Why I have stopped blogging

One of the most faithful followers of this blog got in touch asking me whether I had definitely stopped blogging. I have on my long to-do list updating the blog with at least twenty posts because I have made a lot since my last post – two and a half years ago. I have made furniture, miniature food, all kinds of accessories, several roomboxes and dioramas. I have attended classes and participated in shows and markets. Since I am retired you would think that I have plenty of time for blogging, and I certainly do, but what lacks is motivation. I haven’t posted in my general blog either for quite a while.

When I started the dollhouse blog all the way back in 2012, it was mostly in order to document the progress for myself. I shared links in my Facebook groups dedicated to dollhouses. When I got comments, it felt good. But I never expected to have a lot of feedback.

I believe the social media ecology has changed profoundly since then. For one thing, it is quite common these days that people write long posts on Facebook, almost as long as a blog post or even longer. If you want to share your pictures you probably do it on Instagram. Looking for a tutorial on how to make, say, a pineapple from polymer clay you would go to YouTube. When I share some miniature I have made in one of my Facebook groups I can sometimes get two thousand likes and a hundred comments. The average view count on my blog was four to five hundred, exclusively because I also shared links on Facebook, and ten comments would be really rare. In short, it doesn’t feel that it makes much sense to continue blogging because I can reach a much wider audience through other channels. And conversely, I follow and engage with many other miniaturists while blogging is more of a one-way communication. True, there isn’t much room for reflections on Facebook that I enjoyed writing in my blog posts.

Anyway, with this final post I would like to thank all my followers for your interest and your support in the past twelve years, and if you are still interested in my crafts you can find me on Facebook and Instagram. I am a bit skeptical about TikTok, and I am too lazy to make YouTube videos.

Below, some highlights of my recent work.

A roombox for my youngest grandchild

                     

Laundry room

Cosy reading nook

Re-calibrating

I have moved again. (If you wonder why I keep moving and downsizing, it's a sad story, and you don't want to know the details, but it wasn't by choice). I am now renting a furnished flat, which means that I have to adapt to the available furniture and arrange my workspace to the best of my abilities. It also means that still more of my stuff had to go to storage, and I only brought one box of supplies. I packed in haste, and it's funny to discover how randomly I chose what to bring and what to store. I have the most essential tools, but my cutting mat is elsewhere. I have paint, glue, fabric, paper - enough to do some projects. And I have a hobby shop close by.

When you live in somebody else's space it takes time before you can, first mentally, then physically, re-arrange it to your liking and your needs. Obviously, a folding table makes a perfect workbench, and if I ever have guests who require a coffee table, I can quickly put everything away. But the best thing about this place is that I don't have to clear it away every night.

My landlady has kindly given me one and a half book shelf, in a corner closest to the floor, but as I haven't brought any of my books - you see where my priorities are! - most of my Really Useful Boxes can just about be squeezed in. And I start by going through them to see what I actually have brought.

Maybe this is the time when I will choose projects based on supplies. All those saved posts from Facebook, when I thought: Yes, I can make it some time. Now is the time.

I have brought a small selection of kits that will keep me busy for a while.

And I have also brought a few pieces that I bought at a car boot sale just before I moved.

The broken dressing table begged for my attention. Apologies for poor picture quality - I haven't yet adjusted to the light in this place.

 

It is one of those pieces that are sort of ok, but crude, and the finish is dull. To do it properly you need to remove the varnish, for which I have neither space nor equipment, so I just sanded it and then painted. I haven't taken step-by-step pictures because it was quite straightforward. I painted with brown paint first and then antique white, with golden details. I distressed it a bit.

The only problem was painting around the drawer pulls. They seem to be glued on rather than attached with nails so I didn't risk removing them.

I also lined the drawers with Japanese paper.

 

This piece wouldn't win a prize at a miniature fair, but it was fun to upcycle a boring piece into something more exciting, and it was a good way of getting back into the making mode.

In a kitchen drawer I found some string - an opportunity too good to miss.

 

I am thoroughly thrilled with my first day back miniature making. I wasn't aware that I had missed it so much these past weeks. I am looking forward to many great projects even before I eventually get a place of my own with a HUGE hobby room.

Downsizing

I have been silent for long while, and for a reason. Two weeks after my last post I unexpectedly and hastily had to move from my large house to a small flat. Apart from the physical stress, the emotional part of it was so strong that I almost threw away all my dollhouses, room boxes, unfinished projects, tools and supplies. It could have been a disaster.

I had occasionally considered what I would do with the dollhouses if we for some reason decided to or needed to move, and even what I should write in my will concerning the dollhouses. Even without considering all efforts, there is a fortune hidden inside that people might not realise. (I make most things from trash, but I have a few really valuable pieces). Yet it was of course rather abstract, something I could dismiss for a while.

Dollhouses were not my highest priority when I moved, and my first impulse was to get rid of everything, although I didn't quite envision how. I did throw away a lot of recyclables, I gave away boxes of quality supplies to a school, but since I didn't have much time to do the sorting and discarding, fortunately I didn't get through it all. A young colleague was concerned about my well-being, and although she quite realistically understood that I could not bring my dollhouses to my little flat, she suggested that I bring something: some supplies, some tools, to keep myself busy during long, lonely evenings. I am glad I listened to her, because bringing even a tiny portion of my miniature stuff proved to make a difference. And it turned out that, because I don't have a lot of possessions, there was plenty of room, more that it seemed at first.

I now live in a student accommodation. It has plenty of shelves. It is meant for academics who have many books. I have most of my books in my office, which is just around the corner. The few books I brought with me, books I re-read regularly and some I keep for sentimental reasons, took half a shelf.

The rest I could fill with miniatures. I brought four room boxes, having measured carefully that they fit into shelves. I feel happy looking at them. Declutter prophets say that you should only keep things that make you happy. I brought some of my favourite Chippendale pieces and some other favourite items, and although I cannot make proper rooms, they look nice in the shelves.

