Model-making E-Book

David Neat

• Herausgeber: Crowood
• Kategorie: Lebensstil
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 340

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2013

Beschreibung

Model-making: Materials and Methods focuses primarily on the wide variety of materials that can be employed to make models; those which have been favoured for a while and those which are relatively new. The book looks at how these materials behave and how to get the best out of them, then illustrates a range of relatively simple methods of building, shaping, modelling, surfacing and painting with them. Useful features of the book include: the different uses of models in various disciplines; the sequence of making; planning and construction, creating surfaces, painting and finishing; methods of casting, modelling and working with metals; step-by-step accounts of the making of specially selected examples; simple techniques without the need for expensive tools or workshop facilities; a 'Directory' of a full range of materials, together with an extensive list of suppliers. This book is intended for students of theatre production, art & architecture, animation and theatre/television set designers where accurate scale models are necessary, and is also of interest to anyone involved with the process of making forms in 3D and the challenge of making small-scale forms in general. Superbly illustrated with 185 colour photographs.

Leseprobe

MODEL-MAKING

Materials and Methods

DAVID NEAT

PHOTOGRAPHS BY ASTRID BÄRNDAL

First published in 2008 by The Crowood Press Ltd Ramsbury, Marlborough Wiltshire SN8 2HR

www.crowood.com

This e-book first published in 2014

This impression 2010

© David Neat 2008

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers.

British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

ISBN 978 1 84797 729 8

Dedication

This book is dedicated to: my parents, Barbara and Wilf, my dear brother Tim,

and to Astrid, with also such gratitude for her expert help and patience.

Acknowledgements

Staff and students at Rose Bruford College, Kent and Wimbledon College of Art, London are gratefully acknowledged, in particular Iona McLeish: Theatre Design Programme, Rose Bruford College and Chris Dyer: Wimbledon College of Art. The author would also like to thank 4D Modelshop, London; the Arts Institute at Bournemouth and Martina von Holn.

Illustration credits

David Lazenby, Lazenby Design Associates (www.lazenbydesign.com), Astrid Bärndal (www.baerndal.eu), Dragonfly Models (www.dragonflymodels.co.uk), Lizzie Oxby, Charlotte Hern, Valerie Charlton, 4D Modelshop, London, Elves n Elements (www.elvesnelements.com), Dick Bird, Ben Stones, John P. Hall (www.setsmachine.co.uk), David Burrows, Marie Antikainen, Marc Steinmetz, Rachel Waterfield, Dee Conway, Richard Battye

All other photos are by Astrid Bärndal unless otherwise stated, as are all models by the author unless otherwise indicated.

Disclaimer

The information given in this book is either tested through experience or to the author’s best knowledge, but neither the author nor the publisher can be held responsible for any resulting injury, damage or loss to either persons or property. Efforts have been made to ensure safety but the proper health and safety guidelines for each material featured should be consulted independently.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER 1 – INTRODUCTION

CHAPTER 2 – CONSTRUCTING

CHAPTER 3 – METHODS OF CASTING

CHAPTER 4 – WORKING WITH METALS

CHAPTER 5 – MODELLING

CHAPTER 6 – CREATING SURFACES

CHAPTER 7 – PAINTING

APPENDICES

Directory of Materials

Materials suppliers

Bibliography

Index

CHAPTER 1

INTRODUCTION

The making of ‘small forms’

In many ways, this book is about the making of ‘small forms’ regardless of their purpose. It is dedicated to providing technical assistance to those who, for whatever reason, have to work at that level of intricacy where the fingers (and perhaps also the brain!) find it difficult to cope. It considers the range of materials which could be used to make such small work, how these will behave and how those properties can be manipulated to make life easier. It is divided into chapters which follow the process of making; from planning and building, through ways of creating surfaces, to final painting and finish.

