Do MORE Miniatures Make Us Happier?

2 days ago

I’ve been thinking about something a lot lately, and perhaps I'm not the only collector who has wondered about it. Do MORE miniatures make us happier?

Let me be clear: my miniatures make me VERY happy. I love my collection. I love looking at it, living with it, remembering where pieces came from and appreciating the extraordinary work of the artists and makers represented in it. And yes, I still love getting a new miniature (or two)...Hello Chicago, Philly and Kensington!.

But lately I’ve found myself wondering: Does getting another miniature actually make me happier?

That may be a different question. There is an undeniable thrill in getting something new. We see a piece. Something happens. We want it. We imagine it in our collection. Maybe we bid on it, wait for it, finally get it, unwrap it and experience that wonderful little rush of it’s mine!

Collectors, you know that feeling, right?

But then what? For those of us who have been collecting for many years and already have substantial collections, perhaps the relationship begins to change. The first pieces helped create the collection. The next pieces gave it depth and personality. Eventually, though, we may reach a point where one more wonderful thing doesn’t necessarily create more happiness.

It simply creates...more.

And I don’t mean that negatively. I love abundance. I love being surrounded by many beautiful tiny things. But I’ve started wondering whether there is a difference between the quick joy of acquisition and the slower joy of living with something we truly love.

Maybe the question isn’t, Should I stop collecting? Absolutely not. Maybe the better question is: What kind of joy am I looking for now?

Is it the hunt? Is it discovering a maker I’ve never encountered before? Is it completing something I’ve been working toward for years? Is it finding that one extraordinary piece that makes my heart jump every single time I see it?

Or perhaps the joy comes from what I already have: rearranging a room, creating a new setting, rediscovering something tucked away, learning more about an artist, sharing a piece with another collector, or simply sitting quietly and appreciating the craftsmanship in front of me.

And maybe, as our collections mature, our collecting can mature with them.

Perhaps instead of five pieces that we like, we wait for the one piece we absolutely love.

Or maybe not. Maybe you are happiest surrounded by hundreds of miniatures, constantly discovering, rearranging, adding and playing. If that brings you joy, that matters too!

I don’t think there is a correct way to collect. But I do think there is value in occasionally asking ourselves:

What still makes my heart lift?

That may be the question I’m really wrestling with. Because I don’t want collecting to become simply the act of acquiring. I want to stay connected to the reason I started collecting in the first place: wonder, beauty, craftsmanship, imagination and that almost inexplicable DELIGHT of seeing the full-sized world recreated in miniature.

For newer collectors, perhaps this is something worth noticing early. Not as a warning to buy less or to somehow collect “better,” but simply as an invitation to pay attention.

What pieces do you return to again and again? What purchases stay with you emotionally long after the excitement of acquiring them has passed? What do you wish you had waited for? What would you never part with?

If we listen closely enough, perhaps our collections begin to teach us something about ourselves. They show us what catches our eye, certainly, but over time they may also reveal something deeper:

They can teach us what kind of joy LASTS.

I’m still collecting. I’m still going to fall in love with things I probably don’t need. And I’m quite certain another little box (which contains a tiny box, because I am obsessed with tiny boxes) arriving at my door will continue to make me smile.

But maybe the goal isn’t simply to have more. Maybe it’s to remain delighted by what we have, thoughtful about what we add, and open to the possibility that the next stage of collecting can be every bit as joyful as the first.

So I’m curious, particularly from those of you who have been collecting for a long time:

Has your relationship with acquiring miniatures changed as your collection has grown?

Does adding another miniature still give you the same joy it once did?

Do you find yourself wanting more pieces these days, or waiting for fewer, truly special ones?

And perhaps most importantly: What still makes your heart lift? I’d really love to hear how other collectors think about this.

What Puts the “Fine” in Fine Art Furniture in Miniature?

Oct 5

What separates a beautifully made dollhouse miniature from a piece of fine art furniture in miniature?

Fine Art & Masterful Miniatures Estate Sale on eBay

It is a question worth asking, particularly as a collector begins to look beyond simply acquiring pieces that appeal to them and starts to recognize the artistry, skill and ingenuity behind truly exceptional miniature furniture. The answer is rarely just one thing.

It can begin with the selection of a remarkable piece of wood and an artisan’s ability to understand exactly how its grain should be positioned. It may be found in a nearly impossibly small hand-cut dovetail, an intricate decorative inlay, a perfectly carved cabriole leg, or a finish that convincingly suggests a century of use. Sometimes it is a working mechanism or a hidden compartment that you would never know existed until you looked more closely.

