Rescued from the garbage bin

A person came by with two Tesco bags full of plastic. "I was going to throw this away, she said, but I thought you may find some bits for your dollhouse projects". I am always glad when people remember my hobby and give me things they don't want, whether these prove useful or not. Two bags of rubbish is a precious gift:

Now, some of you reading this may be exclaiming: "But this is...!" However, I didn't know it. I am quite ignorant about commercial dollhouses, so I merely saw that there were many valuable parts. Later, when I had time, I emptied the bags on the floor to see what they contained:

It became clear that they were parts of quite a sophisticaed house. Since there were two staircases, you could infer that there are at least three storeys, and there were dormer windows, railings, doorsteps and other interesting details. But I had no idea how to go about it, or how to see whether anything was missing. You can only see what's missing by assembling the house. And I didn't even know where to start or what the final structure would look like.

I browsed through a number of dollhouse sites, but found nothing even remotedly similar.

As usual in such situations, I consulted my dollhouse group, and somebody pointed out the obvious: is it marked? You would think that after my recent purchases and discoveries I would have learned, but apparently not. Luckily, the very first bit I picked up was marked: Playmobil, 1989.

After that, it was easy to find the images - Playmobil Victorian Mansion - and even the assembly instructions.  I found some videos on Youtube: one video of a man (!) building the house, and another of a fully decorated house. I am sure there are more. I also found out how much it fetches on ebay.

I did all this during my lunch break and then spent the rest of the afternoon looking at the pile on the floor while I was editing an article and replying to emails. I have very strong character so I didn't start until after dinner.

I took pictures step by step, but I won't show them here because it was quite straightforward apart from a few silly mistakes that were easy to correct.

The bits missing are two windows on the first floor, a dormer window roof and a few railings and door handles, all easily replaceable on ebay. A perfect little Victorian house in need of love and care. (And don't I already have more dollhouses that I have room for!)

It's hard to know what scale it is, but I just happen to have a couple of pieces of furniture from my recent flea market visits that are Playmobil. I didn't quite register it then, but they are very clearly from this house. I put them in, together with some other furniture from my antique shop.

It won't be a problem to fill the rooms, either by rummaging flea markets, looking for ebay bargains or simply making things. The walls need wallpaper. The floors need flooring or carpeting. And a Victorian house can have so many wonderful things. It will be a joy.

But here comes a matter of conscience: shall I tell the person who gave me the Tesco bags what a treasure she was throwing away?

More clock makeovers

I need many clocks for my clockmaker's shop, and I was lucky to get a set of four on ebay.

They are not particularly pretty, and who'd want identical clocks in a shop anyway. So my task was to make them all different and attractive. I started with the bigger one and followed instructions from Jean Nisbett's helpful book on converting standard ugly furniture into pretty and unique. Nisbett recommends enamel hobby paint, but I prefer ordinary water-based acryl.

First, I painted the clock dark green. I didn't have the right colour, so I mixed green with brown.

Then I used a coat of lighter green, which I immediately wiped with a cloth, and after it had almost dried, used sandpaper unevenly over the surfaces.  Then I used a coat of varnish.

 

I made the face from a printie, covered with transparent plastic. I used ready-made sticker decorations.

With the second clock, I wasn't as elaborate. I simply stained it with mahogny and varnished. I glued on a wind-up button from a real watch. In the picture below, I placed an original clock by its side to show the difference.

The remaning two clocks I decorated in various ways. I glued some lace on one and painted and varnished it. I deliberately let the original surface show through a bit since it creates a worn effect. The last one I painted with Swedish "country red" which gave it a more noble light-wooden finish. The pendulum is an envelope clip. All faces are from the web.

I also have an original Barton grandfather clock with movable hands, the origin of which I cannot remember, but I know I haven't paid a fortune for it and didn't at that time know it was a Barton (or what Barton was for that matter). It is too big for the clockmaker's shop, and I have always had it in the Victorian house.

Cuckoo clock

For my clockmaker shop, I am renovating all kinds of clocks, and one of them is this: you may recognise it from children's dollhouse accessories. But I have made it over quite substantially, as you can see.

