CONFESSIONS OF A MINIATURIST

What is my problem? What is wrong with me?

It was with joy that, in mid-1993, I was informed - to my peace of mind and overall relief among the family - that I was not ailing from any personality disorder or psychological regression. What's more, I discovered that my strange compulsion had even a known name (and, thank goodness, it did not bear the ending "ite"). A name that, to my ears, sounded a tad pompous: miniaturism. No, I am not attempting to be loquacious or exaggerating in reporting this story of mine, for it was precisely thus that it happened...

In being so sincere, I run the risk of seeming, to sat the least, ignorant since cultivated and informed people know that this art dates from centuries past...
For me, it was pure and simply "playing house"... at age 31...

Each month, more and more this was absorbing a greater part of my day; I was entangled with my little things, applying wall-paper, carpet, little furniture pieces, accessories...

I devoted more time to my ambiences than to my own home. As you can see, I had reasons to spare to be concerned.

The people who surrounded me were intrigued, and even for myself I rendered inexplicable what I saw in such elementary activity since - contrary to the suspicions of the Freuds on duty - I had the privilege of "stretching" my childhood until quite late - particularly for the present standards - and I only retired my doll just short of completing 12 years of age, yielding space to the first little flirtations and coquettish affairs of teenage girls and closing, satisfactorily and free from traumas, this beautiful stage.

The diagnosis...

As I mentioned, the bearer of such a joyous diagnosis, aunt Peggy, native and resident of the United States, was not a doctor but she knew that, far from being an infirmity, this hobby was a great industry and was taken very seriously in the countries of the developed world.

How it all started...

Back then, I had recently arrived in Cartagena de Indias, in Colombia, had been married for almost 3 years and had a little son of a year and a half.
We lived in a suite of the Hilton Hotel, where my husband was the general manager, and, in acceding to his protests, I proposed to quit buying ducks, as its collection was bordering the excessive number of 300 pieces.
Still in the adjustment stage and feeling like a tourist, one afternoon, walking along the streets of Cartagena, I found in a shop an entire collection of miniature pieces with fine finishing in golden metal.
There were, in all, 15 pieces, among which little telephones, vases, kitchen utensils, that to me seemed delicate. I thought: let me begin a collection of these small things, for they don't take room. The next step was to buy a small glass showcase to store them, then a little table on which to place the metal candlestick, thereafter a bedside table on which to place the little lampshade, and, finally, why not make distinct ambiences for the placing of all the furniture?
When I realised, in fewer than 5 months I had already 10 ambiences that, almost clandestinely in the wee hours, I decorated so that nobody would notice what I had been doing.

Such irony...

Nowadays, when one enters my home and finds 120 ambiences, little mansions, scale models of all sizes and asks me why I began collecting miniatures, I say:
"It's because my husband felt that the ducks took up too much room..."

A path with no turning back...

Although a tad ill at ease with myself, one day I decided to come out openly about my belated childishness. I had a carpenter assemble a kind of box, with the sides wooden and with the top and front in glass, for intuitively I judged that I would store the pieces better. Subsequently, I came to know that these were called "room boxes".
I adopted arbitrarily a standard measure, that by chance is very close to those deemed "official", and I assembled all of them in the same size for I considered that visually it would be more esthetic when - through a decision none too democratic - they were to be incorporated into the decor of our home.

Anyway, the good news was that I was not a "misfit".And the bad news (particularly for my husband) was that there would be no turning back.

Miniaturism had come to stay...

In a short time, the entire Hotel knew already that the "manager's wife" assembled tiny homes.
In my family, all found it strange that a lady executive, who had worked since the age of 14 and who was still too young to shut herself within the home, came to "play doll".
In the beginning, although observing a radical change in my behaviour, for I had become more introspective and anti-social, my husband did not attach much significance to the new addition, as he thought it was a passing enthusiasm. He believed it was just something to "kill time" at a delicate stage of adjustment in which I felt lonely and without friends. It was understandable, since, after all, I had left behind my country, family, professional career...

A window onto the world...