If this were a book about ‘small sculpture’, on the other hand, it would probably be more interested in artistic context. It might dwell more on the aesthetic qualities of form, the integrity of the medium and the longevity of the message. This book concerns itself far less with the question of what is created, more with the question of ‘how’. It considers any material as worthy, however base, impure, cheap or discarded others might view it. It will hardly ever recommend a material for the purpose for which it was intended! It will be content to advocate a fragile and temporary lifespan as long as the outcome will perform for as long as it’s meant to. Sometimes the real ‘outcome’ is not even the object itself, but the knowledge gained by making it; the discovery of the process.

Also, if this were a book about ‘small sculpture’, its bias to wards realism might be off-putting. It encourages a slavish attention to how ‘real things’ look. It leaves abstraction, simplification or stylistic licence aside, as decisions for the individual, and considers them only insofar as they might enhance the sense of the real. In that sense, this book is quite traditional, believing that one can only convey truth by being firmly founded on the appearance of the real. But leaving that debate aside, the practical reason for staying with the real throughout these pages is simply that there is no better way for the reader to be able to judge the effectiveness of the examples and methods shown.

So, in its dedication to the effectiveness of the real, you’ll find this book follows a fairly disciplined adherence to proportion and scale, not only for structures but also for textures, and suggests methods that will help in keeping to them. It advocates, for example, using natural processes to mimic nature, making the materials do most of the work at a level of detail which usually defies the scalpel or the brush. It questions the assumptions we often make based on how we think something looks, rather than acknowledging what we are actually seeing or taking the trouble to find out.

REALISM

Reality is a universally shared language. Models can make full use of that, relying on that shared language for their effectiveness and appeal. A sense of how things should look is so embedded within all of us that we can be affected by the most subtle of changes or the slightest variance in scale without even being conscious of it. Yet the fact that this sense is so embedded may also be the reason why it is often so difficult to ‘see’ objectively what it is that makes something look so real and to recreate that quality in something artificial. That difficulty in consciously ‘seeing’ may explain why such a familiar form as the human head can become so elusive when we try to model it. Yet we are so fine-tuned in recognition of the essentials that we can spot the contours of a familiar face amongst a crowd of others at a surprising distance.

Models make use of the fact that we all share a common awareness of how real things look, but they also benefit from the fact that we either don’t look too closely, or are sometimes seduced by the superficial. The fact that we can be so easily fooled by the power of suggestion means that models may not have to work too hard to convince, as long as the essentials are wisely chosen. A small figure can often impress as ‘realistic’ if the proportions are convincing, even though the surface treatment or lack of detail may be unnatural. On the other hand, a nondescript form can often take on the appearance of something very real by adding carefully considered details. Sometimes the ‘essentials’ are in the form, sometimes in the details; most often they are provided by a combination of the two.

A final presentation model made by David Lazenby, whose company (Lazenby Design Associates) designs and builds environments for zoos, aquariums and museums. These models are taken to a high degree of detail and realism, enabling the fullest understanding of the intended design.

Who is this book for?

This book is intended for experienced students or beginner professionals in any discipline for which accurate scale models are required as part of the job. The bias is, admittedly, towards theatre or film model-making, because this is where most of my experience lies. But the range of model-making practised for the theatre and film can be viewed as a repository of knowledge for other fields such as architecture or interior design. By ‘experienced students’, I mean those who already have some understanding of scale, who are already fairly confident with a scalpel and who are looking for a guidebook rather than an instruction manual. But having said that, parts of this book have to be arranged like a manual simply because the techniques and material preferences of model-makers tend to become rather personal. Without a step-by-step account of some things, it might not be obvious what happens next! I have tried wherever possible to reflect recognized practice where it matters, but model-making is not exactly a long-established profession with its own regulatory guild and set of standards, so a book like this can’t avoid being based more on personal experience than anything else.