And almost always, it comes down to scale and proportion. The finest miniature furniture does not simply reproduce a full-size object in smaller dimensions. It captures its presence. Remove the clues that tell you its size, and for a moment you might believe you are looking at the full-size original. That is part of the magic.

My current Fine Art & Masterful Miniatures Estate Sale gives us a wonderful opportunity to look more closely at exactly what that means. I have selected ten pieces from the collection, each illustrating a different quality worth recognizing. For the budding collector, these are details that can help you begin identifying exceptional work. For the experienced collector, they are reminders of just how much artistry can be contained within twelve inches to the foot.

John Hodgson: Tilt Top Oval Table

Sometimes fine miniature furniture begins with the material itself. John Hodgson’s oval tilt-top table is an extraordinary example of an artisan understanding the natural beauty of wood and knowing how to make it an integral part of the design. The remarkable burl wood is not simply a material from which the table was constructed. Its swirling grain becomes part of the composition.

The individual pieces have been selected and positioned so that their patterns work together across the oval top, while contrasting banding defines the perimeter. That distinction is important. A fine furniture maker does not simply use beautiful wood. The maker reads the wood, selects it and positions it so that nature and craftsmanship become part of the same design.

William Klinger with Dolores and John Renninger: Windsor Style Colonial Bench

Fine miniature furniture can also be the result of several artistic disciplines coming together.

This hardwood Windsor-style Colonial bench by William Klinger features beautifully executed spindle work and construction. But then another layer of artistry is introduced through the work of Dolores and John Renninger.

Their specialized painted aging and weathering techniques transform the piece. The bench does not look freshly constructed. Its finish suggests history. Areas appear naturally worn, as though generations of people have actually sat upon it. That ability to convincingly create age, use and history in miniature elevates the piece beyond construction alone. It creates an illusion of a life already lived.

Michael Walton: Demi Lune Commode

Decorative inlay is one of those details that can be appreciated aesthetically without immediately understanding just how difficult it is to execute. Michael Walton’s demi lune commode demonstrates why it deserves closer attention. The beautifully rounded form is already an exercise in proportion and construction.

But it is the intricate decorative inlay that takes the piece to another level. Tiny pieces of contrasting woods must be cut, fitted and arranged into precise decorative patterns. At miniature scale, tolerances become extraordinarily small. A fraction of an inch can make the difference between elegance and something that simply looks out of proportion. Here, the precision of the inlay complements the graceful curved form rather than overwhelming it.

Patrick Puttock: Oval Burl Wood Desk

Sometimes you need to open a drawer. Patrick Puttock’s remarkable desk gives us plenty to admire before we ever do. There is the richly figured burl wood, the custom banding, the graceful kidney-shaped form, decorative inlay across the drawers and even a concealed door beneath the desk. Then pull out one of its eleven drawers. There you discover tiny hand-cut dovetails.

This is one of my favorite characteristics of fine miniature furniture because much of the craftsmanship is almost invisible when the piece is displayed. The artisan could have chosen an easier construction method. Instead, the drawers are constructed using traditional furniture-making techniques at miniature scale. That is craftsmanship intended not merely to be seen, but to be discovered.

Ernie Levy: Burl Wood Mantle Clock and Pedestal

Ernie Levy’s two-piece mantle clock and pedestal illustrates another characteristic of exceptional miniature furniture: engineering. There is already an extraordinary amount to appreciate visually. Beautiful burl wood, delicate metal fretwork, a hand-painted clock face, brass finials and hardware, an opening door on tiny brass hinges, and carefully executed decorative details all contribute to the piece.

But look closer. A metal pin secures the mantle clock to its pedestal. The mechanism swivels, allowing the clock to be released and removed. It is a tiny detail, but an ingenious one. Fine miniature furniture frequently rewards interaction. Things open. Things move. Things come apart. Mechanisms work. The artisan has considered not only how the piece will look but how it will function.

Joan Tucker: “Little Ruffles” Dressed Canopy Bed

Fine furniture in miniature is not limited to woodworking. Joan Tucker’s Little Ruffles canopy bed demonstrates what happens when beautifully made miniature furniture is brought together with exceptional textile work. The hardwood bed features finely proportioned construction, likely hand-turned posts and a satiny finish that allows the natural wood grain to remain visible. But the dressing of the bed becomes an equally important part of the composition.

Fabric must behave convincingly at miniature scale, which is no small challenge. The canopy, bows, ruffles and decorative elements must all be scaled appropriately so they do not overwhelm the furniture beneath them. The result combines craftsmanship with softness and whimsy while maintaining the illusion of full scale.