First, obviously, I painted it dark brown, stained with mahogny and varnished. I changed rope to chain. I used a real clock face and real hands, which I must admit I glued on. The tiny wheel on top is a real cogwheel. I think it was worth the effort.

Playing with light

More than half a year ago I finished  a very special room box representing a painting. Already then I considered putting in strong light in the box, to imitate the "Vermeer-effect" of the painting. It is a bit too much work to have a transformer and wiring for a single room box, and fortunately these days there are led lights. However, a dollhouse led light is by far too dim to light up a room box. In fact, I was, after first euphoria, rather disappointed by dollhouse led lights. They can be used in addition to conventional lighting, but not on their own. I can write a separate post about it.

For my room box, however, I needed a strong light, and I saw how wonderful it might become by putting in my mobile phone with a flashlight app.

Now I have finally bought and fixed a smart-touch kitchen spotlight. My clever son, who knows all about lighting in photography and film, told me to use baking paper as a filter to make the light softer. And here is the result. I think it is stunning.

Collecting

I have repeatedly stated that I am a maker, not a collector, but I have recently succumbed to a number of purchases that have taken me off my maker's trajectory. The interesting thing about buying an unusual piece, such as the Marx clock, is that, if you are curious like me, you learn a lot. Sometimes it is something every miniaturist knows, or should know, but I am, as noted, not a collector, and I really don't know much about dollhouse and toy companies.

Last week in Stockholm, a friend took me on an antique shop round, which we usually do when we meet. I was tempted, and I fell. I could have fallen for more, but I showed character. This is what I bought:

I didn't have any particular project in mind, but I couldn't resist it. I think that by now I recognise an interesting piece when I see it.

In fact, the only piece I recognised was the Arne Jacobsen chair, The Egg.

 

I learned about Jacobsen when I was in Copenhagen some years ago, staying in a hotel that had Jacobsen furniture and folders explaining it. They also sold models in 1:6 scale, which I refrained from buying. I had since then been scouting for the Lundby-scale Egg on ebay, and it turns up every now and then, fetching fancy prices. I paid a fancy price for this one, but somehow it is different when you hold it in your hand. It feels authentic in a way you cannot be certain about a picture on ebay. Of course I know that sellers "age" their merchandise, but I am pretty sure that this chair is a genuine Jacobsen from the late '50s. (And if it isn't, I don't care).

Another piece that needed some research was this sofa:

The piece of paper says "Dollhouse furniture, architect J Udd". The person in the shop could not provide any further information. Web search yielded meagre results. "Architect J Udd produced models of dollhouse furniture of good quality in a nice, period-correct '50s design. Produced in the Gothenburg area". Hmmm... helpful. More search. Picture! Just like mine. "Fantastic sofa by architect J Udd. He produced his furniture during the '40s and 50s outside Leksand". Right, slightly contradictory information, but someone in my miniature group confirmed that John Udd made dollhouse furniture and lived in Dalecarlia, not far from Leksand. My miniature-collecting cousin said she had some furniture by Udd, and yet another virtual friend displayed a whole dollhouse of Udd furniture. So now I know that I have a rare piece, but so far I haven't been able to find any further information about the mysterious architect, not on the web, not in the National Encyclopedia or Who Is Who. Investigation continues.

LAN room

Some weeks ago, a substantial portion of our grandchildren came visiting. I have never tried to impose my miniature passion on the kids, and while I am happy to show them the houses and room boxes, I never persist if I see that they aren't interested. This time, the nine-year-old followed his mother's prompt and asked to have a look. I know when people, children or grownups, fake an interest or are polite, and I can tell when it's genuine. During the six years of my miniature-making, there has only been a handful of visitors who were really fascinated. This young man wanted to know exactly how I made this and that, and he went on guessing what the various things were made of. I wondered whether he was a model-railway person, but he wasn't. He was a natural.

Of course I had to ask whether he wanted me to make a room box for him, in which case what kind of room. He promised to think about it and finally decided that he wanted a LAN room. I must admit my total ignorance: I had never heard about LAN-ing, so that was a challenge.

As with the yarn shop, my first reaction was: what's the fun? Just a lot of computers. Fortuntately, there are plenty of images on the net, and my savvy son-in-law explained some essentials to me, such as soft drinks and potato crisps. My minituare discussion group was also helpful. However, I did start with computers. I checked ebay, but decided that I could make my own from a printie.

