If you’ve read any of my previous posts it should be clear that my musings are often triggered by podcasts. This one is no exception.

Sadly, the nature of the internet means one has to preface any commentary with various caveats, if only to assuage my anxiety that (despite choosing words rather carefully) I’ll be misunderstood. So please take it as read that this is all meant in the friendliest of possible terms and written with a great deal of affection and gratitude for all the podcasts and the amount of effort they put into generating content which, after all, is free.

I was listening to the Plastic Posse Podcast’s latest episode (#73) and their second conversation topic caught my interest: Modelling Outside Your Comfort Zone. If I have a slight grumble about many (but not all!) podcast discussions, it’s that they tend to be too consensual. Given the podcasts are usually hosted by friends, this is completely understandable, but as a natural contrarian I do like a good argument, and so I want to stick my oar in with a minority dissenting opinion on the grounds it’s always nice to hear an unexpected disagreement rather than a predictable confirmation.

The main point of near-universal agreement was that modelling outside your comfort zone is a good thing, but this was couched pretty much exclusively in terms of subject, genre and scale. And the upshot was you absolutely should not limit yourself in these terms. But since I do arbitrarily limit myself in all three of these terms, and do so with joy, I’ve taken it upon myself to articulate the benefits (for me) of these voluntary limitations.

Now, there is some ambiguity in what the PPP were actually discussing. The various questions could be listed as: ‘Does modelling in a different genre kill your mojo?’ ‘Should you limit what you build?’ and ‘Should you build across scales or genres?’ These are related but quite distinct questions. And then there’s the matter of how they relate to a ‘comfort zone’ and what that might even be. I realise, therefore, that these meandering thoughts are not a precise response to what was quite a free-flowing and wide-ranging discussion.

If you’re reading this, you are probably already aware of my approach to what I choose to model, in the same way everyone knows what Chris Becker is about, and thus I risk flogging my dead horse, but I’m going to do it anyway. For clarity, since 1994 I’ve only bought and made 1/48 models of post-WWII military aircraft, and only ever one of each subject. And if that’s not bad enough, I only make one project at a time. Everything else is, arbitrarily, off limits to me.

I think that had I been participating in the PPP’s discussion, this would have seemed a rather bonkers position to hold. I really want to make a model of a Grumman F11F Tiger, but one doesn’t exist in 1/48 (well, not one I’d want to build, anyway). So why don’t I make it in 1/72? I really like the B-52, and would love to have that in my collection, but 1/48 is too big, so why not make in 1/144? And I’d really like a Bristol Beaufort as well, but that was a WWII aircraft, so why limit myself? And what about dioramas, and all the cars I like, and the Gundams which seem so interesting, and the endless figure-painting YouTube videos I watch – what about all these subjects I’ll never get to model? And then there’s model trains…

I love all things miniature and I’ve cut myself off from the vast majority of them. Why?

Because life is finite, I am finite, and my time and resources are finite. I cannot have everything everywhere all at once. And so I make choices. I’ve made choices before which have been extremely limiting and have worked out pretty well. I chose my wife (and she chose me!) and that’s been exclusively exclusive. We chose to have kids, and nothing has limited me like having kids. I’ve made radical changes in career direction which have, on the face of it, trashed what I’d invested in: there are not many front line police officers who have a PhD and speak Chinese. I regret none of these limitations of choice and what they have cut me off from.

I’m also a great believer in what I like being somewhat under my control. Not entirely, of course; ultimately there is no accounting for taste. But my distaste for classic music is a problem that lies with me, not the music; I just haven’t bothered to learn about it, to appreciate it. And I didn’t like my first beer, but I certainly liked the last. I don’t drink coffee – never have, never will – but I have no doubt that if I set my mouth to it, I could learn to love it. I mean, *really* love it. As per my last post on Inspiration, I’ve learned to like aircraft I’m not interested in at all, and the emotion tends to follow the choice. I’ve learned, in these areas if not many others, to be content to flourish where I’m planted, and not hanker after what lies elsewhere.