Julian Biggers: Folding Gaming Table

At first glance, Julian Biggers’ piece might appear to be an elegant table intended to sit against a wall. And then it transforms. This is a metamorphic piece of furniture. The table opens and expands from its compact form into a full gaming table, incorporating working brass hardware and a beautifully inlaid playing surface. Its carved cabriole legs terminate in claw-and-ball feet, and sculpted and carved details continue throughout the piece.

What makes it particularly exciting, however, is that the transformation is not a miniature gimmick. It reflects the ingenuity of full-size furniture designed to perform more than one function while conserving space. The miniature artisan has therefore reproduced not simply the appearance of the furniture, but its purpose and engineering.

Patrick Puttock: Twin Arch Burl Wood Cabinet

Patrick Puttock’s twin arch cabinet gives us another lesson in precision. The beautiful burl wood immediately attracts attention, as do the brass hardware and beautifully proportioned double-arch architectural form. Then look at the doors. The glass is real, and the tiny muntins dividing those glass panels must be cut and assembled with extraordinary precision.

At full scale, architectural elements such as these provide rhythm and proportion. In miniature, even the slightest discrepancy can become visually obvious. The success of this cabinet lies in how natural everything appears. That effortlessness is deceptive. Achieving it requires tremendous control of scale, symmetry and proportion.

Charles “Chuck” Krug: Sculpted Side Table

A beautifully carved leg can tell you a great deal about a miniature furniture maker. Charles “Chuck” Krug’s sculpted side table features hardwood construction with a rich stain and satiny finish that allows the natural grain to remain visible. But follow your eye downward.

The beautifully curved cabriole legs are hand sculpted and carved, terminating in wonderfully executed claw-and-ball feet.

Carving at this scale presents an unusual challenge. The details must be crisp enough to read clearly, yet restrained enough to remain believable at scale. Too heavy, and the furniture becomes visually cumbersome. Too delicate, and the design loses its character.

Here, carving, proportion and scale work together. It is not simply a small carved table. It is a convincing piece of furniture that happens to exist in miniature.

Gerald Crawford: Tilt Top Table with Hidden Drawers

And finally, there is something I particularly love in a fine miniature: the surprise. Gerald Crawford’s tilt-top table is beautifully proportioned and constructed, with a working mechanism that gently moves the top between its upright and table positions. That alone demonstrates considerable craftsmanship.

But the real delight is hidden within the column. A tiny door opens to reveal concealed drawers incorporated into the structure of the table. Suddenly, what appeared to be a beautifully made miniature becomes something more. It invites discovery. And importantly, this ingenuity reflects the kind of inventive construction found in full-size furniture. The miniature maker has captured not simply what the original furniture looks like, but the experience of encountering it: opening it, operating it and discovering something unexpected. There is tremendous joy in that.

Learning to Look More Closely

These ten pieces are very different, yet taken together they give us a vocabulary for recognizing fine art furniture in miniature. Look at the materials. Has the maker simply used hardwood, or deliberately selected grain, burl and contrasting woods to become part of the design? Look at the construction. Open the drawers. Examine the joinery. Look underneath. The craftsmanship you cannot immediately see can be every bit as revealing as what is displayed prominently. Look at scale and proportion. Does the piece merely look small, or does it convincingly look like full-size furniture reduced to miniature? Look at the finish. Does it enhance the grain? Does painted aging suggest decades of use? Does upholstery or fabric behave convincingly at scale? Look for complexity and ingenuity. Does something open, tilt, fold, swivel or transform? Are there concealed drawers, working hinges or mechanisms?

And finally, look for artistry. Technical perfection alone does not necessarily create a great work of miniature art. The finest makers bring judgment to their work: knowing which piece of wood to select, where to place an inlay, how deeply to carve a detail, how much aging is enough, and when to stop. For collectors, learning to recognize these qualities changes the experience of collecting. You begin to look closer. You begin to turn pieces over, open drawers, study grain, notice joinery and recognize the extraordinary amount of work contained within something that can sit in the palm of your hand. And perhaps that is what really puts the fine in fine art furniture in miniature. It isn't simply that these pieces are beautifully made. It is that the closer you look, the more there is to see!

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Paul D. Moore: Architecture in Miniature: The artistry behind one of the miniature world's distinguished architectural makers

Sep 30

There are dollhouses, and then there are miniature houses that make you stop and reconsider what a dollhouse can be. The work of IGMA Fellow Paul D. Moore belongs firmly in the latter category. And perhaps the reason becomes clearer once you know something about the man who built them.

An Architectural Eye from the Beginning

According to the 1996 reference A Reference Guide to Miniature Makers Marks, Moore's relationship with miniature architecture began in childhood, when he built miniature houses and furniture as an expression of his architectural tastes. Before becoming a professional miniature artisan in 1979, he worked as an architectural model maker and as a designer of commercial interiors. Those experiences are more than interesting biographical details. They help explain the extraordinary architectural confidence that distinguishes his miniature work.

