Dremeling for Fun and Leisure: A Tutorial

I love my Dremel, and since I've gotten so many really nice (and undeserved!) comments on my recent efforts I thought I'd share a few of my techniques.  Most of what I've learned--in real life as well as in mini life--has been through trial and error.  A lot of horribly deformed lumps paved the way for anything remotely resembling an actual geometric shape.  Hopefully hearing about my mistakes can save you some trouble!

The first and really most important issue, I think, is which Dremel to use.  I mentioned before, I have the 4000.  It's a little extra, but comes with some very important features that cheaper Dremels don't have.  In particular:

1. a variable speed motor, and
2.  a really hardcore little motor.

I find the variable speed to be indispensable.  Just like with a table saw, different applications (and types of materials) require different speeds.  I've been making the embellishments on the Haunted Beacon Hill out of basswood, because it's lightweight and easy to work with.  I also find that it's very easy to dremel on.  The temptation is to set the motor on its lowest speed and go really slowly, so you don't mess anything up.  But don't!  I've found that too-slow dremeling makes for uneven, pitted lines.  It takes a little practice, but I personally find that I get cleaner, more elegant results when I set my motor somewhere between 15 and 25.

As for materials, don't use balsa.  It's so appealingly soft, this seems like a great time-saver.  But since it is so soft, it doesn't hold its shape at all.  Which, particularly when you're trying to create 16 (or more) identical pieces is a real drag.  I've used hardwoods, too--mainly walnut--but it depends on your final goal.  There's no sense in using really nice (expensive) wood if you're just going to glue bricks down on top of it.

I've actually had Dremels burn out on me.  When I first started making miniatures, my ambitions were, in some cases, ah, bigger than my abilities--or tools.  A not-so-great motor is fine for light work, but if you're planning on spending the afternoon working with a tool, keep in mind that it--that any tool--can and will overheat.  The only question is how long of a grace period you'll get.  The better the motor, the longer you can go--and the quicker its recovery time.

So, having said all this, the real key to successful results is--I think--the design of the piece itself.  Don't create unnecessary work--and misery--for yourself!  It's like with anything else: just because the final project looks like a single piece of wood, doesn't mean it is.  Use the same principles of addition, subtraction and compounding you'd use in, say, designing a piece of wainscoting.  It's really pretty amazing, what a bunch of different little sticks can turn into.

I always start with a (usually life sized) scaled design so I know what I'm actually trying to make.  A few millimeters here or there can make a big difference!  Having a design is also really convenient, because you can turn it into a pattern.  Here, I've cut out sections of my latest window design to use as a pattern, not just for getting the angles right but for placing them on the wood itself. 

What will hopefully become the dormer windows on the Haunted Beacon Hill.

Instead of suffering along, trying to cut compound angles, I create a lot of different, separate pieces and glue them together.  An aside: use Quick Grip, or some other non-water based glue, as it won't warp your wood.  So, for example, if I want the eventual width of my arch to be 3", I'll cut two 1 1/2" strips and use them to make two mirrored pieces.  Which, well, this can get confusing so yet another reason to have a pattern.

I periodically check my pieces against the pattern and against each other.  Usually, after I create the first piece--i.e. the first concave arch half--I use that piece, itself, as a pattern, tracing its shape onto my other pieces of wood.  Then, moving forward, I always check my work against that original piece.  Otherwise, I've found, mistakes can multiply.  A millimeter here or there, over the course of, say, 16 arches, can mushroom into pieces that, by the end, look nothing alike.

I always number my pieces, so I know what's supposed to go with what.

I usually do a rough cut to remove as much bulk as I can from the angle, then finish it off with my Dremel.  I probably end up removing about 1/4" (sometimes slightly more) with my Dremel.  Particularly with some shapes, it's hard to get in close enough to the line without sawing up your piece.

Then, once I'm satisfied with the shape--and uniformity--of all my pieces, I start gluing everything together.  Carefully.  I usually keep checking my work against a ruler, to make sure the shape I want is what's actually taking form.

Sometimes, mid-project, I make a change.  That's what happened here.  Preliminaries are good, but nothing beats seeing your work in the actual flesh.  I realized, when I was looking at the window, that I wasn't happy with the height of the dormer or the allowance I'd made for trim.  The trim I'd planned on using looked great on paper but really dinky in real life.

Realizing something isn't quite right...