As you can see I brought all my Chippendale kits, about sixty of them. If I make one piece every weekend – which I don't – they will last until next September. I brought my tools, paints, stains and supplies. In my previous life, I didn't have a designated hobby room either, so there isn't much difference, just that my desk is smaller and generally there is less space. But there is enough to make some miniatures. Here are some things I have made since I downsized. 

 

This has not solved the problem of the dollhouses left behind, and sooner or later I will have to deal with them. But it is another story.

Why are handmade miniatures so ridiculously expensive?

 

I am sure all of you have at some point asked this question. I don't make things for sale, so I have never had to decide how much my work is worth, but I have seen what other people ask, and sometimes I wonder who is prepared to pay these fancy prices for a basket, or a crocheted antimacassar or a fluffy cat. But obviously people do, and obviously they see a value in a unique item.

Making flowers for my florist shop has been a good reminder of how much time and effort goes into a single object. As I am not interested in make more of the same, I decided to try and make a geranium (aka pelargonium) because I have seen them made by people I know personally, and they are not gods, so I thought if they can... I found this tutorial that proved helpful, even though I adapted it a bit, and since it looked tremendously time-consuming I decided to see how much time it would actually take to make a bunch.

I started with just one stem, to see a) whether it worked b) whether I liked the result c) whether I was prepared to repeat it.

Well, it sort of looked what it was supposed to look like, and it took the time it took. So I embarked on a larger scale. The flower pot in the tutorial has eleven flowers, so I cut ten stems and attached beads to them for heads - this is the first short cut I took.

I thought that if I used pink beads it wouldn't matter if it was slightly visible. I was right.

The tutorial says you need 15 petals per flower so next I punched 150 petals over a wet kitchen towel (go back to the tutorial to see what I am doing).

No shortcuts here: each petal had to be curled individually. And before that, picked up, one by one, with tweezers.

I don't have the tools recommended in the tutorial so I simply used the end of a small painting brush. The foam is a coaster upside down.

And here are my 150 curled petals.

Of course it took considerably less time than with the first stem, because I knew how to do it, and also because I did it step by step, not on a conveyor belt precisely, but surely faster than if I made one flower at a time from beginning to end.

Then it was the precision work of gluing the petals. I like this kind of tasks because they need total concentration, and I cannot think about my students' theses, or the journal review I need to write, or even what we are having for dinner. My children often wonder why I don't listen to music while making miniatures, but I tried and found it distracting.

15 petals per flower turned out to be inadequate estimate, so I only made six flowers. All in all, from a piece of paper and some wire to six flowers, it took about two hours.

And you can see how much better the new flowers are compared with the first one. So I think I need to add at least an hour of learning time.

But the project is far from finished. Flowers insist on having leaves, and pelargonium leaves are very prominent, and I don't have a punch. So I will have to cut them out, as I did with daffodils and irises. The tutorial suggests two-three leaves per stem plus some filler leaves. Twenty maybe? And the paper needs to be painted with several shades of green to look natural. 

Some hours later: 

 

I think this is the best miniature I have ever made from scratch.  

So all in all, how much would this project be worth? Even calculating with a minimum wage, there are hours of work in it, and that's not counting materials and tools. Of course, if I had had a punch it might have been faster, but not a lot faster. And each leaf is unique. I would say, a full day of work. How much would you be prepared to pay for it?

Catching up - again

I haven't been very good at sharing projects recently. Frankly, I haven't been good at doing projects. I could come up with zillions of excuses, but I won't. Let's just say it hasn't happened.

But now I have a quiet (well-deserved) holiday period in front of me, and I will make sure I catch up both on making and sharing.

I have discovered that I never finished my grand tour of Womble Hall and that the last post was from February - that's almost a year ago! I will continue, because there is still so much to show.

I haven't shared my most recent Chippendale miniatures, although I did share them on Facebook, but without detailed comment. I have bought some interesting things too.

My plans for this holiday season is to fix all the small things in Womble Hall. Like any property, it has to be maintained. Some things need repair, some things I never got round to doing at all, some things I have since then learned to do better.

In addition, I need to have some creative chaos in the house. It looks too neat and new. Aging furniture, spilling some coffee, breaking some plates, filling sinks and bathtubs with water. Finding place for all objects I still haven't put in. I also need to fill all drawers with objects.  Hidden treasures, letters, diaries, wills... Tools, kitchen utensils, linen. That's what drawers are for.

Some dolls need new clothes.

I also plan to make things. Lots of things. So far I have mostly made things for particular projects. I have saved lots of rubbish... I mean, valuable supplies for later, and I want to make many things now, whether they fit into projects or not. Just pull out all boxes and tins and see what I can make

I want to make food. I have just bought a set of fruity nail art. Looking forward to playing with it.

So you can expect to hear from me in the near future. Meanwhile, just as a teaser, yet another Adam piece (which I will present properly soon)

Reflections from a dollhouse festival

I have lived in the UK for ten years, and I remember very well when, ten years ago, I told myself that I would now be able to go to the Kensington Dollhouse Festival. It's just an hour by train from Cambridge. But for some reason or other it never happened – until last weekend. And it only happened because I already was in London and had some spare time.

I had consulted my miniature friends on Facebook, asking for advice on how to make the most of it. The advice I received was: Go early and bring plenty of money. On the former, I had not much choice because I had something else in the morning; on the latter I asked whether credit cards were accepted, and they were. So against the advice, I arrived at Kensington Town Hall about 3pm.

I had no expectations. I had seen pictures from previous events in dollhouse magazines and on the web, but things are different in real world. I knew it was on three levels and there were hundreds of stands. I wasn't sure what I was supposed to do at a dollhouse festival. I wasn't sure whether I wanted to buy anything or just look. I am easy to tempt, so I decided that I would only buy something if I fell in love with it at first glance.