This book also confines itself to what can be achieved by relatively simple means without the use of expensive equipment, making use of materials that are readily available and avoiding techniques which require a disproportionate amount of time or effort to master. It acknowledges that for most people model-making is a sporadic rather than continual practice and very few will be able to afford a dedicated workshop. It may tend towards the traditionalist view that machines can distance us from a full appreciation of material, however useful they might be. Certainly it draws inspiration from countless instances where the simplest solution to a problem has often proved the best. In attempting to be interdisciplinary while keeping the book to a reasonable size I have had to leave many specialist methods out of it, but my hope is that the common ground remaining will be useful for all model-makers, suggesting methods or materials which might be very familiar in one context but largely unknown in another.

An unusually realistic exterior in 1:10 scale from Lizzie Oxby for her animated film, Extn.21. The underlying structure may be simple, but the attention given to the way surfaces are broken down by the elements and the often haphazard gathering of details are very persuasive.

How is this book arranged?

This book is divided into chapters which reflect the chronology of making, as far as is possible, so that it could conceivably be read from beginning to end to accompany a project. Building comes first and the approach is similar whether the outcome is a landscape or a chair. The same goes for creating the appropriate surface and applying the final colour. However, certain self-contained subjects such as casting, modelling or working with metals have demanded separate chapters and these are interspersed where most appropriate rather than appendixed at the end.

Cross-referencing with the Directory of Materials

In most of these chapters I have given a summary introduction to the subject area, followed by an overview of materials and methods considered, before dealing with step-by-step accounts of specific examples. The emphasis throughout is, as I have said, on materials, but rather than burden each chapter with long accounts of their properties I have consolidated these in the Directory of Materials at the end of the book. Each chapter therefore contains just enough information on materials to get by and to make sense of what follows, but more information (particularly on obtaining them, average cost and possible alternatives) may be contained in the Directory of Materials. For the same reasons, tools are not fully explained in the chapters unless this is necessary for the process being considered (and it is assumed that people will be familiar with the basic tools). The Directory will provide more information on these. In short, if you want information about a specific material or a tool first, you can find it in the Directory and then refer back to its featured uses. But if you are more interested in finding out about a process you should go to the relevant chapter first.

The purposes of models

Does a model need to be convincing? Yes – but that doesn’t mean it has to fool! Conviction can be achieved by many different means according to the many different visual languages which models are expected to comply with. The question of what a model is, what its purpose is and what makes it effective will have to be answered differently according to the variety of disciplines in which models are used.

Models in the theatre

Theatre designers will habitually use two types of model in the process of designing a set for the stage (here the word theatre is used in the sense of ‘anything taking place on a stage’ and includes opera, dance and musicals). The first type is the rough, or ‘sketch’, model which the designer can put together relatively early in the process and which represents a quick mock-up of developing ideas. It is quite literally three-dimensional sketching, unfussy and exploratory. It may not even be intended for anyone else to see at first, although pretty soon it tends to become an essential tool during talks with the director. At this point it can be played around with, cut up or even bounced off the wall, hopefully without any feelings of resentment or wasted effort! Some designers may leap into cardboard straight away and not do any paper sketching at all, while others will try to put off the 3-D moment for as long as possible. Directors tend to appreciate seeing something tangibly spatial fairly early on in the process though.

Usually white or recycled card (basically anything scrap or cheap) suffices for the sketch model stage. It may be a good idea to use something with a neutral colour such as recycled board or even brown box cardboard, because stark white tends to generate a false impression of space especially if the final treatment is likely to become dark.

Once the designer has reached some certainty with the design and those immediately involved in the collaborative process (such as director, lighting designer or choreographer) have been consulted for their input, the final model (the second of the two mentioned) can begin. It may be that the sketch models have been made at a smaller scale, for example 1:50, in the interests of speed. In this case, the final model will be built (almost always 1:25 metric scale in the UK) completely from scratch. It may also be that the designer has built the model box (a transportable model of the stage space in which the design is set including proscenium, orchestra pit and means of hanging flown scenery) in 1:25 and worked directly in this during the sketch-modelling process. Some elements of the sketch model may therefore be refined to serve as the final model. Whichever way, the distinction between ‘sketch’ and ‘final’ can sometimes be blurred.

