MODELS IN CONTEXT
As I said in the Introduction, this book is not about how to build kits of model ships. This book is much more about taking those model ships, and putting them into context. By this I mean such ideas as: setting them in a realistic environment, be that sea, harbour or dockside, showing the relationships between different ships or boats, illustrating the various activities that may happen on or around ships, telling a story or suggesting an emotion.
I’m sure all model makers put their work into a form of context all the time. If you think about it, every time a child picks up a toy aeroplane and runs with it, making buzzing noises, he is putting it into context. It is the same thing when he pushes a little tank along the carpet, saying, ‘Pow, pow, pow!’ and flicking the Airfix soldiers over. We do the same thing as adults. Admit it, how many times have you picked up a model ship and held it in front of your face, moving it in a sort of corkscrew fashion, as though it is pushing through a heavy ocean swell? I do it all the time, and you do too, don’t you? That feels better already, doesn’t it? Recognising your inner child. End of psychology lesson!
Before I go any further, I should like to try and explain what I am meaning in this book when I talk about dioramas, because I am thinking in rather broader and less distinct terms than the people who define competition classes. These need precise and careful definitions so that similar models are judged against one another. The rules may include such matters as: comprising more that one model, being on other than a plain base, inclusion of figures that are not on the model itself, telling a story or illustrating a theme. I really could not care less about these rulebook classifications.
For me it is all about doing something with, or to, a model to improve the sense of reality. Some of the models that I shall show you, if entered in a diorama class, might find themselves moved because a judge said, ‘That’s not a diorama, it’s only a single ship’. And, do you know what? I really couldn’t be bothered, one way or t’other; I build models to satisfy myself, not the judges. It is the achievement of an apparent reality that is important to me.
On the other hand, I used to have good natured arguments with a friend of mine who ran the competitions at the Scottish IPMS Nationals. I would place my models in the category for single ships, only to find them moved into that for ship dioramas. When pressed, Geoff would say, ‘It’s got crew figures on it. That makes it a diorama.’
I would then point out that using the same logic, every tank that had its commander’s head poking out of the turret ought also to be regarded as a diorama. As they say, the judge’s decision is final, and my models would usually stay in the diorama class, which would be smaller than the one for single ships, and the competition proportionately less intense. After all, winning a silver medal in a class of two means precisely nothing. The boxer who is knocked out by the first punch still comes second.
I am speaking of this simply in order to illustrate the arbitrary nature of the definitions that are used to decide what a diorama is. In the course of this book, I shall be using the term very loosely. Please do not get hot under the collar about it. What I am going to try to show you is not how to win a competition, but how to have an artistic approach to your modelling, and impart an air of reality to your work.
So, what sort of things ought we to be building? What should our creations consist of?
I built dioramas as a child, during my AFV period. Like many of us, I am now embarrassed when I recall them, not so much because of the lack of modelling skills, but mainly because it was obvious that I had no idea of what I was conveying or how I was arranging the various components. I particularly remember one that had a base about eighteen inches square. A ditch went straight across with a knocked out 1/72 Airfix assault gun nose down in it. There was also a makeshift bridge from unpainted balsa wood, and a few Airfix figures running around, but precious little else. It was, I suppose, trying to tell a story of sorts, but it broke every rule of composition or proportion.
I mention this childhood effort because it illustrates the point that it is not enough simply to have a variety of components in a diorama; it requires that thought and imagination are employed to use them appropriately, melding them into a cohesive and satisfying whole.
Although the description ‘diorama’ is a useful shorthand word, and I continue to use it, I prefer to think in terms of models in a realistic context, and what they are trying to show or tell. I would suggest that there are a number of features, which, if incorporated into a model, will transform it into a diorama. There is no need to have all of them, just one of them might suffice, but having two or three would result in a much stronger composition. But trying to put all of them into a single model will risk producing something that is too busy and loses any focus on its central theme.