Moore understood buildings. He understood proportion, spatial relationships, circulation, architectural detailing, and the way one room relates to another. When he turned professionally to miniatures, he initially concentrated on houses and room boxes, later expanding into furniture, particularly 18th-century mahogany and walnut case pieces.

The miniature community recognized the quality of that work early. Moore was awarded Artisan status by the International Guild of Miniature Artisans in 1984 and became an IGMA Fellow in 1987. Fellow is the Guild's highest honor, awarded to Artisan members whose work represents what IGMA describes as the "epitome of excellence." Moore also served on the IGMA Board of Trustees from 1987 through 1993, participated on several Guild committees, and served as third vice president during his final year on the board. He later served as president of IGMA in 2003.

By the time the 1996 reference guide was published, Moore was described as creating Georgian-style houses of his own design, custom houses, room boxes, house boxes, and furniture. His work had also appeared repeatedly in the miniature press, including Nutshell News, Miniatures Showcase, and The Miniature Magazine.

More Than a Container for Miniatures

That background is important because it points to what separates a Paul Moore structure from a conventional dollhouse. Many wonderful dollhouses begin with a commercially produced shell or kit and become extraordinary through what a collector or artisan adds to them: fine interiors, architectural embellishments, lighting, wallpaper, furniture, paintings, silver, ceramics, and countless other details. With Moore, the building itself is the miniature.

The proportions, staircases, landings, fireplaces, doors, windows, paneling, floors, and relationships between rooms are part of a unified architectural composition. His structures do not have to be furnished to command attention. Empty, they are already complete works of miniature architecture. That distinction became especially apparent to me recently when two signed Paul D. Moore structures came to D. Thomas Miniatures from estate collections. They were made only three years apart, yet they demonstrate two very different ways Moore approached miniature architecture.

The 1994 Paul D. Moore Cabinet House

The first is signed Paul D. Moore and dated 1994. I have been calling it a cabinet house, although Moore's own documented categories included "house boxes" and "room boxes," both of which help describe what this remarkable piece actually is. It is not a conventional dollhouse. It is a beautifully constructed piece of cabinetry containing a complete miniature architectural interior. Behind a glazed front are two levels incorporating four principal spaces, including landings and rooms connected by an exceptional staircase. There are dark hardwood floors, paneled and wallpapered walls, beautifully proportioned doors, fireplaces, architectural moldings, and carefully considered transitions from one space to another.

And then there is the staircase. It rises through the structure with a curved turn and continues to an upper landing bordered by delicate balusters and a dark handrail. It is not simply a functional device for getting from one miniature floor to another. It is one of the architectural events of the house. One lower room is especially striking, with dark wood flooring, a classical fireplace, and a panoramic landscape treatment wrapping around the walls. Upstairs, another room is more restrained, with paneled sections of patterned wall covering, white architectural trim, and another beautifully detailed fireplace. Even the exterior cabinet was treated as a finished object. The dark wood case is enclosed behind glass, fitted with brass hardware, and has substantial decorative carrying handles on its sides. The result has the presence of fine cabinetry: a piece of furniture that happens to contain an architectural world in miniature. For me, this may be the more intriguing of the two structures precisely because it is so concentrated. It offers the architectural experience of a substantial dollhouse without requiring the physical footprint of a large freestanding house.

A Grand Georgian-Style House (1997)

The second structure, signed and dated 1997, is a much more traditional full dollhouse, but Moore's architectural sensibility is immediately evident. Its symmetrical facade is classically composed, with pale clapboard siding, dark shutters, a prominent central entrance, paired chimneys, dormers, and beautiful arched and Palladian-style windows. A strong central pediment gives the facade the kind of order and balance associated with Georgian and Georgian-inspired architecture. Open the house and the real achievement becomes apparent. Rather than filling the structure with numerous small compartments, Moore organized the interior around a center hall and staircase, with large rooms arranged on either side and on the floors above. The staircase and upper landing form the architectural spine of the house. The rooms have something that can be surprisingly difficult to achieve in miniature: breathing room. The windows are substantial. The ceilings feel generous. The fireplaces, paneling, doors, floors, and moldings are appropriately scaled to the spaces around them. The result feels less like a series of boxes and more like an actual house reduced to miniature scale. That is exactly where Moore's earlier experience as an architectural model maker and commercial interior designer becomes so interesting. These interiors feel planned. There is a sense of circulation through them, of moving from a hall into a room and from one floor to another. The staircase is not simply inserted into the structure; the house seems to have been designed around it.

