Awe-Inspiring Miniatures Are Good For Our Health.

by Dr Dalia Iskander (Associate Professor in Medical Anthropology, University College London)

Around ten years ago, I was writing up my PhD thesis in Medical Anthropology. This was the biggest piece of work I had done and, although interesting and enjoyable, writing 100,000 words was tough and I was finding it difficult to bring together all of my data into a coherent piece. I kept getting writer’s block. Seeing that I was in need of some distraction, my husband bought me a gift. He knew I had always liked miniatures so thought I could try my hand at making them. I was presented with everything I would need to make clay dolls. I gave it a go but found it really tricky and the little faces I produced were warped and terrifying, rather than endearing and captivating, as I had imagined them in my head. 

Around the same time, I happened to walk past Kristin Baybars’ toy and dolls house shop in Gospel Oak, London. Intrigued by the bright pink exterior, tiny door at the base of the front door (that I found out many years later the miniaturist David Ward had added so that the ‘dolls had a way to get in and out’), and small glimpses offered through the dirty windows of a miniature world within, I stepped inside. My heart leapt. Crammed into every inch of space were miniatures upon miniatures of all descriptions; houses, dolls, automatons, tiny furniture, food and accessories. I had had no idea such a place existed and even less idea about the long lineage of craftspeople who put their labour and love into creating such delightful and exquisite objects. 

I told Kristen about my foray (and failure) in doll making and she persuaded me to buy a single room box and to try my hand at the houses instead. I was hooked. As soon as my café was complete, I saved some money and went back and purchased my very first dolls house kit. For the next year, I foraged, scavenged and hoarded scraps of wood, paper, fabric, plastic, clay and paint and set about bringing the MDF skeleton to life. At first, making my dolls house did feel like a ‘distraction’ from writing my thesis. I looked forward to the hours of practical absorption; day-dreamed about what I could make next when I was supposed to be writing; and revelled in playing with the nascent home I was building. 

However, over time, I realised that far from being a pure ‘escape’ from my reality, being creative in the miniature domain was helping me to be more creative in my bigger-scale project. As I problem-solved, innovated and expanded my horizons in order to assemble my miniature house, I felt myself more able to explore my data in new ways; find patterns and connections; and transform ideas into words. Anthropology, as a discipline, entails piecing together impressions about life in order to create narratives about the complex world in which human beings live. It struck me that creating miniature houses was an analogous process. 

Fast-forward a decade and I was keen to pursue my hunch further. In 2022, I began a research project entitled, Crafting Small, Grasping Big’ , in which I have been exploring the nature and effects of miniature craft in the UK. As a Medical Anthropologist, my interest is in understanding the ‘culture’ of miniature practice (what people make, how, why and to what effect), but, I am particularly interested in how this practice effects people’s health and well-being. For the past couple of years, I have had the privilege of working with around 40 miniature artists across the UK who make scaled-down objects of different kinds. I have interviewed them in depth; spent time making with them, either in one off sessions or longer-term apprenticeships; and absorbed myself as deeply as possible in the miniature craft world through making myself and attending classes, groups, fairs and events. I have got to know a lot of wonderful people and learnt a great deal about the diversity of experiences, practice, techniques, motivations and effects.

Despite the variety though, some things have stood out as comparable. For example, many of the people I worked with describe miniature craft as an obsession or an addiction, but one that is ultimately a force for good in their lives. Jan, who has been making miniature plants for 60 years told me, ‘I am now in my 80s and believe making miniatures is what has kept me alive all these years‘. Many described how, when making, they feel exhilarated, high and even euphoric. They talked of the important role that crafting miniatures has in helping them through difficult times in their lives – grief, depression, isolation, physical ill-health and mental anguish. While many people talked of the sense of absorption and escape from the outside world that they experience in the moments of crafting, as well as how dependent their practice is on imagination and ‘flights of fancy’, they also talked about how this practice ultimately makes them connect more meaningfully to the world in which they live. Crafting miniatures, after all, requires acute immersion, observation and contemplation about the full-scale world, in order to replicate it. For me, this stands out as the reason miniature craft seems to have such a therapeutic effect on the lives of makers. Nick, for example, told me,

‘I’m the sort of person who enjoys observing the world more than talking. I’m forever looking at bricks, doorways, roofs – really trying to take in all the detail, work out how everything is put together. Making dolls houses allows me to connect with the world that way. I think it allows you to understand things in a different way and see how much complexity there is in the world around us – it makes life more interesting and exciting’.  

