Ars Magna
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My hands hold power.
Consistently I am catapulted into terrifying worlds, unintentionally of my own design. Most people who have bad dreams dread falling asleep, but my fear is waking up to realize the horror is real, with me trapped inside. I don’t remember how it started exactly, but I do viscerally remember the feeling that grips my body every time I realize I’ve woken up in the wrong place. Maybe it should be chalked up to vivid nightmares. My dreams are never particularly pleasant after all, especially now. But that still doesn’t explain the physical scars or the missing time.
My hands create existence and shape new worlds around me. Often in my daily life my medium takes the form of miniatures or dioramas, something so deceptively innocent and benign. One hardly would expect something like Queen Mary’s Dollhouse to bite your hand as you reach inside, for instance. But instead, whatever my hands craft… shifts. It manifests into existence and my soul spirals inside. Falling down a dark tunnel until I don’t know which way is up. These spaces start in the quotidian; there are no monsters hiding in the nursery crib a la Schapiro and Brody. Yet the pieces I make - once I fall inside… they aren’t right. No matter the intention, no matter the design, I always wake up in a rotting, abandoned landscape. During my disoriented wanderings, it is only a matter of time before I discover creatures that should surely exist solely in mythology roaming freely and wreaking havoc.
Even knowing how this always ends with me entombed in a veritable hellscape, still the drive remains to make art. After all, I am at the core a maker. There must be others like me, but I have yet to run into one inside the tiny worlds that loom so menacingly. Perhaps we have just never been guided to make the same creation, the same world, the same nightmare. Even as my fingers graze over signs of human habitation from once upon a time, they are now only a residual impression. My hope is quickly dashed as the realization hits, that every time I am alone. Every time I am afraid. Every time I am seeking a way to escape. The challenge is never quite the same, forcing me through a confusing maze of decisions where it would be dangerous to stop and look back. The only way out is forward, so that is where I must go.
⤄ ⤄ ⤄
My chair creaks loudly as I push back from my worktable. Pain flashes in between my shoulder blades as my spine straightens for the first time in hours. I hear a pop as my hands reach over my head, and I groan loudly, knowing that my muscles are going to be stiff as soon as the morning rolls around. Outside my window it is pitch black, and I glance at my watch to see that it is already slightly past one in the morning. Not surprising that I lost track of time, given how much hyper fixation occurs when I get to put together all the components toward the end of a project and see it for the first time as a whole, finished space.
This room started because I found some tiny porcelain pieces on a walk one day. A stand-alone bathtub (with faucets!), a pedestal sink, even a small toilet, all collected over the period of an afternoon. Once they received a sufficient rinsing, everything else for the space came together in quick succession. Bathrooms aren’t the most complicated of areas, so it might not be the most detailed miniature I have crafted. Still, I love the aging house feel of the space. I grew up in an old farmhouse, so that serves as some inspiration for the admittedly proportionally oversized bathroom. The tile floor is a particular point of pride. Usually my floors are wooden, but this time I used an embossed, gridded faux leather to create the appearance of tiles with just a little bit of paint. The black and white pattern contrasts nicely with the dark yellow wallpaper and the bright red door. Around the tiny porcelain tub is a shower curtain, for modesty, of course. The shower rod is made from wire jammed into two beads where it connects to the walls, and a green floral fabric hangs down attached by jump rings. The towel rod by the tub is made from a short wooden dowel sandwiched between the two curved bits from the clipped ends of a popsicle stick, all painted a clean white. Fluffy white terrycloth hangs down from the rods, cut from a discarded kitchen towel that had accidentally gotten into a fight with some blender blades.
In the corner, a shelf sits next to the tiny toilet. The shelf is made of wood and forms four cubic spaces on the interior to store all the random bits and bobs that are normally in a bathroom. Extra soap wrapped in patterned paper, small perfume bottles made from various stray beads, and extra towels take up the two compartments on the right. The left compartments house extra rolls of toilet paper (made from full sized toilet paper), and small jars filled with colored sand to look like bath salts. In the miniature scale, sand looks too large to be read as sand - it looks more like pulverized gravel or in this case with extra fine sand, large grains of Epsom salt. More bead bottles sit on top of the shelf, along with a printed newspaper and a few choice books. As much as I love books, making them this size takes entirely too much work. I didn’t plan on any of the books being open, though, so that cut down significantly on the time. After I printed the covers on cardstock, they were wrapped around tiny piles of folded printer paper to replicate the correct shape before getting placed on top of the shelf. My favorite item in the whole room is sitting next to the toilet: a small plunger. The rubber bowl at the end of the plunger is made with polymer clay, and the handle is just a toothpick with the pointy end shoved into the clay before it is baked. After the clay is hard, some paint and matte medium give the appearance of a squishy plunger.
Between the toilet and the sink is a toilet paper holder attached to the wall, in a similar style to the towel bar. Above the pedestal sink is a mirrored medicine cabinet, with doors that open to show the wooden shelf inside. Small prescription bottles made from trimmed ends of straws with lids of wrapped paper strips sit next to a plastic bag of cotton rounds, cut from actual cotton pads with a hole punch to keep the size consistent. The wall outlet between the sink and door is not functional but looks quite accurate for being made out of cardstock. On the back of the door, a blue and pink floral bathrobe is hanging on a hook, and matching slippers sit next to the door jamb. The slippers were particularly tedious, but they turned out so cute that almost all the annoyance is forgotten. Fabric is wrapped around cardstock soles, and the edge of the toe box is hidden with a strip of pink ribbon and embellished with a half pearl. A square trashcan made from chipboard and painted white to match the rest of the color scheme sits next to the slippers. The bag inside the can is made of a scrap of plastic from a full-sized trash bag to make sure it had the right appearance.
Realizing I have just been staring blankly at the finished bathroom for some time, I lament the late hour. My sleep cycle isn’t great but at least I am exhausted enough that sleep should come as soon as my body hits the bed. Slowly standing up, my legs protest the movement after sitting still for so long. Maybe next time an alarm will remind me to get up and move occasionally, but I will probably just ignore it. The apartment is quiet as I pad toward my bedroom, with the occasional squeak in the floor the only thing breaking the silence. Too tired to deal with anything else, I throw on an old sweatshirt while discarding my paint- and glue-stained clothes next to the bed and throw back the comforter. The sheets are cool and comforting, and I am asleep before my head even hits the pillow.