I spent two hours browsing. I went around two or three times, returning to stands where I had noticed something interesting.

It was a lot like being at a book fair.

Here are my reflections as a novice dollhouse festival attendee.

Firstly, it's amazing. So many stunning, fantastic things. Most of them unique, one of a kind. Handmade. It means that mortal humans have actually made them. They have probably been doing it for decades, and they obviously have appropriate tools. And today's tools are helpful. Precision laser cutters, 3D printers. You still need your skills, and it takes years of practice, but all these wonderful things were made by passionate, imaginative, creative people. I don't have time to develop the necessary skills, so I will never be nearly as good, but I can try. In a year and a half I will be free. I will get myself a laser cutter and a 3D printer. I will make miniatures full-time and try to be as good as I can. So it was highly inspirational.

It was interesting to see the prices. I have seen fancy prices on Etsy, and since I know how much time and effort it takes to make a miniature, irrespective of the result, I am not surprised. But I do wonder what kind of people buy tremendously expensive things at a fair. Maybe you need to see them in real life, touch, feel. I did fall in love with a marquetry cabinet, but I am not yet prepared to invest half of my monthly salary in a trinket. On the other hand, why not? It's like buying expensive jewellery or art.

There were lots of things that were lovely, and I told myself: some day I will make these. Again, with some practice and with better tools. And some things I will never be able to make, like ironwork.

Miniature food was prominent; it's fun to make, and given some practice I will get good at it.

There were many 1:24 and 1:48 scale things, but I have never been particularly interested in them. There were no 1:18 scale things! It must be almost exclusively Swedish. 

There was a lot of kitch too.

There were tons of supplies: fabrics, wallpaper – tempting, but I am a recycler. I believe this is my foremost lesson from this visit: I am a recycler, and I am interested in making miniatures from rubbish rather than from expensive supplies. (I did, however, buy a piece of fabric to re-upholster a sofa I am not happy with). But it is good to know that if I need something special, it's available. 

Anyway, next time I go - which I think I will - I'll know what it is like and what to look for 

I had told myself that I wanted to buy at least one thing (fabric doesn't count). So when I saw this one thing I made up my mind quickly. Actually, I asked the seller to keep it for me for ten minutes because I needed to sit down and breathe for a while. I know it's silly to go to an artisan fair and buy an antique, but it just so happened. I am not telling you how much I paid. It's Christmas soon.

 

I didn't think it was appropriate to take pictures, although some people did. But I made lots of mental notes. One thing in particular caught my attention: Adam tables. They were either House of Miniature kits or very similar: lovely half-moon side tables with Adam pattern on tops. I don't know how that seller made the tops, but I immediately thought that I had some Adam paper left from my ceilings, and I also had a duplicate HoM kit that I could experiment with. Back home, though, I didn't want to use the kit before I knew that my idea would work. I used a cheese box for the top. The trick was to sand the edges so that wood and paper were seamless. I used decoupage technique, varnishing and sanding, then painted the edge with gold. It took me a long time to figure out how to make the base because I didn't have a suitable round piece of wood, but finally I found one when I was looking for something else. I used chopsticks for legs and even managed to cut them equally long which has always been my problem. 

 

Of course it is not good enough to be displayed at Kensington Dollhouse Festival, but I am really pleased. 

Catching up

I can't believe I haven't blogged for more than a month! Just shows how busy I am, but I haven't been totally lazy. I have built some more Chippendale furniture, and I will show it soon. Moreover, I have been buying Chippendale kits like mad. I am a gambler by nature, which is why I never ever play any games of risk; and I am a bit of a maniac, easily getting obsessed. I have set my mind on collecting all House of Miniature kits. So far I had only been buying bundles of ten or fifteen. They are hardly ever available in Europe, and shipping from the USA is expensive, but if you buy a bundle it isn't that bad. However, when you start getting to less common items they probably won't be part of a bundle. So for the past few weeks I have been hunting and chasing. There are about ninety kits, and I started with about thirty, but now I only need seven more to have a full collection. I also have many duplicates. Some of the rare objects I had luck with and got cheap; some went quite high in bidding, and a couple I missed on. The last bundle is on the way. And you know, I don't feel the least guilty about spending all this money because I have such fun making these objects.

I haven't done a lot on the house. Frankly, haven't done anything, although there is a lot of work left. Somehow, there is no urgency. However, I now have a good reason to go back to the house and possibly do a lot of reconstruction. I was in Stockholm last week and went to my favourite shop, the Golden Angel. It was a bit disappointing because there weren't as many things that I passionately desired as last year, but I picked up a few items, including a lovely Jugend table that doesn't fit into any current project, but was too good to miss. When I had paid and was about to leave, I expressed my regrets that I hadn't found anything nearly as gorgeous as the two chandeliers from last year, to which the lady said: "Wait a minute...", and a minute later I had the most amazing chandelier, even more amazing than my old ones.

Plus a fabulous brass petroleum lamp that was broken so I got it relatively cheap (I will need my son-in-law to solder it), and another ceiling light that for some reason isn't in this picture.

The consequence of this is of course that I will now replace some of the existing chandeliers, which implies removing floors in rooms above... So I am looking forward to a busy summer.

Reflections on a completed project

Yes, yes, I know: there is no such thing as a completed project. Even with my room boxes (except those I have given away of course) I keep adding, changing, moving around and sometimes dismantling altogether.

And yet I suddenly feel, with a touch of sadness, that Womble Hall - as a structure - is now finished. Almost two years since I bought it and a year and a half since I actually received it. Over a thousand hours of work. Something to celebrate.

There are still small things here and there, a roof tile that is coming off and needs gluing, a tiny spot that perhaps needs repainting. But on the whole, the exterior is done. The fronts close (I will add magnetic locks). And inside, all fancy ceilings are done, all mouldings are finished, all lights work - all big things are done. I can now focus on details.