Sketch model for The Tempest. This is, if anything, unusually neat! The sketch model is an opportunity to play freely with shape, proportion and scale without being too ‘precious’ about the execution. It often helps if the materials chosen to do this are fairly poor to begin with. Photo: David Neat

The final model. Even when refining an abstracted setting, a convincing scale in relation to the human figure is important. Photo: Dee Conway

Final set models for the theatre are most often taken to a very high level of detail, colour and textural finish. Scale and detail have to be consistent if the ‘illusion’ is to work, drawing the observer into an appreciation of a believable space. The problem with convincing scale is that it really has to be all or nothing. If trouble is taken to model wall mouldings or window struts with an accurate slenderness and profile, the same has to apply to chair legs, carpet texture and wallpaper pattern if the design includes these. To call a final theatre set model a ‘presentation’ model is not doing it full justice. It works hard from that point, selling the designer’s idea and providing the detailed information needed for the full-scale creation of the design. ‘Working model’ acquires a particularly apt second meaning in this case.

HOW A SET DESIGN MODEL WORKS

There are many good arguments why the theatre set model should convey the designer’s intentions as accurately as possible and many justifications why the designer should focus so much of his or her effort on the model.

For the designer: the set design is a bit like a 3-D painting, visually balancing form, colour and texture, in addition to the all-important space. The model is the only way to appreciate fully how this might work together, for example the visual weight of furniture in the space, the difference in having a matt surface as opposed to a gloss. Secondly, the designer can use the process of building the model as an aid to understanding eventual construction, which will be of great benefit in technical discussion with the workshops.

For director and collaborators: (such as the lighting designer, choreographer) accuracy in scale will help them, particularly the director, to understand what kind of space they’re looking at.

For scenic workshops: an important part of the designer’s responsibility is to provide complete measured drawings for every element of the set or furniture that needs to be made. No one should use the model as a source of finite measurement, but the model will help greatly to clarify drawn information. It is almost certainly the primary source of information for the scenic artists whose job it is to paint and texture the set.

For the ensemble: actors will appreciate being presented with a true representation of the environment their character will inhabit on stage. Often the first time the designer meets the cast is at the model showing at the beginning of rehearsals. A well-crafted model helps to convince the ensemble that the designer knows what he or she is doing!

Models intended for special effects are often made to merciless standards of precision and realism, especially where the subject may be familiar. This model of the entrance to the Grand Central Terminal in New York was made by Charlotte Hern while still a student of Modelmaking for Design and Media at the Arts Institute at Bournemouth. Photo: Rachel Waterfield

There is no absolute illusion possible when looking at a theatre set model. We know it’s a model because we’re standing there looking down at it. Even so, it helps to convince everyone involved if the model allows them just a little of that famous ‘suspension of disbelief’. We could rate it as good, rather than just adequate or functional, if it inspires us with the feeling that we are looking at a real space, in which all the elements, whether large or minute, are rendered with such an attention to scale and surface quality that we can almost see real characters wandering around in it. This may be much more difficult if the concept is abstract, with fewer indications of real-life scale. Here it could be legitimately argued that, whereas it may well be the purpose of the actual set to convince as part of the theatrical illusion, it is unreasonable to expect it of the model. The model is, after all, not an end in itself, but just a means to an end. It may suffice that the model is a functional blueprint of the designer’s intentions, perhaps supported by other reference material, and not a tour de force of miniaturist skill – no sensible scenic artist will assume that the smears of glue on a hastily painted piece of card are there to be recreated in full size! Well … surely not?

Models in film

When considering the use of models in film, one has first to separate three distinct areas: how models are used in the production design process; how models contribute to special effects; and the more specialized genre of stop-motion animation.