During Christmas of that same year, aunt Peggy, my fairy patroness, broadened a tad further my miniaturistic horizons, granting me the present of a subscription to the long-standing magazine "Nutshell" that, according to her, is the bedtime reading of any self-respecting "miniaturist".
Soon enough, I had already become an insider on all the minutiae of the realm: fairs and trade shows, publications, guidebooks, technical literature, criterion of scales, etc.
In all my times overseas, it turned out that I invariably included in my tourist itinerary at least one visit to private collectors or to miniature museums, in addition to the mandatory checking of the yellow pages in search of specialised shops.
The first time that I visited in Los Angeles the "The Carole and Barry Kaye" Museum, I almost lost my breath. Mildly said, I lasted 8 hours "interned" in the premises.
It was as if a new world unfolded before me...
In the course of all these fourteen years, I must say that I extracted much from the world through the miniatures, and, without meaning to make a pun, I learned to re-dimension and proportionate in life my yearnings, values and expectations.
I realised that, with a pompous name or not, what I do is really "playing house", and why not?
Analysing this aspect more profoundly, in reality all of us want to materialise our childhood dreams through "toys".
What is the difference between the toys of an adult and those of a child?
Just the price.

An interesting phenomenon...

When we are children, we want to play house to simulate that we are already grown-ups, that we are already mothers and wives and we lull our dolls as if they were our children. When we become adults, we turn into "miniaturists" because, perhaps giving credence to the psychologists, we seek unconsciously to rescue innocence, the child who is always going to live within us. It is an akin phenomenon in reverse order.
Among other things, I learned, and accepted, that it constitutes part of human nature to wish to acquire things. We like to possess for the pleasure of possessing. Things that oftentimes are not necessary to meet our basic needs. According to this reasoning, I realised that everything that yields pleasure on a natural scale may also grant pleasure on a small scale, with the advantage of being cheaper and easier of being transported.

Do you want a yacht but cannot have one? Buy a miniature and in your fantasies journey in it.

Thus, nowadays, I feel like a millionnaire. I have chalets in Switzerland, a private beach in Florida, mansions and vintage cars, though on a scale 1:12.

The magic world of miniatures...

I feel privileged to have the power, that only the miniaturists have, of "shrinking", as if in a magic sleight of hand, and spend hours living within my ambiences "Toy-Story"-style, where the toys come alive.

Be they modest or sophisticated, it is an adventure to experience them. I can stroll, even on rainy days, through sun-drenched gardens, rest in my country houses and try my luck in my Casino without going to Las Vegas...

Much as a painter exorcises one's spirit on one's paintings, a sculptor gives a soul to a being starting from a chunk of rock, a writer has the power of bringing life or death to one's characters, so being a miniaturist too is playing God...

For me, miniaturism is not only "possessing" small things. What fascinates me most in this tiny universe is precisely the power to create.

When immersing myself in a theme that I want to develop, I grow as a person, as a human being, I learn, I become cultured, recycle ideas, innovate, in short, I reflect on a thousand aspects of life in which, in other circumstances, I would hardly engage.

Therapeutic miniaturism...

No psychologist will be able to extract from me even a thousandth of what I express, give and receive through the miniatures. If all the people with some depressive tendency knew about this, they would certainly spend less on medications and consultations, with results emerging in more prompt and durable manner.

My ambiences are the radiograph of the status of my mood. In each scene there is a bit of me. On sad days, I use dark and sombre colours. On a happy day, vibrant colours. And so forth... One day reflective, one day hopeful, one day satirical or ironic, on another day ardent and sensual.

I don't write a diary with pen and paper. All my facets and lived experiences are imprinted on my scenes in miniatures.

It is like the song by Roberto Carlos: "If you intend to know who I am, I can tell you, come into my car on the motorway to Santos, and you will get to know me".
If someone someday wants really to know something about me, place oneself before my ambiences and one will know.

Since I am mystical, I would say that a spiritualistic medium would see even my aura through my works.

Given that large parts of them are autobiographical, those (by me) molded figurines possess the characteristics from myself, from hy husband, from my son, from my mother, and so on. In them, I have portrayed my best moments: my pregnancy, the first years of my son, barbeques in the family, evenings at home watching television and eating popcorn, or in bars sampling apéritif drinks, in a karaoke singing or Christmases around the tree... My entire story.

Learning new trades...

Motivated by miniature, I took a course in drawing and oil painting at the School of Fine Arts of Cartagena. I thought that this would help in the production of my little paintings (I dared even to make reproductions in miniature of Botero). Only in Mexico did I learn to sculpt, to make my characters.

