The creative process is a funny thing. When you open yourself up to it without expectation, it can lead you to worlds you may never have suspected existed.
Case in point. I started off my latest diorama project with the intention of building a warehouse exterior. I didn’t bother to sketch it out or conceptualize it, I simply chose a direction and then headed towards it without any forethought. I went on instinct, measuring, cutting, and gluing foam until my structure stood solidly on the workbench. Trim and paint were applied, along with all of the little details that go into a 1:12 diorama. It was only once my warehouse exterior was nearly finished that it got weird.
I take things too far. Always have. Oh, sure, I’m better about it in public now — posting bail ain’t cheap, folks — but when it comes to the creative process I often go beyond the rational stopping point. This has led to some excessive investments of time and energy in the past (the last Just Bruce took over a month of set-building, then two more weeks to shoot and edit), but the results are usually more satisfying than if I’d stopped where common sense dictated. I can’t just build a warehouse — it has to have its own character and backstory. Who works there? What part of town is it in? And if it’s closed and abandoned, just what was left inside?
I played around with some different ideas — at one point it was going to be an old seafood rendering plant — but a chance encounter with a drawer full of plastic babies changed my mind. Y’see, a few years back I did an episode of Just Bruce starring the Joker. Inspired by a scene from the DC Comics graphic novel The Killing Joke, I made Mistah J a throne of gruesome “rotted” baby dolls.
Despite moving to another state and a massive purge of the Anthill’s storehouse, I still have an absurd amount of plastic junk. I don’t know about you, but I just can’t throw away a drawer full of discolored babies in good conscience. I stumbled across them and instantly knew exactly what my warehouse held. There was only one problem: I didn’t really build an interior.
Lots of folks build their dios with just three walls, and I understand why — it saves both space and time. That said, I can never bring myself to leave it at just three: I know I’m going to be using these dios a lot in the future for various shoots, so I want them to be as versatile as possible. The few extra minutes that go into creating two extra side walls pays off the first time you go for a long shot. Still, the additional walls are essentially facades, with nothing intended to be inside of them. My problem was I now wanted to develop a space that didn’t exist. Maybe I should have done some planning after all . . .
I thought that, between the two “interiors,” I could get away with what I was seeing in my mind’s eye, but it quickly became clear there simply wasn’t enough room to bother with. Sure, I could call it the doll factory, but it wouldn’t actually be that thing. I went back and forth on what to do, until I decided to simply abandon the warehouse exterior and start fresh.
As I’d already used most of my foam on the warehouse, I knew I’d have to think creatively. I decided to rehab my first attempt at an alleyway dio, as that was already a solid base with good height. The fact that it was already completely scored and painted was a huge plus. I had just built and painted a set of walls I had no use for, so the less work I had to put in at this end, the better. Instead of crafting the side walls in the same way I had the alleyway way, I chose instead to use a thinner sheet of craft foam.
I carved the bricks into the foam, then glued the pieces into place. Of course they didn’t match — measurement has never been my strong suit, as that original wall makes that point all to clearly. The bricks are noticeably different sizes in spots, causing “drift” in the lines so that they don’t match the more recent sections. Also, the paint tones couldn’t be more different. So, whoops! Hey, I never said this was a tutorial — I’m learning as I go.
I used the same craft foam to draw out my floorboards. Once again I made poor choices when it came to proportion. I chose to make my planks 4 inches long, but then only made three rows of them, shorting myself one board per the four my chosen length dictates. As a result, the lay of the boards is wonky. I make a mental note of this and move on — mistakes are fine as long as you learn from them. As for my client, he is growing . . . impatient.
As this is now a baby doll warehouse, I know I’m going to need somewhere to store the little creeps. I decide against the “boxed” route — making dozens of tiny packages just to obscure the dolls inside hardly seems worth the effort. They seem most effective as-is, so I simply build a series of crates & shelves to stock them. This really boosts the upset factor, infusing the space with a malign evil usually reserved for politicians and clowns.
The shelves and workbench are constructed using the same foam as the walls and floor. I opted to make each one different, with a set of long shelves for one wall, a high cabinet for the middle, and a simple single shelf for the third. I balance that shelf’s worth of babies out with a large crate full open on the floor below. Even though I’m using the same shape repeatedly there is no repeating pattern, adding to the man-made feel of the structure.
While I have multiple styles of baby to choose from, I opt to go with the version that closest resembles a doll of that scale. Even though they are all structurally the same, each one is made ominously unique with the addition of paint washes and liberal application of “Roy’s special dirt.” I do my best not overthink it.
Once the interior is assembled, I decorate it using a few key items. I gather images of baby doll patents from the Internet, edit and resize them to use as posters around the desk. The crude images really tie in nicely with the overall vibe I’m building, adding another level of depersonalization to the overall theme of “baby factory.”
I add the posters sparingly, trying to imagine how a 6-inch-tall person would hang them. I take the two I don’t hang and roll them scroll-like on top of the cabinets. It adds a slightly-arcane touch to the space which I reinforce with a few carefully selected items from the prop box. I use a silver paint-pen on one of the babies to create a “steel mold” for the shelf. I’m surprised at how convincing it looks and make a note to buy more paint pens.
Finally, the “doll factory” is complete. Well, more or less.
Y’see, it bugs me that its just an interior — I can’t just tell myself, “It’s the inside of the warehouse you just built.” The two builds are clearly separate things and I can accept that. I also know how much better I’d feel about both dios if I were to build an actual exterior to my doll factory. Check back in a week or two and see where the creative process has led us — other than crazy, that is.
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