It's not that I have ignored details. All rooms have furniture, pictures, lamps, rugs, dozens upon dozens of objects. Half of the windows have curtains.

But it is now I will seriously think about what paintings should be where. So far, most of them are white-tacked, but I will attach them more permanently with velcro. I will decide where more mirrors are needed - mirrors are good to add a sense of space. I will place all the remaining objects - a large box of them - where they belong. I may replace things, and I will certainly move things around.

On the outside, I will add ivy, wisteria, climbing roses, decorative plants. 

I still have the inside of the fronts to play with. So far, I only have a book shelf, a couple of mirrors and some fake lamps. These surfaces will create an illusion of additional rooms. They will have semi-flat furniture, flower pots, painting - lots of paintings! - and all kinds of trompe l'oeil.

I will also try to create a sense of a house being lived in, for instance, spilled tea, torn letters and newspapers, maybe a broken cup. Not chaos, but not a perfect order either. I will use scenic water in kitchens and bathrooms. Generally, I will need to age things, both inside and outside. I will make more food. I will certainly make more kitchen stuff.

I will probably make new clothes for some of the dolls. (Indeed, poor dolls, some of them haven't had a new dress for nine years!). In other words, the fun is just beginning! Come back soon.

End-of-year reflections

I marked the last day of miniature-making year by sorting my rubbish supplies.You know, those zillions of boxes and jars in which you save all will-come-handy-one-day things that you then forget about and never find when you need them. Boxes into which you sweep all current projects from the desk when guest are expected. Bits of wire, buttons, plastic cogs, golf pegs, broken pens, pretty ribbons. I do have well-organised Very Useful Boxes for all these things, but sometimes you are in a hurry or simply too lazy to put things in the right place. However, at least once a year...

Whether there is a symbolic significance in this action I don't know.

I have also thrown away a good deal of saved materials of the kind that are easily replaced, like champagne wire or tea lights. I have once again stated that there is a lot of stuff I haven't used so far, but maybe one day. It has happened that I found a thing useful five years after I had saved it.

For the first time in weeks and weeks I can see the surface of my workbench. For how long?

In the middle of the afternoon there is a knock on the door. It is amazing that in the UK, New Year Eve is a working day, and post is delivered. My long-awaited order from the USA.

 

It will keep me busy for a good deal of 2016.

When I re-read my blog posts from last December, two things strike me: how much I have done since then and how slow I have moved on. This time last year, the house wasn't assembled yet. I was decorating walls. I  was making the roof.

But to an untrained eye I am sure the house looks just as it did then, held together by tack and masking tape.  

I have spent 553 hours working on the house during this year.  (This does not include other miniature projects, such as furniture or dolls).

And I can see the result. I am proud of the work I have done: floors, ceilings, doors, mouldings - details that outsiders may not reflect upon but that take hours of patience and frequently hours of frustration. Most of all I am proud of the lights.

I am looking forward to another happy miniature year. Together with gardening, miniature-making gives me the energy to work and live. It gives me peace of mind. It gives me the joy of creation.

I wish a very happy new year to all friends, real and virtual, who have assisted and encouraged me, to all my unknown blog readers, to all miniature lovers. See you in 2016!

Plinth, continued

I haven't moved much further during the past week. Except I have, physically. As I was planning to lift the dollhouse onto the plinth, there were several logistics issues I had to deal with. I had once again emptied the main house of almost everything, taping and white-tacking as much as I could. The plinth stood in the middle of the room, in front of the house on the coffee table. I figured out that I would put the main house on a computer table that I use as my workbench, then wheel it to the side, move the basement onto the plinth, remove the coffee table, move the plinth with the basement back toward the window, wheel the computer table out in front of the plinth, then lift the house onto the basement. Easy. 

However, I realised that it was more or less the final move, and did I really want this huge house blocking my window forever? Mounted on the plinth, it would completely obscure the light. I had never contemplated this problem because I had always viewed the house as a temporary project rather than a permanent piece of furniture which it was about to become. You don't precisely put a cupboard in front of a window.

My hobby room triples as my study and guest room. It means that I have my workbench, all my dollhouse supplies and tools in this room, but also my writing desk and my bookcase (true, with more dollhouse supplies than books), and there is also a sofa bed that needs to be unfolded when we have people staying with us.

I started, first mentally, then physically, moving furniture around. At one point, I thought I had a solution, but then I remembered that the dollhouse had fronts that open more than half a meter on each side, so in fact the house demanded additional 120 cm width. I moved the sofa over to the window. moved the plinth to the opposite wall, wheeled the computer table to the middle of the room and went to bed. I was an emotional wreck. I cursed the moment I decided to buy this house. I cursed myself for being such an idiot to indulge in a space-demanding hobby.

It took me a couple of days to recover. In the daytime, I went to work, and in the evenings, I pretended the room didn't esist. Of course, it was also crammed with boxes full of dollhouse objects and more boxes full of supplies that had lived under the computer table. Then gradually I started sitting on the sofa every now and then, staring at the house on the computer table, trying to imagine how it would look to an outsider or a guest.

Then I moved the house on top of the basement, and it was done. I decided not to worry about it any more. (I am not even sure that I will ever be able to take the house out of the room, but I.Will. Not. Worry. About. It. Now.)

 

The fronts are not hinged, and of course the front stairs are not built yet. If you want to look into the attic, you need to use kitchen steps. But it's better than lying on your belly to look at the basement.

I think it was worth the trouble. What do you think?

Miniature-making and neuroscience

A lot has been said about how brain laterality affects creativity, but I have never seen it applied to miniature-making. It has just struck me how the two cerebral hemispheres collaborate when we are making mini-objects or planning a large project, and whether a miniaturist's general hemisphere dominance may govern the kind of projects we get involved in.