Developing distinct items, I learned also to treasure trades and occupations previously unknown to me.
Never again did I haggle over someone's work, for now I know the effort and devotion required to make something with affection and perfection.

I began even to find shoes cheap, after I had made over 20 pairs for my mini-shoe-shop.
I leave generous tips for my seamstress, after I slaved away making the tiny garments for a show-window with this theme.

Now I understand better old sayings, of the kind: that "life is made of little things" and "that it is precisely the details that make the difference"; that "doing things by the simplest manner is least complicated"; and "that a journey of a thousand miles begins with a single first step". Therefore, I never grow tired of a project, however laborious it may be, and I find infinite patience in fine-tuning the minutiae.

The contact with the public...

I resisted a great deal to display my pieces for the first time.Firstly, out of insecurity. Deep down, I did not deem my show-windows to be properly "masterpieces", for I have always been self-critical.

Moreover, because I knew that, more than displaying my work, I would be exhibiting my most intimate aspects and, as a reserved and selective person, this made me feel vulnerable.
When, at last, I acknowledged my work as art, I decided that all this energy deposited into these pieces should circulate. This is the broader function of the artist.
I confess that I have not succeeded yet in attaining a high stage of altruism, of releasing and distributing my works.

I never sold or donated any of my show-windows.

I feel very attached to them, a feeling similar to a mother's towards her children.
My modest form of contribution was to revert the sale of the tickets, to community and charity works.

The experience of having a direct contact with the public was something very enriching. Much as a boomerang does. All the energy that I devoted returned to me greater and greater, in a marvellous multiplying effect.

I was stirred by the distinct reactions of people, particularly with the marvelling little faces of the children, who undoubtedly are - by far - more observing and sensitive than the adults.

Due to their being something totally distinct from other forms of artistic expression and unknown to the broader public, my exhibitions were the cultural sensation of the cities where I lived, getting wide coverage in the press, magazines and television. At times, this was on a national level. In Colombia, I even got to receive many letters from people from other states interested in buying, learning to craft and even coming to Cartagena especially to visit my collection.

The exhibitions, that became veritable marathons, were normally held in convention halls of hotels, lasted an entire day and, whenever possible, I made it a point to be present to host personally the visitors.
The hours of the morning were reserved for groups from schools and the ones of the afternoon for the adult public in general.

For the groups of students, of approximately 50 each, I conceived a system of interactive exhibition that invariably ended in a session of questions and answers.
This was the part that most filled me with enthusiasm.

In a participating manner and taking advantage of my qualification as primary-school teacher, I was able to build closer contact with the children and feed my "database" with new ideas for future works.

I have never forgotten when a white girl, of 10 years of age, asked me why I only placed the black people in subordinate positions. In other words, in the kitchen, in the laundry, or as a "sex professional" on a love-motel bed. According to her point of view, I, unwittingly, was a "racist". This observation at first managed to offend me as I considered it unjust. I felt profoundly ashamed. I had never noticed that, unintentionally, harboured stereotyped and colonialist biases.

I came, after this episode, to have more sensitivity and social consciousness.

The forbidden show-windows...

In my ambiences, I always sought to portray, in addition to the autobiographical passages, all the mundane and commonplace aspects of day-to-day life of people in general.

On one occasion, we were staging an exhibition to collect funds for a shelter home for single teenage mothers and we were deciding if I would display or not some show-windows with sexual connotation, indeed as the subject was the "Achilles heel" of the entity being benefited.

At first, we decided it would not be convenient since, during the 10 days that the exhibit would last, we had schedules the visit of various classes from 1st to 6th grade, the direction of the school having bought the tickets to aid the cause and having recommended to me that it would not be prudent to deal with this kind of subject, so as not to raise controversy with the parents of the pupils.

During the mornings, we hid them under the tables, and in the afternoons we left them on display, since the patrons were practically all adults.

However, some pupils desiring to share with their respective parents the exhibition on the second day returned in the afternoon period and saw that there was a session for "adults only". The news spread like wildfire in the school and, on the following day, the pupils could hardly dissimulate their curiosity. Some raised the table-cloths, seeking to locate the "forbidden show-windows".