This echoes what many people talked of – the sense that modelling is a way to appreciate complexity and detail. The most profound example of the transformative effect that this can have on our health came from Pauline. After a very serious head injury, Pauline started crafting dolls houses and is convinced that working across scales helped repair damaged connections in her brain. She told me, 

‘My neurologist was amazed. He kept monitoring me and after six months of making the dolls houses he said things had really started improving and that I must have been working damaged parts of my brain; connections were re-forming. He said it must have been something about working in different scales. Can you believe it, he now recommends this to his other patients. He actually prescribes making dolls houses to people with head injuries as a way to repair broken connections in your brain!’.

Nellie too, describes the state she gets into when making miniatures and the thrill that comes with exploring detail, form and pattern: 

‘Over time, your brain and body sort of skips into this state where you aren’t sure what is big or what is little; what is real or what is not; where things begin and you end. I’ve done so many other artistic things in life, but that feeling – it’s so condensed when making miniatures, I suppose because you are literally engaging in scale. Like you become intrinsically involved in things. When I am in that state, moving intensely between big and little, I am open to realisations of life – well feelings more than a realisations. It’s like, an altered state. And that’s it. That’s why I think this is my bungee jump – it’s the hit really and I think It’s actually an addiction’.

For others, miniature making provides a way to connect, not just to things in the world, but to other people too. When Nousha moved to the UK from Iran in the early 1990’s she felt isolated and alone. As a migrant woman, she found it difficult to gain employment, establish herself in a community, and find a sense of home. Recognising this was a problem for others too, she took matters into her own hands and started the Lady’s Creative Centre (and Doll’s House Museum) in Ealing, London. She told me, 

‘I wanted to bring other refugee women together so that they could learn skills like sewing to help them find work. About 30 of them would come and we would enjoy together. I would cook upstairs and we would drink tea and talk. We were like a family. We decided to make dolls houses together. It was a way to make a home together when we didn’t have one. We became like a family. It really helped us to be creative and not lazy – to just keep moving and making. It helped many women find work but, more importantly, it helped so many of us feel at home’. 

The idea that miniature craft enables people to relate to the world and people around them in different ways was described by many as akin to experiencing a sense of ‘awe’. Awe is a complex feeling that we get in the presence of something vast that challenges our understanding of the world. It can feel both scary and sublime and ultimately forces us to confront the fact we do not completely understand things fully. Awe enables people to embrace mystery and uncertainty. Working in small-scale brings many makers I worked with closer to experiencing and appreciating the magnificence, wonder and beauty in the world in order to re-present its essence in miniature form. Lara articulated exactly this when she said, 

‘With miniatures, I’m just in this tiny world. It’s a bit like Alice in Wonderland; going down a rabbit hole or finding a tiny portal to another realm. You feel like you are looking through the keyhole and getting a glimpse into the magnificence of the world . . . When I am painting my tiny scenes, it’s like I am telling a story about the wonder in the world with light and colour and composition. I’m just lost in that small world and it feels like pure joy.’ 

Of course, making miniatures, also has its downsides. Like any craft work, it can take its toll on people’s physical health with many reporting back-ache, eye strain, and fatigue amongst other things. For all the joy and satisfaction it brings, making is also challenging, frustrating, hard and even boring at times. For those engaged in this practice as a form of income generation, there are other challenges to contend with – long hours, low incomes, tight margins, small profits, bureaucracy, copyright issues and much much more. On the whole though, my research has convinced me that there are compelling reasons why human beings all over the world, for most of our history as far as well can tell from archaeological records, have engaged in making miniature models. It appears to be good for our health and well-being precisely because crafting miniature worlds is a simultaneous process of creatively engaging with the world around us, including embracing wonder, mystery and uncertainty. As Alexandra put it, 

‘Making miniatures makes you feel in touch with the magical forces of the world – the mysterious unseen parts’. 

For the miniature artists I worked with, their practice ultimately helped them feel more connected to life, and ultimately understand the world around them differently.  Graham put is perfectly when he said,

‘Life is bleak in many many ways. It can be tempting to sink so low – I know, I’ve been there, so many times. But often, all you need is something small, something that just lifts you, that makes you question what you think you know, that makes you feel differently – a tiny moment that stops you sinking and makes you realise that there are other possibilities out there – as humans we need that – we need empathy to survive. What are we if we don’t have that?’

If you are interested in reading more about my research and findings, take a look at the Miniature Antidotes project website. If you would like to share your own experiences of making miniatures, please contact me (Dalia.Iskander@ucl.ac.uk).