⤄ ⤄ ⤄
Waking up the first smell that hits my nose is the scent of mothballs. It feels like I am in a recliner, and as I slowly open my eyes it looks like I’m in the midst of a seventies style living room. The fabric of the chair under my fingers is rough and unpleasant, so quickly I stand up. The house looks like it hasn’t been updated in a long time, and I guess the owner might have already passed away, based on the dust and debris gathering in the shag carpet, not to mention the smell of mildew that is joining the mothball aroma. The raging wind outside makes the walls creak and groan loudly. Looking for an exit, I start down the closest hallway that looks like it might lead to the entry. Finding what I assume is the front door, I push with all my might - but it won’t budge. No obvious lock is visible, so I simply push and pull the door to attempt to get it loose. No luck. Maybe there is another door somewhere else in the house. Continuing my search, I come across what looks to be a long-abandoned nursery. All of the furniture is covered in semi-opaque plastic sheets, but several toys and plushes still sit out in the open. A set of pink fuzzy pillows is leaning against one wall, spelling out “COME PLAY.” I’ll pass, thank you. I quickly shut the door to the nursery and, after double checking the other bedroom, head back to the other end of the house. Passing by the front door, I angrily give it a kick in an attempt to break it down. Nothing.
Walking down a hallway in the opposite direction of the nursery, I am confused by what seems to be an out of place series of Post-it notes on the wall. Six notes sit in a vertical line that looks far too precise to be unintentional, with what looks to be a phrase on each. Looking closely, I read in very messy handwriting:
The old house groans in the wind
Hollow footsteps echo down an empty hallway
Chains rattle from a distant door
A gentle splash emanates from whatever lies within
Water seeps from the opening onto a mossy carpet
The new tenant certainly won’t be getting a deposit back
Well, that seems like a weird thing for a landlord to leave as a passive aggressive note. On the floor underneath the notes are scraps of paper with lines scratched out, letters circled, and plenty of arrows. Kneeling down, the only thing I can for sure make out is “Michael? Mikael? Mikhael? (sp?).” Is Michael the landlord? Standing up and continuing down the hallway, my Converse start to squish on the carpet and I can feel my socks getting wet. There seems to be a door at the end of the hall, so I push forward. Upon reaching the door, I notice that it seems to have been once chained shut - but the chains are rusted and broken, leaving stray links on the floor. I’m unsure if the chains were originally meant to keep something out or to trap something inside, but I don’t think I have much of an option beyond checking, given the present situation. Grabbing the doorknob, it feels slightly warm and very slick from the dampness gathering there. After several tries, it turns, and the door swings open with a little bit of effort.
Gagging from the smell of mold and rot, I see that this door does not lead outside. Instead, it leads directly to a very slimy version of the bathroom sitting on my desk at home. The walls are falling down behind the peeling wallpaper, leaving the pipes and electrical exposed. Everything is coated with moss and greenish mold, and the tub seems to be filled with brackish water. Cautiously I enter the room, to see if I might be able to make a potential exit through the crumbling walls, or even find a rogue set of keys that might get me out the front door. After attempting and failing to make any kind of progress with the walls (they seem to be in cahoots with the immovable front door), I decide to thoroughly check the room before I give up and head back to the living room to regroup. Opening the medicine cabinet, I notice a flash of movement in its mirror before my feet are yanked out from under me.
I hit my head so hard on the sink that I see stars as I fall to the ground. Clawing at the tiled floor, I try to stop whatever is dragging me backwards. Looking down, I see a slimy green tentacle wrapped around my ankles slowly pulling me toward the bathtub, where I assume some type of body is hidden in the murky water. More tentacles snake over the edge of the tub and head toward me as I struggle. Looking around frantically, my brain spins as I try to come up with something, anything to get this monster off of me. My flailing arms manage to hit the base of the pedestal sink, and I quickly latch on to try to keep from getting pulled any further. I attempt to kick my feet, but they are securely bound together by the tentacle that is slowly working up my calves. Shitshitshitshitshit. My eyes land on the exposed electrical outlet next to the sink. Oh, this might hurt a bit. Loosening one of my arms from the base of the sink, I reach and grab two of the exposed wires, pulling them toward me. The bare ends make contact and I see an arc. Before I have time to scream, my entire body feels like it has ignited, and the world goes black.
⤄ ⤄ ⤄
Flailing my legs, I notice something much too soft is under my head as I awaken. Bright light streams in through the blinds, and I realize that I am back in my own bed, albeit soaked with sweat and sore as ever. Sitting up and throwing the covers off, I see that my legs are covered with bruises that look suspiciously like suction cup marks. Desperately needing a coffee and a shower, I head to the kitchen. Hot coffee doesn’t happen in this apartment, I prefer cold coffee even when there is a blizzard outside. Pouring myself some of the cold brew and a splash of creamer from the fridge, I wander into my studio. The pint-sized bathroom is sitting on my workspace, so I go to move it to the shelf with the rest of my finished pieces. Grabbing the edge of the base with one hand, I realize that it is quite damp.
Looking closely, I see that the whole scene looks like it had been living in a sauna for several days. The wallpaper is peeling away from the walls, which only exposes the crumbling plaster and splintering lath barely covering broken copper pipes and loose wires. The paint is peeling off of the warping shelves, and the tank of the toilet sits shattered into pieces nearby. The medicine cabinet hangs at an odd angle, and the shower curtain has been pulled from the wall with the fabric pooling around the base of the bathtub. A scorch mark runs up the wall from a now uncovered electrical outlet, and loose items are tossed about in disarray. Moss and mold cover almost every surface. The most disturbing part is the bathtub, though. Large tentacles protrude and invade the rest of the space, coming out of what appears to be brackish water. Tapping it, it feels like resin. Small leaves litter the top of the water. They have worked their way into all the corners, like a strong blast of wind has come through. Grimacing at the slimy droplets surrounding the tub, I shove the miniature up on the shelf so that I don’t have to relive my experience quite so immediately. I focus on my coffee. Maybe I just need to go back to bed. Walking back to the bedroom, I notice something sitting on the bed that I didn’t see before. A large pink fuzzy letter, a single “M.”