Such features include (but there will be others):
• More than one ship, or extra smaller vessels
• Shoreline or dockside
• Depiction of a relationship between vessels
• Human activity
• Industrial, military or naval activity
• Combat (but with major reservations regarding naval subjects)
• Depiction of a dramatic incident, either historical or imaginary
• Reproduction of some famous photograph or painting
• Depiction of an emotion
Similar features would apply to the dioramas produced by our colleagues in the armour modelling fraternity, and they have certain advantages over us ship modellers. Vehicles can pass very close to each other and can therefore be shown together on a base of reasonable size. Land combat can take place at close quarters and is therefore a suitable subject for a diorama for the same reason. If the human body is represented at a scale of 1/35, or even 1/76, it is possible to show posture, gesture and even facial expression. Such subtleties are denied to ship modellers working in small scales, and we have to express ourselves with metaphorical broad strokes. That, and we have to regard the ships as the personalities in our creations.
In addition, I think that there are certain basic characteristics that good dioramas ought to show, and I should like to discuss these, before moving on to give examples of ideas for good dioramas, and bad ideas that are best avoided.
A diorama should be visually pleasing and mentally satisfying
This is a very vague statement, and almost impossible to define. It is easier to give examples of what would make it unpleasing or unsatisfying. If you look at a painting that you think is perfect, it is very hard to say why that is so. In a painting that you thoroughly dislike, the bad points are usually pretty obvious.
The construction and finishing should be as good as we are capable of. We all have different skill levels, and that is quite OK, just as long as we are trying to do the best we can. But don’t look at work that is substandard for you and say, ‘That’s alright, I’ll just put it into a diorama and no one will notice.’ It will still be seen, perhaps even more so, as the eye is drawn in, to give close attention, especially in regard to the central subject.
It should be an appropriate size for the subject. We often see situations where the base has been chosen first of all, and the model forced to fit it. On the other hand, bases that are too big are equally bad. A large empty area of water lacks interest. Look at my model of HMS Hood, towards the end of this chapter, which I have included as an example of how NOT to make a diorama.
Try to avoid subjects that are illogical, impossible or ludicrous. Hood and Bismarck slogging it out on the same base, and only a few inches apart. Or two ships close together, in line abreast and going at flank speed. Both captains would be facing courts martial for endangering their ships. Far better to make two nice single ships than an arrangement that, although technically a diorama, is something that strikes the viewer as simply wrong.
A diorama should not be boring
If you have been to a model show or two, you will be sure to have seen what I would describe as ‘same old – same old’ dioramas. The usual culprits are military vehicle dioramas, but only because these form the majority of dioramas as a whole. Typically these will have a street corner with the shell of a bombed out building. There will be two or three, usually German, vehicles. And a group of officers will be consulting over a map. It does not matter how well constructed or painted it is, the subject has been done any number of times, and I have seen a hundred of them. I say to myself, ‘Oh, yes’, and move on to the next.
In a way, ship modelling has the opposite sort of problem. There are a few ships that are such common subjects, that they become boring, and ‘same old – same old’ subjects. How many Yamatos, Bismarcks, Iowa Class battleships or Essex Class carriers do you see?
But take that commonly modelled ship, place it into a context that says something, tells a story, or causes you make up your own story, and that Bismarck then stands above all those other Bismarcks.
A diorama should have suitable number of points of focus
To my mind, when a diorama works well, it does so by having a focus or point of major interest that attracts the eye, and pulls the viewer’s attention into the model. Subsidiary points of interest then draw the attention through and around the whole composition.
Imagine you are planning a diorama involving two ships. Let me suggest an aircraft carrier in the process of transferring fuel to one of its escorting destroyers. There is a relationship between the two ships, the act of refuelling. This makes it a logical composition, and the major point of focus will be the fuel pipe connecting the ships, and the knots of crewmen at either end. But there will be other points of focus too. Both ships are underway, and being close together, the officers on both bridges will be concentrating on keeping position. So the figures you put there will need to emphasise this. Perhaps the sea is a bit choppy, and you will show a variation in roll between the ships. If the ships are in hostile waters, a few fighter planes might be spotted on the carrier’s deck, with pilots and deck crew milling around. Flag signals add a touch of colour to the scene. Depending on the size of the scene, you may want to add a couple of other points to draw the attention, but not so many that the eye gets confused, and cannot see the most important features.
A diorama should have enough ‘stuff’ in it, but not too much
This idea follows on from the previous one, and is closely related to it. If we have a number of points of interest, or activity, in a composition, then our eyes have to be made aware of these, so that the attention can be drawn in. This happens when there is a contrast between the areas of interest and surrounding areas where less is happening.
