Helen Hall

This weekend has been a typical dollhouse weather, and I started my renovation work on the Playmobil house which I have called Helen Hall, after the friend who gave me the ruins.

I wasn't at all sure what exactly I wanted to do, but I knew that painting the ceiling was imperative so that's where I started, dismantling the house and testing one floor/ceiling panel. While it was drying I painted the basement with sand paint to make it less plastic-y and more stony.

And suddenly the plastic wall became totally unbearable. I had thought that I might leave it as it was, since it is sort of right Victorian dirty yellow, but now I knew it wouldn't work. I had considered covering it with brick paper, but it has this nice surface, and I have another house with brick walls. So I put the ceilings aside and started mixing paint. I have in the past five years used the same can of all-purpose white paint, originally bought for some minor 1:1 decoration. I have occasionally mixed it with other paint, including gouache and acrylic. I tried to make an interesting blue colour, but it was too pale and dull. Then I tried bright red hobby paint, and it turned quite interesting.

I peeled off all exterior details and painted each panel separately. (Although here they are re-assembled again).

Then I painted all the cornices, door posts (three) and external windows (ten) white. It is quite clear that the old plastic has grown yellow so I will have to paint all windows and doors as well.

 I painted dormer windows.

All the time I discovered that I had missed a detail; that something I had painted red should be white or the other way round. There were two external windows missing from the kit. I had bought spares from ebay, but failed to notice that the frames were missing as well. There are lots of spares on ebay.

On the whole, I am really pleased with the result. I put the house together for the moment since I won't have time to work on it during the week, and it looks so fine. I will then have to dismantle it again to put in floors and wallpaper, paint the ceilings, skirting and cornices, and I am sure there will be interesting problems to solve.

Suitcases

I fished up two plastic suitcases from a junk basket in a charity shop, together with a set of plastic garden furniture.

The furniture went straight into the Playmobil house where it fits nicely on the upper terrace. The suitcases can go into any house or room box, but they aren't particularly pretty,

This is what I did with them. First of all I gave them a more leathery and worn-out look. I painted them with dark brown acrylic paint, and when it was almost dry I covered it with a coat of matt white which I immediately wiped with a cloth. You can see the difference. The inside of an expensive suitcase would be lined with red silk, so I painted the inside red. 

For the belts, I took a small ribbon (of the kind you cut off from newly purchased clothes) and made loops from a bit of champagne wire.

I also added a piece of metal foil for a lock and hotel labels from all the travels. And some clothes inside. I am very pleased with the result.

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.