One would expect film production designers to make very similar use of models to theatre set designers. Both are responsible for creating spaces where action can happen and where characters can unfold. But there are more fundamental differences in the working process than there are correspondences. When working for film, sets are not usually minutely recreated in model form (that is, not for the purposes of the production process). Forms of model are necessary, and they are common practice, but they are most often made in unpainted card (so-called ‘white card models’) mainly to show the director, the cinematographer or the crew how much space there will be to work on set. These models are also useful in the early stages for budgeting.

There are reasons why it is just not feasible or relevant for the production designer (or rather the art department) to produce more detailed set models. The theatre set is a build for one location, that is, the theatre stage, which will be seen from just one viewpoint per audience member, making the single model relatively straightforward. Film is a different medium, with a multiplicity of viewpoints determined by the camera. There may be hundreds of locations, many of which do not need to be built and some of which might only be glimpsed out of focus over an actor’s shoulder. The ‘look’ of a film is just as much determined by the temporal flow of images corresponding to the action and this can often be conveyed far better through the storyboard.

A typical white card model. This is usually done directly from the technical drawings, pasted onto foamboard, to render a schematic but spatially accurate model of the intended set. Its purpose is practical rather than aesthetic and there is no need to recreate atmosphere. Photo: David Neat

Three photographs illustrating Valerie Charlton’s work on the flying model of Sam Lowry for a dream sequence in Terry Gilliam’s Brazil. The first shows the model in progress, the second (left) shows it ready for filming and the third shows Jonathan Pryce as Sam Lowry in the same sequence. Photos: Valerie Charlton

But the case is very different in the area of special effects. In spite of the phenomenal advances made in CG (computer-generated) techniques in recent years, models continue to be used in film and not just those with a low budget. Films such as Master and Commander, Lord of the Rings, The Fifth Element, End of Days and Batman Returns have all made extensive use of models, usually in conjunction with digital effects. Film-makers have used models creatively in film since the birth of the medium and some of the techniques employed in ground-breaking early films such as Metropolis (1927) are still common practice today.

Models are considered as an option in a wide variety of circumstances. Most obviously, where a landscape setting or buildings are entirely imaginary models can be made, filmed and, where necessary, live action can be merged using a variety of methods. Sometimes even when a setting exists or a set is built to full size, model versions may be used either to extend the apparent dimensions of these, or (where pyrotechnics have to be used) to avoid having to destroy the real thing. They can also play an uncredited supporting role in films where one would least expect them. Hitchcock’s Rope for example, in which all the action takes place in an apartment room, features a large cityscape seen through the window. It is always there under scrutiny, but still manages to be convincing within the stylistic language of the drama.

Is a ‘good’ special effects model one which is crafted and filmed so skilfully that we have no consciousness of it being a model? It is much easier to deceive the camera than it is the eye, especially when it comes to space and scale, and the illusion can be greatly supported by careful lighting. The models can therefore be simple, seem even crude on close inspection, and often disappoint if they’re exhibited outside the film. But there will be no error in scale or strangeness that would disturb the suspension of disbelief which we require to enjoy the film fully. The essentials of realism are well understood. Of course we know, in another part of our mind, that a fantasy landscape doesn’t really exist! But, even so, the illusion is somehow strengthened if we nevertheless pretend in that same part of our mind that the film company has spared no expense to build a full-size environment.

The final category of models in film, that of stop-motion animation, is a very special form of film-making which has enjoyed a boost in recent years largely through the efforts of Tim Burton and Aardman Animations. For these films the model sets enjoy just as much loving attention, from makers and audience alike, as the puppet actors. As with special effects, models made for animation are almost the end products (awaiting transformation to film), rather than just meticulous blueprints for something else. Some animation sets are made with remarkable realism (such as the set from Lizzie Oxby shown earlier), but because it is more common for stop-motion puppets to be designed as caricatures, settings often take similar liberties with scale, proportion and colour. As with special effects models, much can be done with lighting and the inclusion of digital effects after filming. Because what counts is only what the camera can see, a whole range of temporary fixes (such as unseen Blu-Tack or Sellotape) can be employed.