⤄ ⤄ ⤄
Sitting in front of me are aging, stucco walls imitated with a mixture of modeling paste and joint compound in a perfect shade of off-white. A long time ago I figured out that alternating strokes of stippling with an old toothbrush and lightly smoothing with a palette knife gave the same overall worn feeling as the walls on buildings in New Mexico, where I lived and worked for several years trying to overcome a massive artistic burnout. Even though a few drops of brown paint in the goopy mixture give me the perfect color, a homogenous tone doesn’t always show off the texture in a satisfying way. To add depth, I use pastels broken down into powders. It is easy and cheap to get stick pastels and run them over sandpaper when I need specific color combinations. They are sparingly added with whatever fluffy brush is the cleanest (and driest) within arm’s reach. The powders tend to sit back in the recesses and corners, where dirt naturally gathers. Once the powders are sealed, a bit of white acrylic paint dry-brushed over the top highlights the raised texture and finishes the illusion.
This location isn’t in New Mexico, though; rather the opposite side of the planet. A small rice cracker shop based on one I knew during my time in Tokyo showcases jars of tasty treats that are actually made from paper pulp. The jars themselves are made from thick plastic tubing cut to size, with lids of foam core painted brown and topped with a silver bead to act as a handle. Next to the jars is a basket of small plastic bags filled with more rice crackers, sealed with a small strip of red electrical tape. Boxes of patterned paper sit ready for potential customers to take a tasty snack home with them on their commute from work. All of these goodies are on a stair-stepped shelf draped in a green fabric with a white uroko pattern that looks like oversized fish scales. Next to the display of wares sits a small barbeque grill. Thick foam core makes a cube shaped base, and the top holds some wire mesh to mimic a grill screen. Within the shop there are wooden shelves that hold more jars, as well as metal canisters covered with foil to add a reflective surface. The square metal canisters are topped with wooden lids and a silver bead handle. A large round bead holds shortened toothpicks to look like skewers or chopsticks. A thick calendar with removable pages for each day hangs on the wall. Several posters with curled edges as well as a subway map dot the remaining walls, and two standalone battery-operated LED globe lights illuminate the space.
If the weather was nice, perhaps the customers could even linger outside on the stone pavers. Making stone is a very satisfying process. Egg cartons have the best quasi-stone texture, and when they’re torn apart, they lend themselves well to becoming pavers. Shredding things always alleviates my anxiety. Putting together the pieces is like putting together a puzzle, but I am allowed to manhandle them to make them fit. Once they’re all glued, some watered down joint compound makes for a good gap filler between the bits. A few coats of Mod Podge later, they’re ready for paint and a hit with some dry brushing. The dark color of the stone contrasts nicely with the small yellow awning hanging over the entrance, below the blue roof. The roof is made of corrugated paper which roughly mimics the hongawarabuki tiling that is so prevalent in my memory from my explorations.
A large shop sign spans most of the width of the roof, and behind it sits a second story with shuttered windows and another smaller roof topped with a golden bar to function as a ridge beam. A smaller vertical sign projects perpendicularly from the eaves to be visible to the passersby as they walk down the stone street. Under the yellow awning attached to the wooden columns at the front of the shop, a black vase made from a straw is holding cherry blossom branches. The branches themselves are made from green floral wire, and the blossoms are an extremely light pink tissue paper cut to shape. Behind the branches and around the side of the shop, a vertical banner on a pole is jammed into the ground. The pole is made from a lollipop stick, and the banner from paper just a touch thicker than what you might get out of your printer. Sparse grass pops out of the stones and at the base of the stucco walls.
Realizing my eyes are drooping with exhaustion, I contemplate if I even want to try to make it all the way to the bedroom, or if I want to stop halfway at the beanbag chair in my living room. Sighing, I make sure all the lights are off as I drag myself over to the beanbag chair. I wonder if I have some time to do some reading or even scroll on my phone before I fall asleep. I cover up with my favorite pink furry blanket in the dark and pull out my phone. Scrolling through social media, I feel myself drifting off. Right as I am about to fall asleep, my phone drops directly on my face.
⤄ ⤄ ⤄
Shaking my head, I realize my back is now against hard stone instead of a soft beanbag chair. As my vision clears, I see stars above me in a dark night sky. A breeze softly drifts past, as I take in my surroundings. It looks oddly familiar, like the time I spent in Tokyo, but the streets were never this empty even late at night. Standing up, it appears to me that I am on a street filled with food vendors, though all the shops look either closed or abandoned. Turning to my right, I start to make my way toward what look like streetlights in the distance. This place is much too dark for my liking. As I walk, another set of footsteps seems to follow me. Glancing around, I see nothing. I stop moving to be able to hear better, but the sound stops as soon as I do. Cautiously I continue, but the sound of footsteps and a soft rustling keeps sounding to my left. As my eyes adjust to the dark, I notice all the signs are in what might be kanji, but a poster in English catches my attention since it seems so out of place. Nervously glancing around, I take a second to read:
Wandering through the quiet, darkened streets of Tokyo
In search of delicious rice cakes for a growling stomach
An unfamiliar scratching sound resonates from the alley
Bright eyes appear from the shadows, too many eyes
This new shop owner grabs and pushes most rudely
As he wraps up his leftovers for a later snack
Well at least I was right about where I seem to be. Turning to continue down the street, I see what appear to be large furry legs disappearing around a corner into an alley. All right, I am switching directions, then. Turning around, I walk into what feels like a large furry wall and fall backwards onto the stone street. Looking up, I am met with eight glowing red eyes staring back down at me. This can’t be good. As I struggle to get up to run, I feel a sharp pain in my hip and then my muscles stop responding as I fall flat on my face. I try to stretch out my arms to stop myself, but I can’t get them to move from my sides. I hear soft tapping footsteps behind me before I am lifted from the ground. My vision is very fuzzy, but it looks like I am being taken toward one of the darkened shops. My eyes close for just a second as I try to fight off the drowsiness overcoming my whole body.