Do not feel that every square inch of the diorama must be filled with activity, or ‘stuff’. There is no need for every piece of deck, or every platform, to have crew figures on them. If it appears as full as a ‘Where’s Wally?’ drawing, then it is all too easy to lose interest in finding what the whole thing is about. Do not be afraid of a bit of empty space, because it makes it easier for the eyes to follow the flow of the diorama.
During the 1970s and 1980s one of the best-known exponents of the military diorama was the Belgian modeller Francois Verlinden. His works appeared in all the magazines, and he published a number of books. Although he was very talented, and his work was cutting edge at the time, there was something I always disliked about his dioramas. He seemed to hate having an empty space, and always tried to fill it with something.
The scene might be, for example, a gun emplacement with an artillery piece. But the base would be evenly scattered with bits and pieces of equipment, large and small. You would see helmets, haversacks, water bottles and gas masks hanging from the gun shield or any other projection. There would be ammunition boxes, open and closed, piled all over the place, with shells resting against the gun trails. Rifles, spades and ranging poles would lean against anything vertical. To my mind, there was just too much stuff, and it was too evenly spread.
Another example of the same thing can be found in the work of my friend Jim Baumann. It is almost heresy to criticise Jim’s work, but I have spoken to him about this particular model, and he somewhat agrees with my opinion. I am talking about his Hog Islander diorama, which you will see on page 93. Jim has said to me that he originally planned something very simple, perhaps based around railway rolling stock, but kept being given samples of products from Battlefleet Models, and felt obliged to keep including them. The result is a modelling tour de force, but one that lacks a clear main point of focus, and is lessened thereby.
A diorama should tell a story, or illustrate a theme
When the modeller plans a diorama with a well-defined activity at the centre of it, it is likely that he is aware that he is telling a story. Take the idea I described above of the carrier and destroyer. If the vessels are chosen well, we know that they had a relationship at a specific point in history. We can assume that they came into close proximity some short time ago, that the process of refuelling is taking place, and that they are going to separate and take up their normal stations at some point in the near future. There you have it, a story. As long as he understands what he is looking at, the viewer will get the same story, exactly as if it were written in a book. The diorama works because of this.
But there are more subtle ways of storytelling. Some dioramas, such as my HMS Kent on page 22, invite the viewer to use their imagination; to ask questions about what is going on, and, in effect, to write their own story. This story will be different for each viewer, or for each time the model is examined. Their story will be different from my story, and even I will interpret the model differently each time I look at it.
You look at the picket boat by the quarterdeck accommodation ladder, and you start to wonder about the people. You start to involve yourself in what you imagine their lives might be about. It may well be that you have no conscious awareness of asking questions or imagining answers, but I have little doubt that it is going on unconsciously. This is why I think that this diorama, which is so simple that it is almost not a diorama, works so well.
Another excellent example, on page XXXX, is by my friend Mike McCabe, and is of the little Argentine aviso Commandante General Zapiola, calling in at a scientific station in Tierra del Fuego. This invites one to ask questions about isolation, loneliness, homesickness and the vital importance of human relationships. Although this diorama is only about 4 inches square, it says more to me than most models many times its size.
Ideas for diorama subjects
Let me try and suggest to you some subjects for dioramas which I think might be particularly good. I should like to point out that these represent my taste alone, and you are well within your rights to say, ‘Thank you, but no thank you’.
The obvious choice is to take two ships and put them together on the base. But it is vital for a sensible composition that a relationship between the two ships is clearly evident to any viewer. Just having two battleships travelling side by side is not going to cut the mustard, and as I mentioned above, will be ludicrous. But the idea of underway replenishment is another matter entirely, as it shows purpose and human activity.
How about a couple or even a small flotilla of destroyers or submarines moored alongside their depot ship?
Scratchbuilders might be tempted by the accidental ramming of HMS Victoria by HMS Camperdown in 1893. This would show the consequences of ships being too close together.
Ships in harbour will often have smaller vessels milling around them, going about their business. These could be the ship’s own boats, tugs, harbour craft such as lighters, colliers, oilers and victualling craft. There could be a specialist vessel such as a crane ship or barge. Or maybe, in more peaceful and trusting days than those we now live in, even pleasure craft having a nose around the big warships. I call this basic diorama idea ‘Dancing in Attendance’, and you will see several in this book.