These set models are often built to special requirements. The scale can normally be as much as 1:6, sometimes larger, usually in accordance with the size of the puppet characters. The sets often have to be made in sections that can be easily pulled apart so that camera viewpoint can be manipulated. This also enables the animators to get close enough to the figures to perform the painstaking sequence of operations needed to create the illusion of movement. Many of the large sets for Tim Burton’s The Nightmare Before Christmas, for example, were fitted with trapdoors through which the animators had to squeeze to access the figures during some scenes. The figures also need to be secured to the base during this process, usually by means of holes drilled through the floor of the model through which the puppet feet are bolted. Normally this ‘peppering’ with holes will not be visible in the final shots. Another important requirement, with regard to the materials chosen, is that they can withstand the heat generated by the lights during filming.

One of Lizzie Oxby’s sets for her film Extn.21 on the animation ‘table’ showing the lights in position. The set has been built 1:5 scale.

The set as it appears in the film showing the effect of controlled lighting. The text on the miniature TV screen was added digitally during post-production.

Architectural models

Everyone will probably be familiar with the pristine representations of modern developments, unveiled at their launch and exhibited proudly in architects’ offices.

They are designed to look as attractive and as clean as possible. This cleanliness is not part of an effort to preserve illusion; on the contrary, it helps to maintain the status of the model as a refined expression of the ideal. In a sense, architectural models strive to preserve the building as an idea in the imagination, while making it possible for others, such as clients, to share in the imagination of the architect. A ‘good’ architectural model created for boardroom presentation may show little trace of the human hand; indeed, the laser has replaced the scalpel for most intricate cutting (not just a practical move but somehow also a fittingly aesthetic one). The location is also simply represented, often abstracted, in order to focus on the essentials of the new form.

Stylistic liberties will be taken, rather than striving to represent the real materials – for example, cityscape models may be clad in expensive wood veneer rather than a more factual representation of something like concrete being attempted. The argument is, again, that by abstracting the surface the eye can concentrate more on the essential form. But the choice of material is also a form of flattery. The craftsmanship which is particularly evident in the finish of these models suggests that the client is worthy of pampering. Added to this, the viewpoint from which these models are judged is also quite a flattering one. No one will ever see the real building from such a ‘God’s eye viewpoint’! In the case of architectural model-making, the object is not so much to convince as to persuade.

What are perhaps not so familiar are the sketch models produced during the process, or those models whose purpose is to convey a general formal principle rather than the finished building. These are different in that the architects usually create them themselves in the early stages (rather than commissioning a specialist model-maker to work from the final plans).These are often improvised and playful, both in the manner of making and materials used, and that manner often extends to versions created for display. A recent exhibition of design development models included one form wrapped in bandages secured with elastic bands and another one created in jelly!

Architectural models are often faultless in their representation of structure. This is a detail of a 1:50 scale model made by Dragonfly Models, Worcestershire, for Glenn Howells Architects. Photo: by Richard Battye

Product simulation

This highly skilled and specialized area of model-making deserves a mention, even though this book can’t cater specifically for it. Similar to commercial architectural model-making, product simulation tends to be a fast-track, machine-intensive affair, except more so! ‘Rapid prototyping’ is a term commonly used and would seem to sum it up nicely. The differences are that models for this purpose are often life size and look (and sometimes even feel) extremely real. Both architectural design and product simulation are more recognized (and also more suitably trained) than other forms of model-making, so materials and methods are more standardized. The emphasis on functionality leads to many of these models actually being made with moving parts, which gives yet another meaning to the phrase ‘working model’.