Opening my eyes, it seems the world has been flipped upside down. It looks like the inside of a food shop, but I realize slowly that it isn’t the shop that has been inverted, just me. My ankles are bound and attached to the ceiling, and my arms have flopped over my head toward the ground. Looking around, I try to gain my bearings and start to test out if I can move yet. Gratefully, I see that my fingers do in fact wiggle and the movement is slowly coming back. Remembering abruptly how I ended up here, I try to not draw attention to the fact that I am awake as I look around for the monster that dragged me here. Large shapes wrapped in what looks like cobwebs are stuck to the wall at random intervals. The one closest to me looks like a fly, but it’s nearly the size of me. The eyes are still partially visible, but it doesn’t seem to be struggling. I hope it isn’t dead yet. Hearing rustling and soft taps, I notice the monster coming around the corner from the front of the shop. It’s a massive spider. Honestly, why? I hate spiders. I try not to move and draw any attention to myself as it draws near.
A low gravelly voice reaches my ears as it gets closer. It sounds like it is saying something over and over… hemlock… emlock? That can’t be right. I decide that the easiest way to get off the ceiling will probably be for the spider itself to lower me down; then maybe I can make a break for it since it doesn’t know that I am awake and able to move again. Luckily, or unluckily maybe, it does seem intent on getting me down, probably to wrap me up like the rest of its snacks. This whole shop is basically food storage or a vending machine, great. I feel my ankles being freed as large hairy legs lower me toward the ground. As they pause midair, I decide now is the time. Kicking my legs out, I aim for the spider’s face. Yelping, it drops me in surprise. Quickly getting to my feet, I make a dash for the open front of the shop. The spider quickly recovers and gives chase. Running down the street in the open doesn’t seem like it will do me any favors, so I quickly duck into an alley and get behind the shops. Rounding the corner, I see a ladder leading up to the roof of the building I was just inside. Hopefully this bug isn’t smart enough to look up. The shops are close enough together that I should be able to hop from roof to roof as I work toward the lights from earlier, where there is hopefully something that can help.
Scrambling up the ladder, I make it onto the roof. The spider is frantically searching out in the street, frustrated that it lost a juicy fresh meal, I am sure. Creeping behind the large shop sign on the roof, I wait for the spider to be facing away before I attempt to hop the first gap over to the next roof. The tiles make a slight clanking noise as I land on the next roof, uh oh. The spider turns suddenly, searching for the source of the noise. I need a backup plan extremely quickly. Hiding behind another large roof sign, I have an idea. The sign is held onto the roof with rusted out bolts, and with enough force I might be able to push it over the edge and onto the spider below. Peeking over the edge, I see that it is steadily creeping toward me, though it isn’t looking up toward my hiding spot on the roof. Once it gets in range, I throw my shoulder into the sign as hard as possible. It gives much easier than expected. Stumbling after the sign, and trying to catch my balance, I see the sign fly over the edge and directly onto the spider with a sickening crunch. Unfortunately, I can’t steady myself and quickly follow it off the edge, spiraling down and hitting the ground with a thump as my vision goes dark.
⤄ ⤄ ⤄
Shaking off the grogginess, I realize I am back in my beanbag chair, clutching onto something large and soft. Looking down I see that an oversized fly plushie is sitting in my lap. Pushing it onto the floor as I roll my eyes, I stand up to stretch my protesting back. It certainly feels like I just fell asleep in the beanbag chair for the night, but checking my hip I see two scabs right where the spider had managed to bite me. A rash that looks similar to a spiderweb emanates out from each of the scabs. I am going to be wearing sweats for a while to avoid having a waistband rub on these while they heal, how annoying. Grabbing some cold brew from the ever-present carton in my fridge, I head in to check on the miniature and add it to my shelf. Wincing, I see that my worktable is coated in a layer of what look like cobwebs. They completely cover my rice cracker shop. There is absolutely no way I am touching that with my bare hands, so I grab my Swiffer duster out of the closet to clean up. After sweeping away the sticky cobwebs, I take a look at the shop. The jars are toppled and the crackers have spilled out over the overgrown grass. The inside of the shop is covered in what looks like cotton batting, and a suspiciously body shaped cocoon is hanging under a now broken globe light. The posters are all askew, and the main shop sign has broken free from its initial location. A large spider sits menacingly on the roof next to the sign, but poking it reveals that it is hard plastic and at least not presently about to wander off into the apartment. I still might get a glass box for this one; my dislike of spiders has only gotten worse from the night’s events. Feeling lightheaded, I decide to sit back down in my beanbag chair to contemplate my next moves and try to string together whatever might be connecting these events. Hopefully I can stop them before something permanently maims me.
⤄ ⤄ ⤄
Another miniature sits completed on the worktable. A sense of pride wells inside of me as I lean back and inspect the overall effect of the newly installed LEDs. I was able to create a working oven light that glows red hot once the switch is flipped on the wall outside of the pint-sized kitchen, as well as activating multiple hanging pendant lights to illuminate the space. My favorite part is how I was able to hide both the battery pack and switch. It is tucked away in a faux utility box made initially from foam core and coated many times over with wood glue. The effect is a shiny, metal-like finish, which is painted an ugly color of sage green to mimic the color of real electrical boxes. Some faux warning stickers printed on simple paper were slapped on the outside, before the final coat of sealant adds a little bit of a shine. The wires into the house leading to the LEDs are run through paper straws, painted a similar color to the electrical box, before they enter the wall and run behind the cabinets. Both are adhered sturdily to the chipboard, layered to look like traditional shaker siding. The siding is painted a gentle off-white, with a little bit of weathering from pastels to emphasize the texture given by the overlapping boards.