I don't pretend to know much about neuroscience, but I have read several books on brain laterality and the arts. In short, the right hemisphere is emotional, while the left is rational; the right is concrete, while the left is abstract; the right sees the whole in a context, while the left attends to details out of context; the right explores, while the left categorises; the right prioritises novelty, change, plurality and ambiguity, while the left prefers to keep to what it already knows. Iain McGilchrist suggests in his wonderful book The Master and His Emissary that the left hemisphere accumulates knowledge, while the right generates wisdom. Both are equally important in our perception of the world, yet each perceives the world differently, and we need to combine their views.

How is this relevant to miniature-making? For instance, we are obviously passionate about our work and connect to it emotionally. Yet we know, thanks to the rational left hemisphere, that our dollhouses, room boxes and scenes are not real, that they are models. The left hemisphere is very good at calculating numbers precisely, such as understanding what 1:12 scale means; but it has no idea of the implication, while the right hemisphere intuitively feels that an object is out of scale. The left hemisphere focuses on the surface, while the right focuses on depth. Isn't it fascinating? It means that the right hemisphere encourages us to work with three-dimensional projects.

The left hemisphere categorises objects into beds, tables, chairs, lights and dolls. But is does not see the whole picture, does not understand how tables, chairs and dolls relate to each other, how they create a scene or how several rooms relate to each other in a dollhouse. The left hemisphere sees them separately. Does it mean that the left hemisphere is happier with making room boxes? 

The left hemisphere recognises a table, but it doesn't really care whether the table is Tudor, Georgian, Victorian or modern. It would not notice a mixture of incompatible styles. The right hemisphere would cringe. I guess that by developing our sense of style we stimulate the right hemisphere and perhaps suppress the left hemisphere a bit.

The left hemisphere does not like anything new and unfamiliar. If we listened to it we would just make the same things over and over again. Perhaps collectors are more left-hemisphere people because they want things that they have already seen: in a catalogue, on the web or in other people's dollhouses. The makers, especially the recyclers, are right-hemisphere people: they like to make new things, invent things, find surprising solutions, use found objects, make things over. It's the right hemisphere's doing that a dollhouse project is never finished, that we always want to change, to add, to experiment. It prefers the original, the unique. However, without the left hemisphere, we would never be able to learn from our mistakes! It is the left hemisphere that allows us to focus on minute details, but it is the right hemisphere that spots a door knob in a heap of rubbish. 

The right hemisphere finds pleasure in our tactile contact with wood, fabric, clay or paint. The left hemisphere is satisfied with a clever solution that demands a lot of thinking. But it will insist on the same solution next time rather than trying something new, while the right hemisphere immediately sees an array of alternatives. It finds no joy in making the same things twice. The left hemisphere want to be in control. The right is fine with trial and error. It is perfectly fine with changing plans.

Perhaps the most interesting trait, where the healthy competition between the hemispheres makes our hobby possible at all, is that the left hemisphere is optimistic, but unrealistic about its limitations, while the right hemisphere is pessimistic, but more realistic. So when we start on a grand project, the left hemisphere shouts: We can do it, we can do it! while the right whispers: Well, maybe you can do it, but it will take time and effort. 

 This image is from the web. There are hundreds of similar images, Don't take them too seriously: it is much, much more complicated 

Cabinet renovation

This is not exactly about miniature.making, but not irrelevant and an illuminating story.

When I first got involved with miniatures, almost eight years ago, I made my first dollhouse in a book shelf. I had zero experience, low self-esteem, a limited range of tools and plenty of enthusiasm. Also, I was on long-term sick leave and had all the time in the world to play and learn. And the house grew and filled with things.

Then I got a job in Cambridge, and we moved from Sweden to the UK. It was hard, physically, mentally and emotionally, and bringing the miniatures with me was imperative. This is what I wrote about it, in retrospect, with a further link to when it was actually happening. I remember crying floods, contemplating whether I was making a terrible mistake (I still wonder sometimes, but probably not), and I asked my husband whether he would allow me to re-assemble my dollhouse in the old wine cabinet from his childhood home. We had only had for a little while after his mother had died. It is a lovely piece, handmade in Swedish folk style, with rough wooden surfaces. It was quite worn-out on the inside so I painted it, although it was before I started making miniatures and learned how to renovate furniture.

Anyway, we brought the cabinet with us, and in our tiny rented house I started rebuilding my miniature world. It became a key to my sanity as I escaped from the horrors of adaptation to the new job and the new country. It is long ago now, and memory is merciful so it is only with some effort I can remember how desperate I was, but the miniature cabinet was my fixed point.

The cabinet proved to be great fun to work with. It had mirrors at the back which I had to remove, and since I was sure the dollhouse cabinet was for ever, I took the mirrors to recycling. I drilled holes in the back of the cabinet for lighting. I made floors and bought real dollhouse wallpaper. By Christmas time that first year, the house was restored and many things added.

At that time, I couldn't even imagine that I would ever embark on any other miniature projects, but eventually I first made some room boxes, then my husband gave me a Tudor shell, and so on - you can read it all in my blog if you wish.

I did not forget the cabinet dollhouse and added and improved things. But the idea of a really large dollhouse was growing in my mind, and finally, a year ago I became the happy owner of this huge property that will take me at least another year to complete. In case you have not seen it, this is the most recent post.

From the beginning, I moved most of the objects from the cabinet house to the new project because it helped me to decide on decoration and general planning. The cabinet remained as storage, but already then I knew that one day I would like to restore it back to wine cabinet. As I tore down the wallpaper and removed floors, surfaces were damaged. It disturbed me. I kept moving things, and finally last week I put all remaining objects in a cardboard box, scrubbed the cabinet and inspected it for necessary action.

As I adjusted my perception from 1:12 to full scale, my first thought was: What kind of idiot damaged this beautiful cabinet with double-sided tape! Then I remembered that the idiot believed that the cabinet dollhouse was for ever, and I forgave her. It took ages to scrub and sand away the tape and other remnants of the barbarian miniaturist's disrespectful handling of the cabinet, and as a result, the surfaces were smoother than when I painted them ten years ago and probably smoother than before the previous painting - there were at least three different layers of colour before mine.