The final model in product simulation is usually the last in a long line of design prototypes employing a variety of materials. Whether the model is durable or temporary depends on the uses to which it is then put and these can vary. Master models, from which dies will be made to manufacture the real thing, need to last. Other finished models intended just to be photographed for promotional purposes may not. But for most purposes the industrial precision and immaculate surfaces required demand similarly industrial techniques of shaping and finishing which are outside the scope of this book.

What makes good model-making?

Good model-making is not necessarily the same as achieving the end product of a good model. What is just as important as the quality of the final outcome is the efficiency of the process of getting there. This includes how sketch models are used to generate ideas, how materials are chosen to fulfil a particular task, how the workspace is arranged to work comfortably and how time is managed to ensure that important tasks get enough of it. Good professionals, in any discipline, tend to be extremely organized individuals!

The effective use of sketch models to explore design solutions requires a specially developed eye. The freedom is needed to manipulate materials quickly, concentrating on essentials of form and not being precious about their finish. It may be a good idea habitually to make sketch models out of the same material, just as an artist has a favoured form of sketchbook, so that one can get accustomed to their language. On the other hand, different materials can facilitate different shapes and inspire new design possibilities, so that ‘disciplined eye’ also needs to be free to rove. Especially in the later stages of model-making success depends on knowing what might be possible with a wide variety of materials, rather than being confined to a few. It may be most practical to limit one’s experience to the familiar and the available, but all too often design decisions are then made according to what’s possible in the model rather than what’s best for the design.

These models display a particular aesthetic (or visual language) of their own which became a recognized standard during the last century. Model by Dragonfly Models for Immodicus Design Ltd. Photo: Jeanette Wieckhorst

Some might say that the most valuable, flexible and least understood material that the model-maker must learn to use is not cardboard, wood or plastic … but time! Contrary to the popular assumption, time can be manipulated, or at the very least ‘saved’, and many labour-saving methods and tools will be considered, particularly in Chapter 2, ‘Constructing’. It is important to use these as cues in developing one’s own critical attitude towards the demands of the work, always being on the lookout for less laborious solutions without compromising either freedom or quality. It is easy to become seduced by the therapeutic nature of some model-making tasks. They can often be used (and needlessly extended!) in avoidance of more important problems. If model-making is to remain effective, the time spent on a particular aspect must stay in proportion to its importance within the whole.

As a final word here, many might assume that only those who can work precisely with their hands will prove to be good model-makers. Certainly this ability is valuable, but perhaps even more vital are a discerning eye, a forager’s mentality and a passion for problem-solving. Effective model-making is practised more in the head than in the hands!

CHAPTER 2

CONSTRUCTING

Model-making generally involves processes of construction rather than methods of sculpting. Raw materials are chosen which have already undergone some degree of formation, into sheets of a set thickness, or into strips, rods or tubes. Much of the model-maker’s initial skill resides in knowing which available materials would be most suitable for a given task. This suitability includes factors such as: which can be cut or shaped appropriately to the forms required or in the time available; which are cost-effective (even an expensive material can save money when weighed against a saving of time or effort); how easy they are to join or bond; whether they can be appropriately surfaced or painted; how durable they are against use or transportation; or if any permanency is intended. But added to this technical knowledge is a different kind of creative expertise that involves knowing or intuiting which out of an infinite array of ready-made forms can be utilized to make the job easier or quicker. It is these areas of knowledge and creativity which mark the skill of a model-maker, far more than any manual ability.

This chapter focuses on three distinct material types, each with different properties – card, plastic and foam. Wood is given some consideration here (using the constructional example of making a panelled door), but its usefulness in model-making lies more in the area of surfacing. It is therefore featured more in Chapter 6, ‘Creating Surfaces’. Whichever material one chooses to use, some general building guidelines can be applied to all.