Inside the kitchen, the walls are covered in scrapbook paper strips to give the impression of ostentatious seventies-style wallpaper, the gold pattern competing with the mint green accent color on the window frame. Small picture frames and artwork accent the walls, adding pops of color and warmth. They sit slightly off kilter, selling the idea of a mildly absentee (or perhaps overworked) homeowner. A fly swatter made of plastic needlepoint canvas and a bent wire handle is propped up against the window over the sink, right next to some wooden cutting boards. There is an oven but no stove top in the tiny kitchen, so I imagine the owner needs some way to heat water to make their tea, at the very least. One of my favorite details is close by: a tiny standalone electric burner. A foam core base wrapped in paper and painted black is graced by some clips of wire for knobs. The heating element itself is made from a magnetic closure rescued from a bag bound for the trash, with some wire bent over the top. A plug dangles over the edge of the counter next to a white porcelain sink. The well of the sink was made with many coats of glue to give a smooth and shiny appearance before painting. A small floor mat made of felt sits in front of the sink.
Above the sink, a pitted glass window made from resin coated Mylar is held in place with a wooden frame, breaking it into separate panes, one of which is propped open. When my paintbrushes reach the end of their useful life, frayed, and deformed, they become candidates to deploy the resin technique. Unfortunately, they can only offer this utility once, but resin isn’t something often dealt with in my miniatures. I much prefer mediums that don’t require me to suit up one step short of hazmat gear. One brave paintbrush gave its life for these windowpanes, but one session minimized the waste. After the wooden grid was securely glued to Mylar to mimic smaller glass panes, each tiny well created by the wooden frame got a few drops of UV resin. The brush was used to spread the resin and create a bit of texture, and as the UV light hit it, it solidified and took on the appearance of old pitted glass. As the resin can’t be given time to settle or flatten out, only one or two panes could be done at a time. This wrecked the poor paintbrush by the end, and nothing I’ve found has been able to clean out the sticky mess left behind in the bristles. So instead, this is just the last act of service of a trusty friend, who then gets a thankful sendoff. The resin treatment is my favorite way to slightly blur the world outside the window. It makes the illusion more complete when it can’t be broken by a full-scale view of the outside world.
Blocking a portion of the window are blinds made from a free sample of window coverings that I ordered through the mail. It is amazing what companies will send you for free if you just ask. The blinds are partially rolled up on a bronze rod made from more paper straws mitered in the corners to create a ninety-degree angle, allowing them to attach to the wall. The printed tile backsplash is slightly obscured by a flowery hand towel hanging on the same bar as a lone frying pan hung from a hook. The bar is made from wire bent at each end and mounted to the wall by small grommets. Wooden shelves hold additional pots and cooking accoutrements, as well as jars of what appear to be fruit preserves but are really just resin filled with tiny fingernail decals. I would still like to meet the person who would decorate their nails with tiny slices of fruit. I bet they are a ray of sunshine. Teapots constructed out of stray beads with wire spouts sit next to folded boxes and bags in various colors and patterns. A small wire dish rack sits on the counter, and I shudder thinking about how many times I glued my fingers together trying to assemble all the wire pieces. Super Glue is one of my least favorite glues.
Even to a miniature inhabitant, none of the appliances in the kitchen would be full size. The tiny oven sits at the end of an L shaped cabinet, coated in foil to look like stainless steel. A red polka dot potholder dangles from the wire handle. The other end of the cabinet houses a mini fridge, made with the same method as the utility box, but painted an off-white instead of ugly green. A small blue shelf sits next to the fridge, holding snack boxes and a bowl of fruit that was simply a bead turned upside down and filled with more colorful beads. A wooden table takes up much of the space that isn’t inhabited by cabinets or shelves, and slightly obscures the tile floor made from chipboard doused in enough Mod Podge to make it waterproof. A box covered by a white cloth sits under the table, but the contents are not revealed. A cup of tea (a porcelain mini gifted by a friend) sits on the table with several paper bags of snacks and goodies, as well as a jar covered with a small cloth and tied with twine. Pulled up to the table are stools made of a tiny circle of wood for the seat, and wire legs that slowly curl at the bottom, ending in tight loops. My hands hurt just looking at it, but I have to begrudgingly admit that it was the right choice. A broom made from unraveled twine tied around a toothpick is propped up in the corner, although it must not be seeing much use, as a slight layer of grime coats everything, from the hot plate to the coffee grinder.
After fawning over the tiny studio kitchen a while longer, I place the whole structure up on a shelf, sparing a glance at the dioramas that already reside there, holding so many memories and tribulations. After the miniature is safely shelved, I walk over to my bookshelf. Knowing that sleep usually transports me over, I am reluctant to go to bed. Running my hand along the spines I try to decide between some of my favorite authors. Judith Butler, José Esteban Munoz, Tourmaline, Clare Sears, Rozsika Parker… some of my preferred academic reading, but I want something a little more fantastical tonight. I do love Octavia Butler as well as Lesley Nneka Arimah. Grabbing two books of short stories from the shelf, I hold one in each hand in an effort to make a decision. Startled by the sound of something falling above me. I look up just in time to see a glass pitcher from my collection hurtling toward my head before it makes contact.
⤄ ⤄ ⤄
Spluttering awake, I realize that I am in a chair at a table. A cup of half drunk tea sits in front of me, with a bag of cookies close by. Small frames pepper the yellow wall next to me, and a piece of notebook paper is captured under the glass of one frame. Leaning closer, I read:
A fresh breeze wafts in through the open window
The curtain flutters gently, scattering the sunlight
Pages rustle in a newfound fiction favorite
A picnic is prepared for a luncheon on the grass
The porcelain teacup clinks as it returns to a saucer
Maybe a little honey to sweeten the leisurely day
That seems… tame. A notebook and pen sit next to the cup of tea, listing a bunch of what seems like nonsensical gibberish. “M’Leok, Oklemm, Michael / Mikkel (sp?), Emlokk, Lekkmo, connection?” Wait, where have I seen something like this before? The Post-it notes at the house with the tentacles! Why is the name Michael on this particular list as well? Are these all names? As I sit contemplating, a mild humming noise softly starts coming from outside the window. Distracted, I get up and walk closer to take a look. The glass is dirty and smudged, so I try to open the pane. As much as I push and pull, I can’t get it to open more than an inch or so. Instead, I decide to see if I can find the front door to poke my head outside and see where the noise is coming from. Walking through the house, I quickly locate the front door, but it is just as stuck as the window. Starting to feel a little overheated, I try to open some of the other windows in the house. Nothing will budge. My sweaty shirt starts to stick to me as I make my way back to the kitchen, where the humming has become increasingly loud.