When I went to the DIY store last week to get white paint for the doolhouse, I brought home some colour cards and chose one I thought was closest. Of course it wasn't even near close, but it was a pretty colour, and now I have painted the cabinet, and it is back to its original function. I have ordered new mirrors, and it will serve as a wine cabinet again. But it is another story.

Passing on the miniature gene

I have frequently contemplated the lack of miniature interest in my grandchildren. Out of the ten, only one was once genuiely fascinated and adequately rewarded, while the others at best ask to see and say "How nice".

This past week, a ten-year-old came to visit. Almost the first thing she did was produce a shoe box full of dollhouse furniture, some of which I recognised. "Granny, she said solemnly, you once gave me a dollhouse, but I was too young and silly. My little sister and I drew on the wallpaper with crayons, pasted stickers on doors and broke furniture. I now want to make a really nice dollhouse, like yours. Can you help me mend the furniture?" If I didn't burst into tears it was not to scare her.

The dollhouse I gave her when she was young and silly had belonged to my daughter who never showed any interest, although I made furniture, curtains and bedding for it when she was of relevant age. It is a Lundby, 1:18 scale, the most popular children's dollhouse in Sweden (although also favoured by many collectors), and since it was bought in the early 1980s it may be of some value - or maybe not at all. During one of my recent visits in Stockholm, I asked whether the dollhouse still existed, and my son dutifully fetched it from the cellar, but it never went beyond that.

And here I was, with a shoe box full of broken furniture and a grandchild eager to become a miniaturist.

I don't post pictures of my grandchildren on the web, but I do have some fabulous pictures of her engrossed in work. We mended everything, even things that at the first glance seemed beyond redemption. We also rummaged through my treasure chests. I don't do Lundby scale, but I have some collectibles, including several Arne Jacobsen pieces. However, I will wait a few years and see whether the granddaughter is really into it. But I have lots of odd stuff from various bargain buys: beds, tables, cupboards. I let her choose whatever she liked. I saw she thought it was Christmas. I told her that everything may not fit into her bag and that I could bring it in Augurst when I would travel to Stockholm, but she assured me that she had plenty of space and would take it all now. In a way, I understand. August is far away in the future when you are ten. And of course she wanted to put all the new things into the dollhouse.

 I showed her how to cut out pots and pans from chocolate boxes. We made plates and vases from clay. We made a mirror from a tiny photo frame. I made bedding because she adnitted she wasn't very good at sewing. She repainted some items, asking me for advice in colour choice. I told her she could choose whatever she liked because she was the artist. This was a new idea for her. "I am not an artist", she protested. I explained that being an artist means being creative, and that's what she was. I think she liked it.

I brought in from the garage a hugely neglected dollhouse, waiting to be collected by its new owner. I explained to my granddaughter that the house was for another little girl, but that we could repair it a bit. "We must make it as pretty as we can, she said, so that the little girl likes it". 

She painted the front, and I showed her how to make a floor. We discussed wallpaper options. Not for a second did she show any grudge, making a dollhouse for somebody else. Moreover, she kept referring to her little sister - two years younger - and how happy she would be that the broken furniture was mended and some new furniture added.

On her last morning, when it fortuitously rained, I asked whether there was anything she would like to make from scratch. She had been observing the numerous items in my large dollhouse, inquiring how I had made them. Of all the objects, she chose a broom and a rug.

I think for the very first attempt at miniature-making, it's brilliant.

I am profoundly happy. As I have said repeatedly, I am a recycler, and I am very much anti-consumerist, so she won't be getting sets of Lundby stuff for Christmas and birthdays. Instead, next time I go to Stockholm, I will bring something for us to make together.

Annual reflections

It has now been a year since I bought Womble Hall. Of course it was not delivered until August, but I have been the happy owner of this unique property for a year. This invites reflections.

Firstly, I am really glad that I didn't wait until I was retired because I still have some years until retirement, and I have already enjoyed this house so much, and I know I will go on enjoying it. It has been very good for me. It gave me relaxation when I most needed it. It has also given me a lot of confidence when I had to solve seemingly unsolvable problems.

The other day I was talking on skype with an old friend. I was rather depressed and told her so. When I say depressed, I don't mean temporarily upset because you have broken your favourite cup; I mean medically depressed without any particular reason. My friend recognised and acknowledged it. We went on talking, and I started telling her about the dollhouse, turning the iPad here and there for her to see. Then she said: "Have you noticed now much happier you feel when you talk about your dollhouse?" I hadn't, but she was absolutely right. My dollhouse is my best therapy. (That said, when I am really depressed I don't even want to play with the dollhouse. Then I know it's really bad).

Secondly, when I bought the house a year ago I thought I would finish it by Christmas. When it was delayed, I admitted that I probably wouldn't finish it by Christmas. But I had no idea that it would be so slow. Of course I have a full-time job and more, so I can only work on the dollhouse some evenings and some weekends. It does not say much that I have worked for seven months. But I have kept a log. I have so far spent 548 hours on this project. I am nowhere near completion. With luck, I may finish by Christmas. Then, what do we mean by "finish"? A dollhouse project is never finished. Which means I will probably go on for the rest of my life. I don't want to think what happens when I am gone. Perhaps I ought to make arrangements for that.

Thirdly, I know that if this had been my very first project I wouldn't have managed it. Now, I don't believe a beginner would ever dare start with something so grand, but seven years of dollhouse- and roombox-making was a very good training. I knew what tools and materials to use, how to do this and that, what pitfalls to avoid. Still, this project needs so much careful planning. I am glad I haven't done anything in a hurry. Lots of initial plans didn't work or there were better plans, better ideas, better colour schemes. I made tons of mistakes, but fortunately nothing fatal - yet. I haven't damaged anything beyond repair, I haven't hurt myself (except for my back and shoulders, but I do this when I am gardening as well). I haven't broken any of my precious mini items - I do have a couple of really valuable ones.