So what I did was--and this is another great benefit of making everything piecemeal--insert a larger cornice.  I used 1/4" cove molding on a base of 1/4" x 3/8" balsa.  The reason I used balsa is, this all is going to be covered with stone powder (specifically Richard Stacey modeling dust) later on.  When I can use lighter, cheaper materials I do.

The new, improved window.

This window is going to have two embellishments: columns, and a carving.  That's what the larger head is for--to support the carving.  But that's a ways away (the materials I need to create it haven't arrived in the mail yet and besides, I do work...sort of).  For the columns, I'm echoing the same pattern I used on the central stained glass window.  The capital and plinth are reclaimed parts from veranda posts, and the column (which is actually a pilaster, I suppose) is 1/4" half round molding.  

First, I cut the actual capitals.  Then, I figured out how long I needed the plinth to be, and where on the window it was going to attach.  Then, I cut a test piece of 1/4" half round molding to fit--and once I knew I had the right fit, I cut seven more.  I then assembled each window from the top down, attaching capital, column body, and plinth.  That way, I could be (more or less) assured of their uniformity.

Photo courtesy of Manchester Woodworks.

This isn't the greatest picture ever, but if you examine the top of the veranda post, you can see the little urn-like shape.  If you flip your computer upside down, you'll see the pilaster, too--it's the bit above the little urn-like shape.  It's just upside down right now, so it's hard to tell.  When I cut the columns in half, I only cut about halfway down (I might want the bottoms for something else, who knows, plus it's a real drag to risk your fingers like that).  This is exactly the kind of thing I love my small table saw (the MicroLux) for.

I like to think it doesn't look like a middle American porch anymore!

 The plinth extends past the foot of the window, allowing for the slope of the roof.  I tested the pieces against the roof before cutting anything.  Also, too, it's worth mentioning that I dry-fitted the sill and walls at the same time to make sure that everything was squaring off.  It's such a sinking feeling, when you realize that you've cut everything to tolerate an off angle and, as a result...nothing fits.

Finally, this is the window, in place and waiting for its carving.  So far, the house doesn't look particularly scary; I'm relying on my as yet unrealized carvings to give it the proper sense of atmosphere.  I'm excited!

Any thoughts?

Haunted Beacon Hill Porch--Gothic Makeover

The original Beacon Hill, while lovely, doesn't necessarily lend itself to a Gothic theme.  To that end, I've been giving it a little facelift.  It's really still in the beginning stages, so you'll have to use your imagination a bit, but I figured I'd share what I've done so far. 

This is how it started:

The original Beacon Hill, photo courtesy of Greenleaf.

First, of course, I enlarged the dining room and built out the basement.  My next challenge is to update the facade of the house itself and, so far, I've started on the porch and one of the windows.  When complete, it'll be a combination of red brick and sandstone.  The windows are going to be a combination of stained glass and plain, diamond paned glass.  The square windows are, I think, going to be (opening) casements.

The house so far.

At the halfway point...

I lengthened the porch and added a front cupola.  The design is inspired by various stone colonnades I've seen in real life.  This is a great excuse, since I've always wanted to build one.  Eventually, there'll be a slight pitch on the porch roof, which will be copper.  I'm also waiting on the gable trim, and still making the crenelations.

Coasters make great weights!

The columns are an amalgam of found items.  The bases are wood spools from Michael's; the columns themselves are 1/4" dowels, and the caps are--again--wood spools that I cut in half.  So far, I'm pretty pleased with the results--and the price!  I think they'll look fairly convincing once they've been made into "stone."  And with all these arches, my Dremel is getting a good workout!  I come up from the basement literally coated in sawdust; hours later, it's still sifting down out of my hair.

Then, while I waited for a few things to dry, I started on the front bay window.  No, not everything on this house is going to be pointy, but I thought it suited the shape!  It's still a little plain looking, because I'm leaving room for decorative carvings.

Eventually the crenelations will carry around the front of the porch and cupola, as well.

So that's where I am right now.  It's starting to look a little bit different, which is gratifying.  Tomorrow I'm going to start on the rest of the windows and, once I'm finished with the basic wood shapes, I'll start on the carvings, ahem, Sculpey.  At first I was worried that sandstone would look too cheerful, but then I figured, hey, it works on Disney's Haunted Mansion, right?

Thoughts?

Haunted Beacon Hill--Shell So Far

So I've been spending a few late nights (and really early mornings) working on the Beacon Hill.  While I haven't gotten as far as I'd like, I'm pretty pleased with what I have managed to get done.  There's still a lot of foundation work left to do--particularly on the cliffs/landscaping, front porch, and catacombs--but at least now, finally, the house's ultimate form is starting to emerge.