In an attempt to cool down, I try the sink. The water seems to be shut off. Spotting a small fridge, I quickly pry it open - and I am hit with the smell of mildew and food long since past its expiration date. Gagging and turning away, I see a flash of yellow outside the smudged window. Running into another room, I frantically try to wipe a window clean to see what has started circling the house as the thrumming sound increases in intensity. It sounds like a chant. “LeeeeeeeeehhhhhhhhhhkmmmmmmmmmmmmmmoooooooooLeeeeeeeeehhhhhhhhhhkmmmmmmmmmmmmmmoooooooooLeeeeeeeeehhhhhhhhhhkmmmmmmmmmmmmmmoooooooo.” That’s not terrifying in the slightest. Wiping down the window as much as possible, I press my face against it to try to see outside. Black and yellow forms are slowly advancing on the house. They look like giant bees, but what are they doing gathering around the house? What could they possibly want?
My face stays pressed against the glass as more and more of them show up and start to cover the outside of the house. They don’t seem to be trying to get in, and I don’t seem to be able to get out. Wiping the sweat off my brow I realize that the temperature has been slowly increasing as the bees swarm around the house. Vaguely I remember reading a scientific article about bees using vibration to cook a wasp when they couldn’t sting through its protective exoskeleton, and I wonder if that is what is about to happen to me. I don’t have any desire to go out and face so many bees without some form of protection, even if I am able to get through the door. Searching around the house, I try to find something useful to defend myself. My search in the kitchen yields several different knives, but I am still worried about protecting my body from stings. I set off to try to find something sturdy enough to wrap at least my vital organs in a protective layer. Grabbing some sheet pans from the kitchen, I tie them around myself with strips of fabric from the now demolished curtains. It has to be better than nothing and the heat is almost intolerable at this point. I return to the front door to try to force open the lock with one of my knives, or simply kick the door down. The door refuses to give way. As my vision starts to go black around the edges, I grab the handle and flinch away as the skin on my palm sizzles from the heat. No, I can’t stay stuck in this house. Futilely I beat against the door with my fists, until I slump to the floor in a pile, losing consciousness.
⤄ ⤄ ⤄
Groaning, I abruptly wake on what feels like the hard wooden floor of my apartment. My head is still buzzing. Propping myself up on my forearms and attempting to shake off the drowsiness, I realize the hum isn’t actually coming from my head - it seems to be coming from my studio. Cautiously pushing open the door, nothing appears out of the norm except for the persistent noise. Moving toward the shelves, I locate the source of the sound. My miniature kitchen has been inverted. The contents sit in disarray, but that isn't what takes my breath away. The outside of the home is covered… in honeycomb. The sheer quantity is overwhelming even on this small scale. It encases large swaths of the siding and the honey oozes through the walls and windows, dripping down and marring the golden wallpaper. Both the oven LED and hanging pendant lights flicker aggressively as the whole piece seems to vibrate and hum. This one might need to go under glass now and join the spider; who knows what might crawl out as soon as I turn my back. The layer of grime has expanded exponentially over the discarded utensils and overturned furniture, with moss seeming to have grown in what seems to be the owner’s lengthy absence, perhaps made after a hasty exit. Who could blame them if they had to deal with the same monsters that might have killed me last night? Did I die? Was it just last night? I need to find my phone and figure out how many days have passed this time.
⤄ ⤄ ⤄
As always, the most satisfying part of any project is being able to put all the components together in one space, then cleaning up and adding the final touches. The plethora of tweezers and singular, bright, LED magnifying glass generally help me work on the microscopic details, but I still end up hunched over on my elbows to bring everything closer to my face as I work. My poor back and shoulders take the brunt of my awful posture. Leaning back, I start peeling the dried Elmer’s Glue from my hands while looking over the tiny pristine coffeehouse in front of me, pleased that I managed to keep it free of any grimy, gluey fingerprints.
On the front of the building, a delicate red fabric awning with painted white stripes bears textual evidence that a miniature passerby might find pastries, coffee, or other goodies within, if they were so inclined. A wooden sign sits neatly above the awning, proclaiming it as “Katty’s Coffeehouse and Roastery” in bright teal and shining gold. The awning was particularly tricky, and several failed attempts still sit dejectedly in the trashcan by my feet. Unbelievable that the only way it worked was to douse the fabric in Mod Podge and let it dry in place over a makeshift jig of wooden barbeque skewers, of all things. The sides of the awning have a supportive layer of cardstock underneath (painted red to blend in of course), allowing it to sit neatly away from the front of the shop. It will safely deflect any imaginary rain away from the front steps as tiny patrons make their way through the front door after parking their bikes at the simple wire bike rack close by.
Surrounding the front door and continuing around the corner, a pitted glass window made from resin coated Mylar is held in place with a teal wooden frame, breaking it into panes. Through the pitted glass I can see that three bright globe lights shine over the wooden countertop. The switch is located on the underside of the base with the wires running securely through the walls, hidden by the golden yellow wallpaper with a geometric pattern. The scrapbook paper I used was cut down and applied in strips, just as it would be in a full-sized house. Every time I lift the shop to turn the lights on or off, I am surprised by how lightweight it still seems overall. Behind the counter, the lights illuminate a veritable explosion of color washing across the shelves from an assortment of tins, bags, and boxes made from paper and chipboard. My tweezers were essential when putting them together, and I had to be careful not to let my hand accidentally crush them once they were glued.
On the countertop and on hooks under the shelving, pony beads with wire handles ensured that there was a stack of chunky mugs ready for any drink a patron might desire. The beads just had a paper bottom added to them before paint, but the real challenge was finding a glue that could stick to both wire and plastic. Once they were assembled, several coats of paint in dusty red, yellow, or teal helped to strengthen the attachment. Several of them still broke while I was putting them on the shelves, but with something so finicky I plan ahead and make extra, so I don’t have to go back and try to match the construction or color later to create enough. I notice a few extras are still lounging in a small plastic bin that also contains some extra plates, boxes, and a stool that never really fit in. The current drink and food offerings are listed above the shelves on a chalkboard functioning as a menu. Really it was just a printout that I created with a craft stick frame, but the effect is convincing—especially in the glow of the LEDs from inside the shop. Small table tents made from clear plastic packaging hold tiny sheets of paper listing the weekly specials. One sits on the main counter, and several others are scattered about.