The House Itself Becomes Collectible

Those of us who love fine miniatures naturally spend a great deal of time thinking about what goes inside a dollhouse. Who made the chair? Who turned the bowl? Who painted the picture? Who made the silver? Who wove the rug? With a Paul Moore structure, another question becomes equally important: Who made the house? That changes the nature of collecting. A fine architectural structure can become the foundation around which an entire collection is built. A collector can spend years furnishing a Moore house, adding important pieces gradually while allowing the interiors to evolve. But the structure itself remains an important signed work by a recognized artisan. Moore's standing within IGMA reinforces that distinction. IGMA was founded specifically to promote fine miniatures as an art form and to recognize exceptional workmanship. Its Fellow designation remains its highest honor. Moore's progression from professional miniature artisan in 1979, to IGMA Artisan in 1984, to Fellow in 1987, followed by years of Guild leadership, places his work squarely within the development of the American fine-miniatures movement.

Scarcity, Craftsmanship, and the Secondary Market

There is another reason structures such as these deserve attention today: work of this caliber is finite. A handcrafted architectural miniature is fundamentally different from a manufactured dollhouse that can be produced repeatedly. Each surviving signed Moore structure represents a piece from a recognized artisan's body of work, and the combination of authorship, craftsmanship, condition, scale, design, provenance, and scarcity can make exceptional examples particularly desirable. One striking indication of that interest appeared at Selkirk Auctioneers in 2021, when the Joyce Schoedinger collection was offered for sale. The collection included a large Paul Moore cabinet dollhouse that Selkirk described as "museum caliber." According to Selkirk's post-sale account, the Moore cabinet house became the top lot of the collection, selling for $17,500 including buyer's premium.

That result should not be treated as a valuation for every Paul Moore structure. Miniature houses vary enormously in size, complexity, condition, provenance, design, and marketability. But it is significant evidence that an exceptional Moore architectural work can command serious collector attention on the secondary market.

Look at that Staircase!

If I could offer one suggestion when examining a fine artisan dollhouse, it would be this: before looking at the furniture, look at the architecture. Look at the staircase.

Look at the doors and moldings. Look at the fireplaces. Look at the floors. Look at the windows. Look at how one room leads into another and whether the proportions make you believe, even for a moment, that you could walk through the space. Those are the places where craftsmanship reveals itself. That is certainly true of these two Paul D. Moore structures. The closer I look, the more I discover: the sweep of a handrail, the relationship of a doorway to a fireplace, the way a landing opens onto the floor below, the depth of a window, or the simple confidence of leaving a room large enough to breathe. Nearly thirty years after these particular structures were made, they still invite us to stop, move closer, and look again. And perhaps that is the best way to understand Paul D. Moore's contribution to the miniature world. He didn't simply give collectors another place to put their miniatures. He made the house itself worth collecting.

Available from D. Thomas Miniatures

I'm delighted to share that both of the Paul D. Moore structures discussed here, the signed 1994 cabinet house and the signed 1997 Georgian-style dollhouse, is now being offered by D. Thomas Miniatures from estate collections in my eBay store. I'm happy to introduce Paul Moore and provide some context for the extraordinary level of design and craftsmanship behind these pieces. Because once you know something about the maker, you begin to see the houses differently. They aren't simply dollhouses. They are architecture in miniature.

Sources and Further Reading

• A Reference Guide to Miniature Makers Marks (1996), entry for Moore, Paul D. The entry documents Moore's identification marks, categories, professional background, IGMA Artisan status (1984), IGMA Fellow status (1987), Guild

service, and his work in Georgian-style houses, custom houses, roomboxes and furniture.

• International Guild of Miniature Artisans, "Guild Fellow Members." IGMA describes Fellow as the Guild's highest honor and explains the standards applied to Fellow selection.

• International Guild of Miniature Artisans, "About the Guild." The Guild's historical list records Paul Moore as IGMA president in 2003.

• Selkirk Auctioneers & Appraisers, "Little Objects Were a Big Deal," reporting on the 2021 Joyce Schoedinger collection and the sale of a Paul Moore cabinet dollhouse for $17,500 including buyer's premium.

• Period recognition listed in the 1996 reference guide: Nutshell News (June 1985, February 1986, November 1989, September 1991); Miniatures Showcase (Vol. 2, Winter 1987); The Miniature Magazine (Spring 1981).

Research note: Descriptions of the 1994 and 1997 structures are based on the signed dates, photographs, and observations supplied by the client. The 1996 makers-marks reference is the principal contemporary biographical source used for Paul D. Moore.