On a certain day, when we received the visit of a group from 5th grade, one of the girl pupils who served as "spokeswoman" raised the hand, during a session of questions and answers, and asked me - very solemnly - that I show the "said" show-windows.
She argued that they were, all of them, "quite grown-up" and that this subject was not, for them, a novelty.

It was incredible. All were seated, their eyes expecting... Not even a sound was heard in the hall.

Once the claim met with approval from the teacher responsible for the group, I began to draw the items from under the tables, one by one, and, to my surprise, the questions were put with much seriousness and ease, being they most varied.

One scene that showed a couple having intercourse behind a tree, on a day of picnicking in the country, was target for one of the questions.

"What are they doing there?”, a boy asked me.
"Well", said I somewhat embarassed, "They are making love. Has your mom not explained to you any of this?"

"This, of course I know", he replied; "I just don't understand how they are thus, lying atop a hard and cold boulder. Could they not at least place a towel underneath?"

Another scene that depicts a room in a hotel, all untidy, with panty, brassière and clothes from newlyweds discarded to all sides on the honeymoon day after the wedding night, that does not show any character but instead, very subtly, a small blood-stain, almost hidden, on the satin sheet.

A girl asked:
"Did anyone get hurt on this bed?"
Already more experienced and putting on a pedagogical tone, I responded:
"When a woman loses the virginity, she may, eventually, bleed a bit, as there is a small membrane that is called hymen, etc., etc."

Feeling the genuine interest of the children in knowing about a subject not always addressed in their homes, particularly avoided in small towns where this subject is considered a taboo and that, even with the advent of television, Internet, magazines, etc., the children only have knowledge through messages in fragmented, malicious and myth-ridden manner, I devoted myself, almost unaware of it, to giving practically a lesson in sexual education.

To my surprise, there were no jokes or giggling. They became very grateful not only with the exhibition but also with the opportunity of clarifying some questions they had. It was most beautiful.

After all, what is miniaturism?

From all that I have read and experienced on this theme over these years, I have arrived at a few personal conclusions.

Miniaturism, for me, is the strong desire... more than this... it is the irresistible impulse to create, manufacture, conceive, deal with objects on a reduced scale.

The portrait of a miniaturist...

The miniaturist is a romantic by nature. Only those who permit themselves to develop their sensitivity, explore their inner world, dream and realise their little fantasies can be miniaturists. Patience is, without a doubt, another remarkable feature and an indispensable prerequisite.

The miniaturist enjoys, equally, both the process as well as the final product, regardless therefore of how long it may take to conclude one's work.

At times, I ask myself if this sort of artist - so peculiar - is the one who likes life too much and has an eagerness to portray it or if, on the contrary, s/he takes refuge in one's little alienated world utilising one's works to flee reality, creating a parallel micro-universe where one has absolute control. Perhaps it's a bit of both things.

The most important thing is that each one seek a way through miniatures or any other activity that may be an oasis of introspection to truly engage in contact with oneself and disconnect oneself in some way from this robotised life.

It is a pleasant sensation to discover a channel to direct the energy and bring order to one's own feelings.

Process of creation...

People frequently ask me how the ideas are born, what the mechanism is of passing through the creation and realisation of a work.

In this, I think that I am different from the other miniaturists. I don't plan, draw a previous draft, think much; I simply sit down and execute the work with the material and with the objects that I have available at that moment.

At times, I am making a show-window and an idea crosses my mind. I interrupt the original work and I begin another showcase, simultaneously.
One example: I was executing the scene of a quaint simple house, atop a mountain. The material utilised was clay that I had had someone bring from a peripheral locality.

The order arrived to me in one of those receptacles of styrofoam, as when we get food "to take-away". It was round and, immediately, I had a view of a bed in a love-motel.
Sometimes, some "accidents" improve on an idea that, originally, was not so good.
I was making the laundry that I had mentioned earlier, where a mulatto lass, along the lines of Sargentelli's samba dancers, was ironing the clothing and watching the soap opera on television.

The show-window was almost ready and the only thing left for me was to pour the transparent resin that would emulate the clothing soaking in the washtub.
It had become a beauty, with an effect looking very natural.