So what are the benefits? Well, primarily for me is the restraint it imposes on my tendency to excess. My collection currently spans 353 models, 190 of which remain unbuilt. This is already a significant investment of time and money, but who knows what ridiculous heights my hobby-obsession could have attained were I promiscuous with subject, genre and scale? Some might say that’s a matter of self-control, but then that’s what this entire post is about…

I’ve been forced to focus, and I like that.

It also takes the stress of decision making out of the equation. It seems strange to be writing ‘stress’ when I’m talking about a hobby, but it’s a perennial podcast and Facebook discussion topic, and I think you know what I mean. It’s like school uniform (or, for that matter, my work uniform). This might be a foreign concept to non-UK readers, but practically all schools in my country require all students to wear a uniform until they’re 16 (and sometimes beyond). There are many benefits to such a policy, but one of them is you simply don’t have to make the choice: ‘What shall I wear today?’ When I walk into a model shop, or browse online, the ‘Shall I buy this?’ question almost never comes to my mind. I’ve already bought every kit that fits into my collection – I’m just buying the new releases now.

I’ve been forced into simplicity, and I like that.

Limitation of choice also brings depth of knowledge. I know a lot about what I have given myself to, and very little about everything else. It follows I know very little about other genres, World War I or 2, 1/72, 1/35 or 1/144. But I do know about 1/48 post-war military aircraft: show me any 1/48 jet kit and I’ll tell you if it’s any good, what’s right about it and what’s wrong about, who’s reboxed it and how much it’s worth. I know a lot about a little.

I’ve been forced to dive deep, and I like that.

And then there’s the fact I’m building a collection, but that’s not really relevant to this topic, so I’ll move on…

But what about this comfort zone? Because I do believe in transgressing that, I do believe in stretching myself, I do believe in trying new things. In my case, that’s the unintended beauty of the choice I made in 1994. Had I limited myself to US Navy aircraft or US military aircraft (which were real options for me, only displaced by the arrival of Airfix’s first 1/48 Buccaneer – an irony which anyone who’s built that kit should appreciate) then my choice would never have endured, for the boundaries would have been too tight. As it turns out, the choice I did make allows for all the variation I’ve needed thus far. I get to model WW2 designs and stealth fighters. I get to paint glossy red and white trainers and seriously mucky props. I’ve had endless experiments with natural metal (including three attempts with foil), had to rig biplanes, figure out aquatic weathering on things that float, make vacforms and resin kits, learn to scribe, and so on. There’s always something to push, something new to do. I decided whilst listening to the PPP that next year I’m going to brush paint an A-6 Intruder, just to push myself and apply some of the Warhammer figure painting videos I’ve been watching. Maybe one day I’ll scratchbuild, like my friend Nick Hooper. About the only thing I’ve excluded myself from is tracks, and I think I can live with that. The possibilities are not endless, but the horizon is sufficiently far away for my comfort zone to expand some distance yet.

This has ended up a lot longer than I intended, and I’ve probably said very little of interest. As I always end: I’m certainly not saying what you should do, merely advocating for what I do. And I am not you and you are not me, and that’s the way things not only should be, but are. *Should* you build outside your subject/genre/scale? Absolutely not. *Should* you build whatever you want to build? Absolutely, yes.

Back to home.

© Copyright 2023. All Rights Reserved. Jonathan Bryon.

A while ago my friend John Chung asked me what inspired me when it came to my next project. I’m a one-kit-at-a-time kind of guy and thus inoculated against the temptation to start something on impulse, and was slightly nonplussed by the question: why do I choose to build what I do?

After giving it some thought I concluded I’m not inspired. At least I don’t think I am. And this struck me as rather odd.

Fast forward a few months and the most recent episode of the excellent Model Geeks Podcast featured this as their main topic of conversation: ‘Modeling (sic) