A snapshot in time. A glimpse of the Plettenberger Kleinbahn in 1/22.5 scale.

[Lawrence@NZFinescale]

Always an anticipated treat :-)

[Bill Gill]

Even the 'crappy' parts get exquisite attention.

[lab-dad]

Every visit is enthralling!
What fun!
MJinTN

[Hauk]

This is so good I just have to laugh!

[Hydrostat]

Thanks, guys, making interested people laugh feels good!

Even the 'crappy' parts get exquisite attention.

For some time now it seems to me that I'm into nothing else than 'crappy' parts ...

Just to get our bearings once more regarding where we currently stand: the bathroom and the office are complete—these are the rooms located to the left of the hallway. Directly opposite the office lies the bedroom; beyond that is the children's room, and at the very back is a dining room, from which another door leads to the extension that was added to the real-life prototype at a later date. I would like to take this opportunity to point out once again that, for various reasons, the specific usage of the rooms and the composition of the interior furnishings on the upper floor are entirely a product of my imagination—how wonderful is that! The individual objects themselves, however, are always based on real-world prototypes.




Moving counter-clockwise from the bathroom and office, the next room is the bedroom, which is furnished in a style reflecting the tastes of the first few decades following the turn of the century.




One could easily spend hours just exploring the subject of artwork suitable for a bedroom. I ultimately decided on a motif by Josef August Untersberger: "The Holy Family." I quote: "The bedroom picture, designed around 1926 by Josef August Untersberger (1864–1933), is preserved in a gilded, octagonal stucco frame behind glass. The Infant Jesus stands on Mary's lap and is held by her with both hands. To their right stands Joseph [...]. Typical bedroom pictures in a 'towel format' hung—during the first half of the 20th century—not only above rural matrimonial beds. The extreme horizontal format was necessitated by the low ceiling heights found in bedrooms. This bedroom picture, depicting the Holy Family, is one of the most widespread of its kind and was printed in large editions."





I had already shown the bed and its creation—but one thing leads to another, as they say: In that era, nightstands were also considered an essential part of a matrimonial bed set.




Both of these pieces are made entirely of wood. To achieve this, I layered sheets of veneer—stacking them one atop the other—until I reached the required wall thickness for each piece.



I found the creation of the rounded feet to be a particularly interesting challenge. To achieve this for the base plate, I glued on a thicker piece of material—reinforcing the bond with superglue—which I was then able to machine on all sides using a ball-end mill in a drill stand, with the workpiece held securely in a vise against a stop.






The doors are hinged and movable, though I've chosen to keep them closed; otherwise, I'd have to go to the trouble of modeling laundry or other interior details as well.




The bedroom wardrobe was constructed in a very similar manner, though in that instance, I utilized some slightly lower-grade materials. The wooden packaging from French soft cheeses makes for a wonderful material—it's great that these are still available (I'm referring to the wooden boxes, of course—though the same certainly applies to the cheese itself!).




In days gone by, nightstands and dressers were often topped with glass panes. All that remained now was to add the bedside lamps. These were produced using resin 3D printing; I simply couldn't manage to create convincing folded lampshades out of paper at this tiny scale.
 



And now I had a problem. The entire power supply runs invisibly through the chimneys and, from there, floor by floor via connectors embedded in the floors to the ceiling lamps. Unfortunately, all the connectors were already occupied, and the tops and undersides of the floorboards had already been finished—meaning I could no longer lay any wires there without tearing everything apart again.




Fortunately, a wire ran along the house's façade from this particular room, which I was able to utilize as a power source; however, there are no multi-core cables available with a diameter of just 0.4 to 0.6 mm. The idea of running enameled copper wires inside a piece of heat-shrink tubing did not prove to be a viable solution, as the stated diameters refer to the *inner* diameter—this was not the supplier's error, but rather a result of my own lack of knowledge.




Nothing ventured, nothing gained—so I twisted together four enameled copper wires, each 0.1 mm in diameter, using my Dremel tool. I then tested them thoroughly to ensure that the mechanical stress hadn't caused a short circuit. Next, I suspended the resulting "rope" under tension—using a weight (and no, there was no electrical current running through it at the time)—and coated it repeatedly with a mixture of Revell Aqua Color white paint (I receive royalties, fame, and glory for this mention) and Vallejo Stillwater (likewise). I continued painting until the twisted texture was no longer visible.




To route the cable along the façade in a manner true to the prototype, the detour sign had to be temporarily removed once again. While I had the chance, I took the opportunity to remake the sign entirely, as the paint colors I had originally used weren't quite accurate.






Now they light up—and, as an added feature, they can be switched on and off independently of one another.




Lying on the bedside table is *Stiller* by Max Frisch, the first edition from 1954.




Cheers,
Volker

[fspg2]

Time and again, brilliant execution—amazing!

[finescalerr]

...  As Frithjof said, and especially when we remember the extent of Volker's achievement. But it's still under construction! -- Russ

[nk]

Holy guacamole Volker. Those lamp shades are amazing, as is every detail in this build. It is just a fantastic insight into German life of that period.

I am reminded of a Peter Carey short story called American Dreams, where the narrator makes a scale model of his hometown in great detail including all the residents and some indiscretions...

[Hydrostat]

It is just a fantastic insight into German life of that period.

Yes, it is an insight. I find it quite difficult to maintain this standard across all areas, especially when it comes to bedrooms and—even worse—children's rooms. There's a big risk to trivialize that. To me it seems that it is very close to a wide spread dollhouse aesthetic. My hope is to avoid that by reducing the number of items to a 'necessary' minimum.

Next up is the children's room. The child-sized table—crafted from cardboard, as well as round and half-round brass stock—still needs a matching chair and some toys to sit on the table by the window.






The handle on the white cabinet next to the door is made of wood—just like the cabinet itself.




Fittingly—given current events in the wider world in general, the next object was created based on a real-life prototype (how could it be otherwise?) using cardboard, paper, and a few leftover window hinges. It can even be folded up.












Cheers,
Volker

[Bill Gill]

Wonderful, Volker! Will you make a kasperle for the puppet theater?

[nk]

Volker, I understand your concerns about veering into doll-house territory, but with a careful and critical eye, which you have in spades, it is something that you will continue to avoid.

Another example of exquisite scale building which avoids doll-house comparisons is the Thorne Rooms in the Art Institue of Chicago Thorne Rooms Link

Yours compares very nicely to these museum examples.

[finescalerr]

Don't worry, Volker. Nobody builds dollhouses in 1:22.5 scale. -- Russ

[Hydrostat]

Don't worry, Volker. Nobody builds dollhouses in 1:22.5 scale. -- Russ

You're surely right (at least i don't know of anyone), but that's not a question of scale.

[lab-dad]

Did I miss the Jack in the box?
MJinTN