For the weak-souled patrons that don’t want caffeine, a small foil-covered water dispenser is installed at the ready next to piles of books spilling from the low shelves beside the wooden piano. In the sunken seating area, a last-minute addition, an additional stack of books, perches precariously on the stool that did make it into the space, making the seating area feel more like it was actually being used. A wooden piano rests below the large clock face that was rescued from an old pocket watch. A scattering of printed music sheets intentionally droops over the edge of the piano, and a cube of paper masquerading as a radio sits close to the corner. Some extra wire makes both the knobs and the cord leading down to the plug, which is not connected to the wall. Among my favorite things to include in dioramic scenes are unplugged electronic devices, since the plugs are both challenging to make and satisfying to observe. By the piano is the indoor seating area. The whole floor is made of coffee stirrers stained to look like wooden floorboards, so it is unsurprising that I also chose a wooden table to echo the warm and welcoming color palette. Two chairs are made in a method similar to that of the stool, with wire, but are instead painted white and sanded with minor scuff marks and wear patterns on the seat. A book with a Mondrian painting as the cover sits under a coffee mug—not my favorite artist, but recognizable to most. I doubt people viewing the interior would recognize a Sin Wei Kin reference on a book cover, but perhaps next time I should include it anyway just to jump start a conversation or see who does recognize it. If they do, I think it would make me quite happy. Flowers made from paper stuffed into a painted bead vase sit on the small table between the two white chairs. In addition to the pop of color from the flowers, paper plants enliven the rest of the space and make it a place where one could easily imagine spending an afternoon getting lost without moving a muscle.
If they don’t want to sit inside, the customers could also sit outside on the faux metal patio furniture on the stone pavers. The patio furniture was not as satisfying to make due to trials and tribulations finding the correct glue that would adhere mainly to plastic, but it all came together in the end. Some plastic needlepoint canvas (which my crafting friends refer to affectionately as “granny grating,” which always makes me giggle) made the perfect wrought iron tabletop once it was given a sturdy edge with layered strips of paper. A paper straw holds the bent wire feet in place and connects to the tabletop. The chairs are made in a similar style to look like a matching set but have curved backs. While the ensemble looked rather disjointed during assembly because of all the colors and finishes of the individual pieces, a coat of paint made it truly look like one welded piece of furniture. Especially with a tiny bit of fake rust painted in, right where the water would collect in real life.
Realizing I actually finished this in the middle of the day instead of the middle of the night for once, I decide to watch some of my favorite YouTubers as a chance to relax. Even though I do love watching miniature-specific channels like Bentley House and Tabletop WitchCRAFT, or even sculpting channels like Ace of Clay or DDIBOO, today I want to binge watch some doll customization. So I pull up my playlist of Dollightful, DollMotion, etellan, Josephine’s Creatures, and Hextian and start to marathon the afternoon away. Having any amount of free time is not a common occurrence for me, so I take full advantage. The last thing I remember is fighting sleep wrapped up in my fluffy blanket on my office chair. Suddenly, my hand slips from under my chin and I smack my head directly on the desk.
⤄ ⤄ ⤄
Realizing that I am in a sitting position with my arms under my head on what feels like a wooden table, I slowly open my eyes. A wallpaper in geometric yellow and gold is the first thing I see. Sitting up with a jolt, my head swivels around trying to take in where I am. The windows show that it is pitch black outside, and a globe light is on over the counter. The chairs have been flipped up on the tables, and a “closed” sign is placed in the window next to the door. Something shifts and crinkles on the table under my arm. Lifting my arms away I notice a brightly colored flier that I was apparently using as a pillow. Thankfully there isn’t any drool marring the page. Enthusiastic orange letters are splashed across the design:
Try our new
TRIPLE
FIRE
ROASTED
COFFEE
Made in house!
Weird. It seems like triple roasting the coffee would make it bitter. Setting down the flier, I see a black laptop screen facing me from the other side of the table, past a rather hideous vase filled with fake flowers. I reach over and hit a random key to see if anything helpful will turn up, and the screen lights up with a Word document. I drag the laptop closer and lean toward the screen, reading:
The pleasing crackle as the coffee gently roasts
Wafts of fresh baked pastry and sweet jam
An acrid scent spears across the pleasing notes
Oh no, the piano has gone up in flames
Tables overturn and belongings scatter in the chaos
This is what happens when you try to employ a dragon
No other tabs are open on the laptop, and nothing happens when I attempt to connect to the Internet. Exasperated, I push the laptop away from me while slamming it closed. Twisting in the chair I notice a bomber jacket draped over the back, and eagerly grab it so I can head out the door. Quickly I decide to snoop behind the counter to see if I can find anything useful. I spot a hook under the register; it holds a key ring hanging above some worn masking tape inscribed with Sharpie letters. “MANAGEMENT USE ONLY” Extra tape under that reads “Natasha that means you too!!!” I wonder what kind of a coworker Natasha was to deserve such a callout. Grabbing the keys, a light catches my attention out of the corner of my eye. Out back there appears to be a small shed with a flickering light above the door. As someone who loves and is aware of the tropes of folk horror, generally I am not tempted to charge out into the dark night toward a suspicious outbuilding. However, in these places it seems to be the way to get back home. Heading out the door, I step around the shop to the back lot, dodging a particularly smelly Dumpster. Once I get to the shed, there are signs warning me that this is an equipment area for the roastery and that unless I am trained it is dangerous for me to enter. Next to the shed is a pipe emerging from the ground in the tall grass that seems to be emitting a tiny bit of smoke. There are two padlocks and one deadbolt, so I fish out the keys and get to work. The door surprises me with its weight, and I have to put in some serious effort to get it to swing wide enough to slip through. I almost fall down the stairs on the other side, which I wasn’t expecting right at the threshold. Catching myself on the wall, I notice everything seems to be covered in a thin layer of soot. Gross. I wipe my hands on the side of my jeans and start down the stairs.
At the bottom, there is a door to my right labeled “roastery.” Pushing on the door, I nearly choke as the room comes into view. I am met with three pairs of glowing ember eyes, and I come face to face with a massive dragon. I temporarily pry my eyes away from theirs and notice their three long necks, each with a slightly different looking head, though they all share the same deadly fangs and curved horns. Surprisingly, they are all chained. It looks like they may have been chained up for a long time, based on the bedraggled state of their wings and body. I quickly scan the room and notice a coffee bean roaster with three hoppers. Each hopper seems to have a space underneath for a fire to be lit while the beans slowly turn and roast. A sick realization hits me that those three spots are probably for each head, and it also dawns on me that I should get back up the stairs, because that means this dragon can breathe fire, and does so regularly. Backing away slowly, I am about to make a break for it when a voice like silk stops me in my tracks.
“Hello, child, have you finally come to end my suffering? I can tell by the smell of you that you aren’t of this world.” I think the center head is the one that spoke. “I... uh… what do you mean? What are you expecting me to do? Wait a second, you can talk! That’s new,” I squeak out. I wince at the tremor in my voice. Chuckling, they reply, “You’re the one that’s supposed to set us free.” I can’t stop myself from blurting out, “FREE?! Why would I set you free?” They respond, “Don’t you want to go home? How about we make a deal?” I stutter out, “A deal? Why should I believe you; I don’t even know you.” The center head replies, “You do know us, though you might not realize it yet. We always help you to return home. We know how to get you there.” Shocked, I whisper, “How could you possibly know how to get me home?” Grinning, they reply, “We know a great deal of things, and we have known you for many ages. Many worlds. Many names. Someday you will remember, but for now we can assure you that if you set us free, we will send you home.” The offer is tempting, but I don’t know if I can trust it. “Fine. Let’s discuss terms. I set you free, you help me get home, but there’s some terms.” Narrowing their eyes, the center head replies, “And what would those be?” Setting my jaw, I stare them down and say, “You have to promise that you won’t harm anyone in this world after you are free.”
A wicked grin spreads across their face, “Fine, it is done. Kolme swears by fire and ash, that we will help you get home once we are free, and we will harm no people of this world in the process.” Their eyes flash so brightly I have to shield my eyes, and a blast of hot energy runs through me and takes my breath away. Lowering my burning forearm from my eyes, I stare at the heads. “What did you just do?” I ask. “We made an oath,” they reply in unison. “You tricked me! I didn’t say I wanted to make an oath yet!” With a baleful laugh, they retort, “You presented terms, we accepted. Now we are bound to help one another.” Three pairs of eyes follow me intently as my body moves itself to remove the chains from their necks. Some unseen force drives me forward, as much as I try to resist it. “So, how do you plan on getting out of this room?” I find myself asking. They huff a ring of smoke at me and reply, “We will simply make a bigger door.” That sounds promising, you overgrown lizard. Glowering, I snap the final chain free and step back from their neck.
Suddenly they launch themselves upward. I flinch and throw myself to the floor. Shaking my head, I see all the debris falling from the now destroyed ceiling, as Kolme begins to circle higher. Running up the steps, wheezing, I burst through the door at the top just in time to see them land on the grass next to the coffee shop. They stare at it with scorn, and without warning all three heads let loose a torrent of fire, directly into the shop. “What are you doing,” I screamed, “you said you wouldn’t!” The shop quickly catches fire, and the flames rise, brightening the night sky. They turn. “We are keeping our promise, child, we will not harm anyone. The shop is empty, no one will die tonight.” Stalking toward me, they say, “Now it is your turn. Time to keep our promise. Time for you to go home. Time to go to sleep.” Their eyes flash in unison. Everything goes black.
⤄ ⤄ ⤄
I wake with a start and my muscles groaning in agony, I peel myself out of bed and putter to the kitchen to grab a glass of water. My pajamas are stuck to the sweat on my body. How quickly the shift between nightmare and reality seems to happen these days. Or reality and reality, if Kolme is to be believed. Setting down the glass, I wonder how they sent me home so quickly? I don't understand. Seeing the pitch black outside the window, I decide it must either be very early in the morning or very late at night. What I wouldn’t do for a normal sleep schedule. A light catches my attention in the darkness, seeming to emanate from the studio. I cautiously enter my workspace to see my miniature coffee shop sitting on the table where it had been left before my confusing adventure with the dragon. The lights inside are on, but they were weaker than when I tested them before. Leaning in for a closer look, it appears that the glass globes have fogged over.
An overwhelming wave of nausea hits as my eyes adjust to the darkness and finally catch on the previously pristine stucco walls… singed and crumbling down. The table inside is partially reduced to ash, and the piano has seen better days. Flyers are scattered about, emblazoned with “Try our new TRIPLE FIRE ROASTED coffee,” and abandoned boxes are languishing outside the front door, which sits ajar. To my horror, beside the overturned patio furniture there now sits a plastic dragon with three heads surveilling the destruction that has been wrought. They look surprisingly innocent in this format, no larger than a child’s toy. A far cry from the captive that had been looming over me in what felt like only seconds prior, and, I would guess, the direct cause for my aching and bruised body. I sink into a chair and the light reveals something on my forearm. Holding it up to the light, I see what appears to be a new tattoo. A dragon twines around my forearm in a closed loop. This must be what they meant when they said we were linked, a permanent reminder of the oath they took. Hopefully this ensures they comply on their end, even if I’m back in this world. Sighing, I head back to bed. I need to get some sleep.
⤄ ⤄ ⤄
It's been months since I finished any projects. I don’t want to risk it until I make sense of everything that has happened, especially with my last meeting with the dragon. Lists of names, notes, and sketches all litter my worktable as I try to sort out the meaning of what Kolme had said to me. Was there a deep importance to the names? Had I met Kolme before in a different form? The details were all starting to blur together. What were the names of the other creatures I had met? Why were they the only reason I could ever return home? My brain becomes mush as I look over my notes again and again. I will figure it out… but first I need to sleep. I barely even remember my own name at this point. My head droops toward the table as my eyelids slowly start to close. Wait. What is my name?