A variation on this idea might be an attack transport ship, lowering its landing craft, which are circling around, waiting to take up formation and head towards the shore.
Harbour and dockside scenes are popular and a source of endless variety. Provided the choice is sensible and not entirely random, ships moored at a quayside have a reason to be close together, and thereby fitting onto a sensibly sized base. You can also have fun making the buildings, cranes, vehicles, locomotives and rolling stock, and then also considering the activity taking place, such as damage repairs, painting the ship’s hull, refitting, victualling, loading or unloading cargoes, homecoming, departure, etc. I have an idea for a kit of an Iron Duke Class battleship, during peacetime in the 1920s, with a ball taking place on the quarterdeck, complete with carriages and limousines on the dockside, bringing the guests.
A combat situation is a tempting choice, but be careful, because of the distances involved. It may be best to use only one ship, and look at the combat from a single point of view. For example, take a US destroyer, at full speed and heeling heavily as it executes a tight evasive turn. All of its guns and directors, as well as the attention of every crew member are directed at one point in the sky, from which the viewer is invited to imagine the kamikaze attack is coming.
If there is a situation where combat was at extremely close quarters, then this might be a good choice. Two subjects that spring to mind are the crippled destroyer HMS Glowworm, trying to ram the German cruiser Hipper, and the American destroyer USS Laffey as she found herself only a few yards from the battleship Hiei.
National pride or sensitivity will play an important part in subject choice, particularly where combat is involved. As a Brit, I have every intention of portraying the obsolete destroyer Campbeltown, her decks crowded with khaki commandos, and in the process of changing flags from the German to the White Ensign, heading to a glorious ‘suicide’ at St Nazaire. Or what about the ‘little ships’ at Dunkirk, or the death throes of Ark Royal?
I have no doubt that American modellers will draw inspiration from their own naval heritage, Pearl Harbor coming immediately to mind, or perhaps USS Ward, if there is a wish to keep things simple. Another dramatic idea might be the USS Birmingham alongside the crippled Princeton. If you want to do the Japanese surrender ceremony on board the USS Missouri, it is possible to buy a complete fret of photo-etched figures, including a camera and tripod.
An RNLI lifeboat could be shown rescuing crew from a foundering merchantman in a heavy storm. This might be a fitting tribute to the courageous and unpaid volunteers who man these boats, and who sometimes make the ultimate sacrifice for others.
Although emotion is a human attribute, I believe it is possible for a diorama to portray emotion, without there being any visible human presence at all. If painters and photographers can do it, why can’t we? If you manage to imbue the ships with enough personality, they become surrogate humans. Imagine a rotting, derelict wooden pier, perhaps with a tumble down shack on the end or next to it. Tied up alongside are two forgotten tugboats, windows broken, doors and hatches open, paint faded and peeling and rust of various colours on every metal surface. Nobody has trodden their decks for years, and even the ship-breaker doesn’t want to know. The only ‘friends’ these vessels have are each other, and maybe the gulls depositing their guano. The atmosphere of neglect and desolation is heightened by the very absence of any human figure from the scene.
You can find inspiration for similar dioramas in photographs of once-proud warships being broken up after the end of the Second World War.
DIORAMA COMPOSITION
Let us suppose that you have decided what the subject of your diorama is going to be, and that you have chosen the models that you are going to use. I should now like to give you some thoughts on how to make a satisfying composition.
The first consideration ought to be the size and shape of the base. The most important factor deciding this question ought to be the dimensions of the model ships themselves and the size necessary to enclose them without them either seeming cramped by a base that is too small, or lost in one that is too big. The base should not force you to place the models in an awkward position.
We often see dioramas where the base has been chosen before the ships. One of the main culprits is a ready-made picture frame. Let’s assume it is intended to take an A4 sized picture. It’s just a touch too short to accommodate the 1/350 destroyer that the modeller (not you, I hope) is building. ‘But look, if it is put diagonally from corner to corner, it will just fit in.’ The result is a ship that is squeezed, or ‘shoe-horned’ into a space that it does not fit, and there is a triangle of water on either side. However well things have been built, and whatever other items are included in the diorama, there is no hiding the fact that the overall composition has been cobbled together inappropriately.