First, I built the "basement" level, which will also support the landscaping.  I've left most of the trim off the house, because I plan on doing some serious renovations.  The porch in particular is going to look very different once I'm done with it.  The roof is half built, because I'm considering hiding some wiring in the gaps. 

 Yes, it's huge.

This form will eventually be covered with paper clay and painted, so it looks like cliffs instead of floral foam.

The catacombs (which are loosely based on some real life catacombs) are going to be a combination of brick and stone.  Adding this in was actually Jim's idea--he has very good ones, and is quite patient in listening to me rant about dollhouses--and I really like how it's turning out.  Catacombs say, "this is a haunted house," without being too obvious about it.  You need a few creepy elements, right?

The "altar" area is missing--well, apart from the actual altar--its decoration.  It'll look better once I'm done with it, I promise!

The beginnings of a hidden staircase...

Then, upstairs, the dining room is now a reasonable size.

I more or less have the design for the parlor worked out...I think.   One issue, design-wise, that I'm having is I'm not quite sure where to put the lighting.  I know where to put the hidden lighting (just to give some sense of ambient light) but as for sconces, ceiling fixtures, etc...ugh.  This house is roughly 1880's, so gas light is appropriate--but how much of it?

I have big plans for that poor stove.  I'm really looking forward to finishing both sides of the basement.  The storeroom will be fun to decorate...if I ever get there.  So far, I'm going at the pace of snail.

The cliffs are mostly still a work in progress--but a fun one!

This bizarre half round shape is going to be a little formal garden with a balustrade.  I've seen arrangements like this in real life, both here and overseas, and think it suits the general theme.  Plus, it's a good excuse to use my Sue Cook sundial.

This is what I suppose will end up being the master bedroom, but I'm running short of inspiration for it at the moment.

This is probably meant to be the bathroom, but I'm going to turn it into a small library.

This is going to be a wizardly sort of little office area.

And this will be another bedroom.

As you've undoubtedly noticed, the tower is sort of floating on top of the house.  I'm leaving it detachable until I've finished decorating it; I envision it as some sort of little stargazing/spellcraft nook.  The roof is going to be glass.  It's a very small space, but I have high hopes.

After I finish the basic wood forms for the catacombs, my next project will be extending the porch and giving it a Gothic flair.

So that's it so far!  If you want to know how I did anything, let me know and I'll write about it.

Haunted Beacon Hill--Greenhouse/Dining Room Addition Part I

It's been a frustrating few weeks--miniatures-wise and life-wise.  First, and please feel free to skip over this part if it's boring--we're not moving, after all.  I'd been led to believe some things that, well, in the end turned out not to be true.  After the initial devastation I realized that, oddly, I wasn't nearly as upset as I'd thought.  Fortunately, neither was anyone else in our family.  You see, in the end, I'd built up the idea of moving home into something it wasn't.  Home used to be Maine; for years, I'd dreamed of moving back to Maine full time.  And it was fun spending part of the year up there, with my family, playing outdoors, showing them where I grew up, etc etc etc.  But I realized, in realizing some other things, that Maine wasn't home anymore and that wasn't such a bad thing.  Home had somehow, over time, become Massachusetts.  Which is where we are now.

We almost got very badly cheated on what would've been a very large land deal and, to be honest, I've no desire to live next door to people who approach life that way.  It seems that cheating me was OK, though, because--somewhere in those same gray mists of time--I'd become a "summer person."  Well, I guess this means I'm moving up in the world!

Anyway, moving on...

My "Haunted Beacon Hill" is also moving up in the world.  Its design keeps evolving; the more I work on it, the more complicated it becomes!  From the get-go, I had some modifications in mind (adding a basement scullery being chief among them), but when I actually started putting the kit together, really saw it in the flesh, I realized a few things.  I haven't even started on the basement yet, but it'll house a kitchen, pantry, and servant's room.  My inspiration, here, was the fact that the house, as-is, really has too small of a footprint to do itself justice.  Such a grand house really wouldn't have a combination front hall/dining room.  A medieval-type cottage, sure...but a Gothic Victorian?  

But then, when I actually started putting it together, I realized that my new dining room (what's meant to be the kitchen, in the kit) was just way too small--for a dining room or a kitchen.  Which gave me the idea of extending it.  Which gave me the idea of attaching a greenhouse.  My grandparents' old house had a greenhouse off the dining room, which I always loved.