Fourthly, and not unexpectedly, the initial costs of the kit itself was just the beginning. I keep a log of purchases as well: materials, extra parts that didn't come with the kit, paint, tools. So far, I have spent in addition half of the cost of the kit. There are many indirect costs too, like I ask my husband to buy gluesticks when he goes to the supermarket. I recycle a lot using things such as wrapping paper for wallpaper so I don't spend a lot of money on things I can make. The most expensive have been doors, that I cannot - yet - make myself, and lighting equipment. If I had bought everything I could have bought: wallpaper, flooring paper, roofing, door knobs, fireplaces - I know I would have doubled and tripled the bill. It is also important that I have most of the tools necessary for miniature work. I don't have any sophisticated tools, just the very basics, but I know how to use them. There may be tools I don't know I need that would make some things easier. I also have all the materials I have saved all these years so whenever I need a piece of wood or a bit of fabric or a length of wire, I have it.

People who have seen and admired the house don't understand much about it. When I had my Christmas party and my guests wanted to see the house, they ah-ed and oh-ed, but at that time the house was dry-assembled, with bits of wallpaper white-tacked here and there, no doors, half-finished floors, unpainted edges. They didn't see it. But then I probably wouldn't have seen it before I started miniature-making.

I have become much more demanding, in a positive and negative way. On the positive, I want to make things properly. On the negative, I have reluctantly discarded some of my early-day furniture and objects because I am no longer satisfied with them. Sometimes they are not in scale. Sometimes they are too crude. But some things I would never have the heart to throw away. Certainly not the dolls.

Finally, and sadly, I have been so focused on this house that I have completely neglected all my other mini projects. I have given away a couple of dollhouses; I haven't made any new room boxes, and I haven't made any improvements on the two dollhouses I have left: the Tudor house and the retro house. I have definitely lost interest in half-scale. I notice that I pinch objects from room boxes to put into the new house. Maybe that's the way it should be. I am not yet ready to let go of the Tudor and retro houses, but I think I may at some point. I am not a hoarder. Well. I am, but...

In short, it has been a fantastic dollhouse year, and I have learned a lot and had fun. The Facebook groups have been supportive and encouraging. I am looking forward to whatever the future has in store.

Fame

My Tudor dollhouse is featured in the Dolls House World magazine.

I have published twenty academic books, two novels, two picturebooks, a cookbook, a computer manual, some short stories, several translated books, a memoir, two hundred academic articles, two hundred other articles and reviews. I have been interviewed by major newspapers in Sweden, the UK and elsewhere, and by scores of less major and very obscure newspapers and magazines all over the world; by radio and TV and websites.

But I am tremendously excited about two pages in Dolls House World.

Someone from one of my dollhouse Facebook groups approached me some time ago saying that she liked the stuff I was making and would I be interested to let her write a feature.

Now again, I am used to people approaching me about Winnie-the-Pooh, or young adult dystopia, or Twilight, or strong female characters, or suitability of death in picturebooks, or translations of Alice in Wonderland into Russian, or the proper way to cook buckwheat. But I am not used to being asked about my humble hobby, least of all for a glossy magazine where famous miniaturists display their magnificent work. But I see the point of writing about ordinary people and their projects, because the majority of the magazine's readers aren't famous or brilliant.

Anyway, to be interviewed is not a problem, but taking good quality pictures is not as easy as you might imagine. Taking good pictures of dollhouse interiors is very difficult. It's ok for Facebook and even a blog, but for a magazine they should preferably be really good. Luckily, my youngest son is a film-maker and knows all about taking good pictures. I have always known that in order to get one decent shot you need to take at least fifty, and these days, with digital cameras, it is less tedious and costly than it used to be. But the biggest challenge with dollhouses is light. You need strong, but soft light, and no shadows. Two years ago I bought a light tent which has been indispensable for taking pictures of single objects. Highly recommended.

But you cannot put a whole dollhouse into a light tent. I had to create a light-tent effect and use some of the tricks professional photographers use, without professional equipment. What I eventually did was place the dollhouse facing a white wall and use several strong lamps from the sides so that the light reflected from the wall into the dollhouse. I didn't have a tripod, I and used my phone, holding it very steadily against a chair. I took about twenty pictures of each room, and I could pick a good shot in each series. Obviously, they were good enough to use in the magazine.

(I have had photos published in newspapers and magazines before. But not photos requiring special lighting).

Like all good stories, this one is not quite accurate. But only a few people will know.

Dollhouses galore

I had to go to London for a meeting so I took the opportunity to see this exhibition at the Museum of Childhood. Their permanemt dollhouse display is impressive enough, and I have seen it several times, studying details carefully, taking notes and sketching. For this exhibition they have selected from their hundred plus dollhouses from four centuries, and then a number of modern artists and designers created a roombox each (this was the least interesting part since anyone in my dollhouse groups can do it).

I took about fifty pictures which I will not share, for several reasons. Firstly, the images on the web are much better, and if you invest £14 in the accompanying catalogue it is full of great pictures. I took most of the pictures before I bought the book, and most of them turned out to be unnecessary after I browsed through it.

Secondly, I took pictures for a particular purpose, for instance, to see how the curtains are fixed, or how the edges are finished, or how the wallpaper is separated between floors on the inside of the front. These are details I wouldn't even think about last time I was there, but at the moment these are the problems I am grappling with.  I have made some valuable observations for my project.

 

What I instead want to share are some reflections. For instance, I noticed once again that many objects in the famous dollhouses are not in scale. The dolls are too small in relation to furniture; suddenly there is a little chair or a large vase, and it doesn't really matter. So I won't feel bad about putting smaller cupboards in my rear corridors.