There are several laptop printies available, so I made two different ones and connected them with wire. 

I also made a cord extension: a tiny wooden bit left over from press-out kit furniture. I had saved the bits because I thought they may come handy one day, and I was right. The teeny-tiny sockets are printies. I moved the coke cans from another project, and I made the McDonalds bags and a bar of iconic Swedish chocolate from printies.

The experts from the discussion group pointed out that at least one computer must be stationary, and fortunately I know how to make one because I have it in another project. The monitor is made from a little jewel-box lid, and the base is a lid from a spice container. The keyboard and mouse are cut from a catalogue. I printed out screen shots of Minecraft, which is the grandson's favourite game, and glued on the screens, covered with transparent plastic (old folder cover). I am particularly proud of the headset which is made from a bit of plastic I had saved for years without knowing what to do with. Rule number one in miniature making: never throw anything away.

Now I had to build the environment, and because the room will have to be transported to Sweden, I decided to make it in a shoe box rather than a wine box.



I put Minecraft posters on the walls - I admit it's a bit repetitive, but at least I know it's right. The two chairs come from a set of five I bought some time ago in a thrift shop and didn't know what to do with. I glued bits of leather for the seats and backs. It's hard to see the details in the picture, so I will show some close-ups.

A better view of the desktop. And some more soft-drink cans (from ebay).

The two connected laptops, more cans and a Minecraft mug that I made from fimo after a picture from the web. The discussion group, however, told me that kids don't bother with cans, they buy two-litre bottles. Now, how do you make a two-litre bottle of coke?

From soap-bottle pumps, of course!

For an iPad, I cut out a picture from a catalogue and glued on another Minecraft screen. I only took screen shots that I liked - it took some time to choose. 

Most wires are from binders, so that I could make them stick in the shapes I wanted. I think they look exactly like the wires in our 1:1 home, all tangled together. 

I punched out potato crisps from craft paper. 

And finally, I made a bean bag - or at least it is supposed to be a bean bag.

I am going to Sweden in a week, and I am going to take this box with me in a hard suitcase. Wish me luck.

Clockmaker's shop, continued

As I have said repeatedly, a miniature project is never finished, and I am still waiting for an ebay lot of clocks, but I can show details of the clockmaker's shop as they are now. First, there is a table with all kinds of things on it. The table comes from another dollhouse where I have now replaced it with something else. It fits much better here.

The box used to be a yellow plastic shelf from the plastic house. The parts are real clock parts that I use for steampunk jewellery, and so are the clock faces. The tools in tumblers are also tiny clock parts. The magnifying glass, spectacles and chain watch are from various lots.

Now I am going clockwise (sorry, unintended pun!) around the walls.


 
The hourglass is a miniature that I bought long before I started miniature-making. It fits in nicely here. The cuckoo clock - rather ugly - is from an ebay lot. The silver clock is a pin. The ornate mirror is from one of my recent flea market rounds. I have "aged" it by painting it with a thin layer of black watercolor. Mirrors create interesting effects, so I have several very small ones here and there. The bats (Christmas crackers) are for the atmosphere. On the chest (which comes from a serious antique shop):




A pretty notebook somebody gave me. An antique stamp shaped as an owl. Not sure it really fits in, but can stay for a while, as well as the bottle and the chess piece. Three clocks from charity shops.

The white grandfather clock has an interesting history. The metal clock beside is actually working: a battery-powered desk clock. 

The steampunk construction is made from plastic cogwheels that I painted copper. Most clocks are buttons, but the one in the middle is made from a beer can ring. Note the tiny mirror on the right.

The magnificent corner shelf was bought in a thrift shop for 50p. It has a real miniature compass and some other trinkets. The spiders are for atmosphere (luckily, I have no arachnophobia).

Finally, my pride, the large wall clock, made from a picture frame that I painted gold and a pair of crazy earrings donated by someone. The small clock is a button, and its pendulum obviously an envelope clip. The round mirror is old and naturally aged and cracked.

I have just discovered a site with a hundred different antique clock faces. Come back soon!