Just three additional inches take this room from so small as to be completely useless to really fairly nicely sized.

 I started out with a couple of Greenleaf greenhouse kits.  After playing around with them for awhile, I decided they needed some kit-bashing--both for Gothic features, and for sturdiness.  I decided that Gothic-style arches would look good.

The first set of arches I cut turned out to be the wrong thickness of wood.

The second set of arches I cut turned out to be the wrong shape.  I will find a use for this plentitude of wasted arches...somehow.  Luckily, my third set worked out.

I built out the dining room foundation, creating a platform for the greenhouse.  Here, I'm attaching the stairs.  Which, in of themselves, were a serious effort.  These pictures, sadly, represent an entire weekend's work.  I wasn't entirely sure of where I was going--this is how most of my designs start out, to be honest--and so made quite a few mistakes.

Somehow, the platform ended up being too short.  Oh, well.  The platform, steps and retaining wall are all just forms; I intend to cover them with brick (platform and steps) and stone (retaining wall) cladding.  Or, more precisely, egg cartons but that's way, way far away.

The not quite a tile decoration is something I picked up at a show years ago.  I can't decide whether I want to make that up to go here, or whether I'm putting in a wall fountain.  One is on its way from Sue Cook Miniatures; I'll decide when I have them to compare side by side.

This is just a dry-fit.  I'm going to paint and lead the greenhouse separately.  Scale-wise, this looks to me like wood frame supports rather than individual panels.  Instead of using lead tape to make the panes, however, I'll be using copper.  Which, admittedly, is something of an experiment--although I have high hopes.  Copper tape is very thin and bendy (being used on tiny stained glass parts) and, most importantly, doesn't contain lead.  Not that it's a good idea to eat copper, either, but some craft supplies are not meant to share the house with young children.  According to the CDC, home crafting accidents are actually one of the top causes of lead poisoning in children under five.

I built out the front part of the platform, so everything would be proportional.

You can see, pretty clearly, where the kit leaves off and my design begins.  My add-ons are all 3/32" basswood.  I was ridiculously pleased with myself that, ultimately, everything did go together more or less the way it was supposed to.

I've seen arches like this on real greenhouses.

I was disappointed to discover that the kit's roof wouldn't line up correctly...but then I made my own and was much happier with that, anyway!  There are support beams under the supports; I left those taped on, for ease of fitting in the "glass."  Ultimately, this turned into a pleasantly sturdy little item!

Another view of the roof.

Ultimately, this will have a tile floor.

The retaining wall will be stone.  Well, "stone."

And here's a somewhat ungainly picture from the front.

There are a couple things left to do: build the door, and run some sort of trim along the front where the door-containing panel and angled roof panel meet.  I'm thinking something along the lines of a miniature crenellation?  Something not-overpowering, that would yet look good in a Gothic setting.

And yes, in case you're wondering, the door from the dining room to the greenhouse is a bit off-center.  This is because I wanted the two dining room doors to line up with each other; I thought a little symmetry would improve the appeal of the room.  Not to mention, make it easier to fit furniture in there!  I like the way it's come out looking on the outside, though, because it echoes the general heap-ness of this house.  There are a number of walls, planes and angles that don't quite line up the way you might expect...and yet, as a cohesive house, it all works.  That slight note of...what?  Informality?  Makes it--to me, anyway--more believable as a Gothic Victorian.  The ones I've visited, while strewn with gigantic fireplaces, gargoyles, etc etc etc weren't actually that formal.  Which is, in the end, what I suppose I found most appealing about them.

Please ignore the mess!  This build is occurring in what is, under normal conditions, our library.  And while I like to think I'm usually pretty good at cleaning up after myself...I'm a bit overwhelmed with craft items right now.  It's a process.  Also, too, between our mountains of laundry, my son's seemingly endless need for storage and my need for natural light, we thought a temporary move upstairs would be best.  

The odd accumulation of items taped to the blank wall don't actually represent anything yet, except a vague idea that "I'd like that space to be more interesting."  I'm probably doing some sort of niche, although not quite as massive as what's currently taped there.  Once I find a statue that appears to be the right scale, I'll have a better sense of what I'm doing.  But I've seen features like this before--I went to college and law school in Boston, where there's a lot of over-ambitious brickwork--so I have high hopes.  Ah, how that usually ends...

Thoughts?