I noticed that wallpaper often has very large patterns, and it works. The catalogue says that in some cases dollhouse makers used leftovers from 1:1 sise wallpaper. I guess this has to be tested, like everything else.

I noticed that fireplaces in most houses are on side walls. It will not work for my house because I have windows and doors on side walls, but I wonder what the aesthetic effect is. 

I noticed that the insides of fronts had the same wallpaper as the corresponding room. Many dollhouse books that I have read suggest that by making wallpapers or wall paint different you create a sense of additional space, fake space. I will consider both options.

I was able to confirm something that I could see a month ago when I visited Queen Mary's dollhouse in Windsor: realistic lights are less important than good illumination for display. Almost none of the houses had working lights, but the lighting, just as in Queen Mary's house, was cleverly hidden behind cornices. I have already bought equipment for this, but it will take some time before I will be installing it.

I noticed that very few houses showed wooden floors; mostly floors were covered with carpets or rugs. But I am working hard on my fancy parquets so I don't want to hide them with rugs.

I noticed - and the catalogue confirms -  that quite a few houses are very sparcely equipped. The catalogue mentions 1,900 objects altogether; I believe I have more in my current project, and I have just started. There is a point: you can see the displays better. But some rooms look bare.  

I noticed how great dolls peeping out through the windows look. I had not considered this option at all, but I will now. Maybe, for the front, I could make small shelves for some dolls to stand on by the windows. And some should be on the balcony.

I enjoyed the exhibition, and I have learned a lot from it and from reading the book, so I can warmly recommend both.

But MY dollhouses are unique and like no one else's.

Reflections on professional dollhouse making

Last week I finally got an occasion to visit Windsor and see the famous Queen Mary's dollhouse. It is of course awsome, and I have made some mental notes about certain practical matters. But, frankly, if you have unlimited resources, engage three hundred best artists in the country, import any materials you need and commission any factory you need, I am not all that impressed. It is pointless to compete with Queen Mary's house because it is a unique piece of art. I am more impressed by myself making everything I have made so far, all on my own, and almost all from recycled materials.

It seems, however, that I am no longer the only owner of the "new" Downton Manor. One more is for sale now, fully furbished, for £25,000. And while Queen Mary's house took all those hundreds of people three years to complete, Walton Park has been finished in three months. And I think you can tell. 

Take the exterior. It's rather dull. They didn't even bother to paint the quoins. The roof is the same grey, no tiles. It seems that banisters have not been sanded properly to make them round and soft. 

On the inside, there may be parquet flooring, but I am certainly not impressed by the fact that it took 14 hours to make. Just 14 hours? That's hasty work. There may be fancy wallpaper, but they haven't done anything on the inside of the front panels which are painted in the same dull grey. Silk curtains don't save it. They didn't bother about the secret corridors. The ceilings are not decorated at all (and there are all those fancy ceiling roses to buy!). Everything looks great at first sight, but when you start looking carefully for those tiny finishing touches, they just aren't there.

There is very little furniture, and of course all of it is from expensive shops. The ad says "immaculate attention to detail", but I don't think there is. The rooms feel bare. The left room of the basement, where I have my best kitchen, is an empty garage with a fancy car. The joy of Queen Mary's house are all those thousands of tiny objects, all with a purpose, all in the right place. And, sadly, I believe that someone who pays £25,000 for a dollhouse is not going to work any further on it. Maybe add some more expensive trinkets. 

Ten years ago, I would have been full of admiration. Now I see what is lacking. I see the difference between a commersial gimmick and a passionate miniature-maker's project. My Facebook friends make much more interesting and sophisticated houses. We all know that it is easy to spend hundreds of pounds on dollhouse stuff. But there is no soul in this house, no love. And it is not meant to be loved. Like so much 1:1 property, it is an investment.

 

A proprietor's concerns

As far as I understand, I am the only owner of this property in the UK and apparently in the whole world. (If someone who reads this owns the new model of Downton Manor, please please contact me). It is of course exciting, but the down side is that there is no one I can ask for advice. Not even the manufacturer because somebody else is assembling the model for them, but they haven't done it yet, therefore there are still, three months after I received the kit, no assembly instructions, and if something is profoundly wrong, which I every now and then suspect, nobody yet knows. Perhaps I should have... but it's pointless to speculate. Here I am, with a tremendously expensive toy that I so far don't quite know how to put together, and if there is another owner (please, please contact me!) we are making our mistakes on our own. The problem is, I don't even know if I am making mistakes. I don't even know whether I have all the parts I am supposed to have.

But I have invested so much in this property. Emotionally of course, all that time I was waiting, against hope, that it would eventually arrive, and now putting all my effort into it, neglecting all other projects for a long time to come. Intellectually, too, because there are so many decisions to make, so many problems to solve, so many ideas to test and dismiss. If I finish it at all some time - I estimate it will take at least a year - people might look at pictures, or the house itself, and say whatever people say in such cases ("Crazy old woman", "How nice", "Wow"), but nobody will know how much is behind the final outcome.

And I am not even mentioning the pecuniar investment. I keep track of all costs involved: paint, tools, spares. I got interior doors for my patience, otherwise they are extra. I didn't get interior doors for the basement so I will have to buy these. I got one double door that was supposed to be the main entrance door, but the package said "Interior door". I need two interior double doors so I tried to find them, first on ebay (no luck), then everywhere else (no luck). I asked the manufacturer who pointed me toward the only place in the UK who sells these door at outrageous price. Or maybe not outrageous. But while I can make all kinds of things from rubbish, I cannot make double doors, Or maybe I could. However, I ordered these doors, adding a substantial chunk to my building budget. it will be interesting to see how much the final project will have cost, again, given that I buy the absolute minimum.

Why am I doing it, you may ask? Sometimes I am asking myself. Initially I meant it to be my retirement project. I hope by the time I retire this project is finished, and then I will have to come up with something else.