On the following day, I almost had a seizure when I noticed that a great amount of resin had leaked, splotching, to my despair, the entire floor of the laundry area.
It was already dry and there was no way of removing it without practically spoiling the showcase.

Then I thought: at our home, aren't there likewise accidents? So then I shall call the plumber.
It was a stroke of genius: I made a figurine squatting, fixing the leak and, at the same time, perturbed, for he could not avoid ogling at the legs of the beautiful mulatto lady.

Time employed in the development of each piece...
Depending on the theme, I have come to devote 3 days (10 hours daily) as a minimum up to a maximum of 30 days woirking on a single ambience.

My trademark...

More than an ambience esthetically perfect, I am concerned with making something that conveys a message that triggers thoughts, provokes reactions and touches the heart of people.

More than houses, my ambiences have a taste of home, thus there is always a coffee on the table, some biscuits, a dog lying by the couch, a television switched on as if really one lived there...
Some have lights, water effects and even background music.

I know that most of the miniaturists do not place characters in their dioramas. One of the theories is that the people who observe them will psychologically retract, for they respect the occupied home and do not enter squarely straight.

I think entirely to the contrary way. The characters give life to the diorama, not to speak of the majority of people having a certain attraction to "voyeurism". The great success of TV soap operas and of films is proof of this. Deep down, we like to be "spying" how people live and to penetrate into their intimacy.
Without the figurines, I believe that my work would not be so appealing and would not exert such fascination among people.
Other characteristics of mine are the humour and the sensuality.
I like the dolls to be "coquettish", with generous curves, legs exposed and feminine outfits. Nothing vulgar, simply sexy.

My husband, sometimes, wants to exercise the function of "censor". So he makes comments thus:
"What indecency! Cover these breasts, lower these skirts". It is exactly as he does with me in real life, and this amuses me.
It means that I stir something in people. It means that they are not indifferent to what they see.

They say that my showcases express the way we are, the Brazilian one.
These are very different from the America and European dioramas that are extremely rigid in the scales and in the plastic beauty but, many times, insipid and soulless.
I prefer to commit some deviant sins technically and take some "poetic licence" while preserving the sauciness.
How much does it cost to be a miniaturist?
At first, I did not accept my condition as miniaturist, due to insecurity, shyness or queasiness. Nowadays, Perhaps I would not do it for fear of becoming "kidnapping-prone"...

As in: "Hey lady, hand over the showcase or I blow you away". Or: "Mister, I have here with me your lady. The ransom is 50 showcases".

Jokes aside, there persists a myth, with a great essence of truth, I acknowledge, that miniatures are something for people with high-income power.
I know there are pieces that cost a real fortune.

Next to me, once in a shop, a lady bought a little chair for nothing less than 600 dollars. My goodness, this I have never spent not even in all the furniture together in my home (the large one).

From another angle, there are many options of furniture and accessories in miniature being mass-manufactured with a cost much reduced.
Among all my show-windows, the most popular ones in the taste of the people are the ones that have cost the lowest. Creativity is everything!

Miniature and family

Nine out of ten miniaturists experiences some type of problem in their family surroundings as a function of the hobby. And the one who did not face problems is certainly single.

Due to its being an activity that absorbs and infatuates, it becomes a "rival" for one of the spouses.
There were even days when I counted the minutes for my son to fall asleep and, when I felt that my husband began to snore, I jumped from bed and spent entire nights executing my dioramas.

On other occasions, my husband had to alert me with an advance notice of at least 3 days so that at a given hours I would be ready for a dinner or cocktail.
Ten minutes before the event, I left in a dash to get myself tidy, and spent the rest of the evening concealing my hands bearing residues of paint on the nails and smelling of thinner.

This is not to mention the mess that became of the living room. In the first few years, I did not have my atelier and both my son and my husband, upon getting home, had to skirt through things, as in "hop-scotching".

At any rate, I was lucky, for I could count on the patience, understanding and incentive of both during all this time. Without these, this activity would not have been possible for me.

Here is a crucial question... Miniature: art or handicraft?

This is a question that I have faced recently, when I lodged a proposal, for the first time, to a Museum of Fine Arts to display my collection.
Given the great question mark that instituted itself among the curators of the Museum, I was bound to undertake research and collect material in a more profound investigation and shortly I will have sufficient arguments to prove that this activity is a most beautiful art.