Small dolls.

I am busy now assembling dolls.  I realise when I set the parameters for this blog that I don’t often put dolls in the subject matter, which is a bit odd when that is, principally, what I make.

It might be because there are so many steps to making a doll.  I am full of enthusiasm when I first think of a doll that the world needs and definitely hasn’t seen before, but by the time I have designed it, sculpted the parts, made the moulds, poured them, rubbed them down, fired them three times and got them on the table to assemble them, the initial enthusiasm may have waned ever so slightly.

It usually returns unless  a problem has occurred.

I had a table full of bits for numerous dolls down stairs and decided to take the first little tray of doll parts upstairs, having cleared the table upstairs of everything else I am doing, apart from some little bits of card.  I am always making something or writing something, or, both.  I only clear the table upstairs if the grandchildren are coming to stay, or Miniatura is on the horizon.  I am perfectly capable of having three tables in different locations on the go at once, the only reason it isn’t four currently is that the OH has grown tired with rubbish Internet reception in his room and has commandeered my small pine table in the lounge.

So, late at night (seasoned readers – hello! – know what’s coming next) I made my way upstairs to the mostly cleared table, put the light foam tray upon it with one hand and attempted to simultaneously open my camera case with the other hand.

Have you ever had a strong desire to live in a travelling circus and be a juggler?  Me neither, yet here I was, late at night doing one handed tricks, idiot that I am.

The case flipped, not open but out of my hand, seriously assaulting the little tray of doll parts.

Legs and arms everywhere.

It wouldn’t have been too bad had they been huge dolls of six inches or so, but of course they were eighteenth century wooden style doll’s dolls, when assembled under an inch and unassembled really, really small.

I had had the parts for eight dolls.  In itself this was a miracle; the smaller the doll, the harder to rub down and the more prone to breakage.  Normally I would have a little ferret in my many boxes of bits.  Clever clogs that I am, wanting a better representation of pale painted wooden Bettys that these dolls are, I had mixed up a special porcelain colour, unlike any previously used.


On my hands and knees, patting the floor (as you do, well I do) after ten minutes or so I found two legs.  Back at the tray after a quick count, I found I was missing an arm.  The arms, which are just over quarter of an inch long, some clever clogs had mixed to exactly match the pale bits of the carpet.

Work of genius.

I gave up eventually and went to bed.

In the morning, muttering, I went into the room and drew the blind.

And for lo!  Upon the table, slightly under a small piece of card, was the missing arm.

I left everything absolutely alone and after my workout assembled the dolls before any more bits could get away.


What a relief.


Spring Miniatura, which is the 99th show is at Stoneleigh showground on March 16th and 17th, parking is free and right next to the hall, details as always and tickets at


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