires discipline we do not have. Concrete is cold and unyielding. We have considered papier-mâché, but only in the event of a particularly forgiving winter. One proposal suggested a statue made entirely of snow, which was immediately vetoed on the grounds that snow is inherently temporary.
Scale is another battlefield. Early sketches proposed “life-size, plus 20 per cent,” which quickly evolved into “life-size, plus 200 per cent, but still approachable,” which eventually collapsed under its own ambition into “somewhere between an excellent garden gnome and a small building.” We have debated hands: open in greeting, holding a coffee mug, gesturing toward something in the distance, patting a small dog, doing something that reads as confident but not bossy. Eyebrows are a particularly sensitive issue. One raised, one lowered, both neutral, both raised; each configuration seems to convey an entirely different civic philosophy.
We have experimented with movement. Someone suggested a kinetic statue that occasionally waves. Another proposed a laughing mechanism, possibly triggered by wind, applause or local gossip.
Timeline? Ha. Timeline is a fluid concept. We imagine meetings that run past tea time, sketches abandoned for snack breaks and sudden inspiration strikes in the middle of supermarket aisles. Deadlines are suggestions. We have already scheduled three more meetings than there are days in the week, which seems mathematically irresponsible, but somehow the arithmetic of chaos feels right.
By midweek, we realized that public opinion had joined the fray. Random citizens now stop by with unsolicited suggestions: “Make her hold a hockey stick,” “She should be wearing a toque,” “Why not a Mountie uniform?” We nod, smile and scribble these notes, fully aware that our version of Betty White is morphing into something that may be entirely unrecognizable but undeniably Canadian in spirit.
We have discovered that walking through the streets with sketches pinned to clipboards, debating proportions and the height of eyebrows, can itself be a performance piece. Children shout suggestions. Seniors offer critiques. Dogs occasionally bark, as if issuing their own civic votes. Local cafés now host impromptu critique sessions with coffee cups strategically positioned for scale reference. Every day, the line between planning a statue and orchestrating a small-scale, town-wide theatrical event blurs.
By the end of 2026, if we survive all the permutations of scale, material and bureaucratic incredulity, Wingham may have a new presence. She will listen. She will smile. She will be audaciously kind, remarkably funny and impossibly Betty White. She may wave, she may hold a dog, she may follow the sun in a slow, dignified orbit. And we, The Chaff, in our infinite mixture of confusion and confidence, will have learned that ambition, absurdity and a little reckless optimism can create something that changes how a town imagines itself.
Even local pets have opinions now. Cats curl around sketches to express approval. Dogs bark in a cadence that seems almost musical. One particularly bold raccoon attempted to drag a clay hand into the river, apparently for consultation with the local muskrat population.
And in this tangled, snow-dusted, glitter-spattered chaos, The Chaff has realized something crucial: Betty White may never have intended to become a public monument in a small Ontario town, but in our enthusiasm, determination and tiny acts of imagination, she has arrived. And perhaps that is the point: the statue is never really the end - it is the joy we build along the way.
“Heroes get remembered, legends never die.” - The Sandlot