It is a much better idea to work out your arrangement on paper, decide the exact size and shape of base that you need, and either build your own, or get it custom made. Doing it yourself is not difficult, and I will show you how later on.
Other factors come into play when deciding on base size, such as how it is to be stored and kept safe from damage and dust, or the need to transport it to and from model clubs and shows, and how well it will fit into your car.
When I am making a model that is simply a single waterline ship on a sea base, and not to be considered as a diorama, I make a base that conforms quite closely to the dimensions of the ship. I give myself around 5 cm clearance at both bow and stern and on both sides, resulting in a base that can be quite long and narrow, and does not detract attention from the ship itself. The ship is placed exactly along the centreline of the base, parallel to, and equidistant from both sides. The effect that I am aiming for is to give the impression that the ship and a piece of water have simply been ‘lifted out of the world’. I think the parallels emphasise this idea. The function of the water is simply to show that the ship is floating, and whether or not it is moving. The focus of attention is the ship and the sea must not detract from this, either by its shape or extent.
When I build a diorama I am doing something entirely different. The base of a diorama is part of the world. The ships are in this bit of world, this microcosm, if you like. The viewer’s eye must be drawn into the arrangement and encouraged to move from one part to another, in order to admire every bit of my handiwork. The base has a vital role to play here. It gives sufficient space for the various elements of the diorama to appear as separate entities, but still to have the relationships between each other that I want to show.
Which brings me, at last, to the matter of avoiding parallels and diagonals. It is said that ‘Nature abhors a straight line’. This is not entirely true; think of the sides of a crystal or the path that a ray of light follows. But in general terms, straight lines are a human invention; the natural world prefers a degree of irregularity. If you include a bit of irregularity in your diorama design, this will mimic the real world to some extent.
If you avoid placing the various elements so that they are parallel to the edges of the base, or on the exact centre line or diagonal, and try to have them so that they are a touch skewed, off-centre, etc, you will break up the base into areas that are of varying sizes and shapes. This will encourage the eye to move around the scene from one part to another and always find something interesting. On the other hand, too much regularity in the way that things are set out will restrict the way the eye moves and cause it to just go back and forth. Admittedly, some things will need to be parallel, such as a ship tied up alongside a quay, or two ships that are moving side by side in a refuelling scene. But by twisting the whole arrangement around, just by a small amount, within the confines of the base you will achieve a much greater sense of life.
I spoke earlier about having a number of ‘points of focus’ in a diorama. These are areas in the composition which should be of interest to the viewer, and to which his attention should be drawn. It might seem obvious to place the point of major interest right in the centre of the composition, because this is where the attention would tend to go first of all. If you do this, the attention will certainly go to that point of interest, but it will tend to stay there, be reluctant to move away, and the whole arrangement will seem rather static, bland and unexciting.
Place the main points of focus, and I hope you will have two or three of them, away from the centre of the base, although not right at the edges, either. What will then happen is that the eye will start off in the centre, be drawn away, first to one point of focus and then another, perhaps round in a circle and then back again. This creates what I would describe as a ‘tension’ between the areas of interest. By this, I do not mean the sense of anticipation, excitement and anxiety that is built up in a James Bond film. Tension in a diorama, or any kind of picture, is that sensation you get when you realise that your attention is being pulled from one thing to another and back again, and so on. You are able to easily identify those parts of the composition that are important without being confused by lots of trivia, the only function of which is to fill up empty spaces.
This photo and the next are intended to illustrate the idea of avoiding parallels and diagonals. The three hulls represent two destroyers moored at a single buoy, and another approaching to tie up alongside them. A boat is taking the picking up rope to the buoy. Here the stationary ships are parallel to the sides of the base, and the moving one is only very slightly skewed. I think the composition looks rather static and bland
It is very likely that some dioramas that you make will have smaller vessels or boats arranged around, or in relationship to a larger one. In general it is a good idea to try to have the smaller craft pointing or moving towards the centre of the composition, rather than towards the edges. The viewer’s eye will tend to follow the direction of travel of these craft and will be drawn into the diorama.