Guidelines for starting

Planning

The importance of this first essential step can’t be repeated often enough. It involves having some initial idea of how a chosen material will behave and planning construction accordingly. It also involves having a fairly clear idea ahead of time how surfaces or painting will be achieved so that the right basic materials are chosen and so that any extra thickness added later is taken into account from the beginning. In addition, it makes sense to plan the construction so that individual pieces can be worked on flat (details built up, texture applied and painted) before being stuck together. Otherwise, it’s very difficult to achieve the kind of finish you want in a corner that’s difficult to get to with a brush!

Initial planning should also involve working out (as far as possible) the dimensions of each component part and compositing them on the sheet so that only half as many cuts need to be made and the material spared. This may seem rather too much micro-organization, but any decision that saves a little time will help in the end. The final stage of model-making is rarely a free-fall experience, such as modelling an abstract form in clay where the outcome is not yet known and the material remains flexible. Often the goal is minutely predetermined from the beginning and is just a case of copying in scale. All the dimensions are known or can be found. Planning is in this context not a straitjacket on creative freedom, but an insurance which should free time and mind to dwell on ‘higher things’! As suggested in the Introduction, since model-making is most often a means to an end rather than the end in itself, ‘effective’ is not only what looks good, well-made or convincing, but what has served the process of getting there. If the final model has taken a disproportionate amount of time to complete at the cost of other things (though it may well do anyway!), it has ceased to be a proper team-player.

Marking out and cutting

The following are some basic points which may be obvious to many, but are worth repeating here.

A hard pencil point should be used (for example, 2H) to make something between a dot and a dash to mark a measurement (a dot may be easily lost or mistaken, whereas a long dash can be inaccurate). When ruling a pencil line between points, your working light should fall towards the working edge of the (metal) ruler rather than creating a shadow. A pencil will never draw a line exactly on the metal edge, so you need to develop a feel for the right compensation; the same will apply (often more so) when using a blade. Placing masking tape along the underside of a flat metal ruler will help it to grip better. Many professionals mount their material on a drawing board for marking out, which saves a lot of time and effort in establishing steady lines and correct right angles. If this is not possible, a good try square will prove essential.

CUTTING CIRCLES

Circles or curves present a problem in any material. The less resistant the material, the easier it will be to cut them. The more pressure one has to exert on the knife, the more difficult it is to maintain the steady flow of the hand movement needed to keep the curve smooth to the line. It is essential to make the first run with the blade just a light scratch, as it were, to serve as a guide for the second where one can press harder. It may take three or four runs, but it is never a good idea to try to cut through anything manually in one go. For large circles, keep the blade at an oblique angle, that is, more parallel to the surface, because the length of blade will act as a smoothing guide for the line. If the curve is tight, the opposite is true and the scalpel has to be held more vertically. The gadgets sold to attach to a compass to cut a perfect circle may be fine for laying a guiding line, but it will be impossible to exert enough pressure this way to cut right through card or plastic.

Carpenters will always hatch pencil lines on the side they don’t want and doing a similar thing avoids confusion if you’ve marked out a number of shapes on one piece. Always try to cut on the same side of every line, even though this means having to rotate the sheet material often. This will help to maintain accuracy. Where the material is thick but still manageable with a knife (such as foamboard or foamed PVC sheet), it is easier to cut part-way on one side and cut the rest of the way on the other side (having extended the lines accurately round using the try square). This is not only a preferable method because the friction on the blade is halved, but also a perpendicular cut is easier to obtain.

Using a small engineer’s try square as an aid to marking out. This simple tool can save a lot of time.

Assembling

When assembling a model, the main concern is, at the risk of stating the obvious, gluing in exactly the right place and maintaining that position until the glue is at least partially set. PVA and superglue are opposites in this respect. When using PVA or any slow-setting adhesive, there is some room for repositioning so that a part could almost be slid slowly into place if need be. Once there, it usually has to be secured by some means because it needs time to take hold firmly. With super-glue, on the other hand, there is no chance for repositioning because it will bond immediately, but at least it will need no further assistance. Following are some guidelines that will help.

Using a straight-sided metal block as a construction guide.

Two blocks aligned to help with a corner.