But, as with many rules, this can be broken with good effect. Suppose the diorama has a theme of ‘Farewell’ or ‘Departure’. A small craft moving away, perhaps with crewmen waving to it from the ship, will show this idea quite well.
As I write this, it occurs to me that in my diorama of the armoured cruiser HMS Cumberland the positioning of the two barges goes against this advice. So I’ve put some photos of it here to show you. Both are pointing outwards, towards the edges of the diorama. With regards to the one that is underway, this is because I wanted to show the starboard side of the craft, in order to demonstrate the distinctive rig of the spritsail barge. The diagonal sprit supporting the mainsail is always on the starboard side of the sail. In retrospect, I might have done better to have the barge in the rear left corner, still sailing towards the right, and turned the cruiser round the other way, and on the opposite diagonal, with the bows towards the front left. To this one I hold my hands up, ‘Guilty as charged, your Honour.’
I have now made the base slightly wider from front to rear: This gives me the space to put an angle between the moored destroyers and the edge of the base, and also to increase the angle that the single destroyer is at. I am assuming that it has its engines idling, and that it is, in fact, practically stationary. I think that this arrangement is more satisfactory as the eye finds the angles more exciting, and in the finished scene would be encouraged to flit around as though it were on a pinball machine.
The reason for the positioning of the barge at the ship’s quarterdeck is less avoidable. I reckoned that if a sailing craft were to approach the ship’s quarter from astern, it would run the risk of catching its rigging on the casemate 6 inch guns. I also wanted to show off the elegant and colourfully painted transom stern. So in this second case there is logic for breaking the rule.
With the mainsail brailed up on this barge, the sprit is obvious. But you can also see how the rigging would have got entangled with the guns if it had tried to approach from astern
The barge by the cruiser’s bow. This is actually taken from the rear of the diorama. The interesting sprit is on the other side of the sail, and would be visible when viewed from the front
How NOT to plan a diorama. I made this model of HMS Hood around the year 2000. It won the ship diorama class at Telford. I was surprised, and chuffed to ninepence at the time, but I no longer think I deserved it. The base is far too big, resulting in a vast expanse of empty water, which is distracting to the eye by the very fact that there is nothing in it. The decks look almost void of any activity, and that’s true, there is almost nothing happening. The main focus of attention is not at the dead centre, which would be bad, but it is right at the stern, which is actually worse
Admiral Holland being welcomed on board the ship, prior to her last, tragic sortie. Apart from a few men on the foredeck, fiddling with the capstan, and something happening around one of the 4 inch mountings, this is just about the only activity in the diorama. Do you know what I think? ‘BORING!
I had just finished writing a section about storytelling in dioramas when, by a spooky coincidence, I discovered photos of this diorama on the Internet. It is called ‘Fairy Tale of the River’, by Katarzyna Manikowska, from Poland. It is a card model of an oil tanker from the River Volga. It is sailing past the Hut of Baba Yaga. She is a witch from Eastern European folklore, and her hut walks around on chicken’s legs. She has mounted everything not on a conventional base, but on a length of driftwood. This adds to the dreamlike quality of the composition. Or maybe it’s more of a nightmare! Whatever, I think it is storytelling of the first order. (THIS PHOTO AND THE FOLLOWING THREE BY KATARZYNA MANIKOWSKA)
And here you see how she is starting to build up the diorama as a whimsical piece of fantasy. Using the driftwood as a base, she is not being so hidebound by the conventional ideas of ‘realism’ as most of the rest of us. Quite honestly I love it!
Another of Katarzyna’s dioramas. You can tell exactly what the story is here. This is a card model as well. They are very popular in Germany and Eastern Europe. They are available with a vast variety of subjects. Ships are generally 1/200 or 1/250 scale, and some are of the most mind-boggling complexity
And a final example of storytelling from Katarzyna. This is 1/350, and the whole thing is only about 5cm across. The fisherman is trying to catch an impossibly big fish, bigger than the boat itself. You know exactly what is going to happen here. The fish will get off the hook, the guys will spend a drunken evening in the quayside bar, and absolutely nobody will believe a word of their story of ‘the one that got away!’ This is not a truly realistic story or situation. But if it makes you smile, then it matters not one iota!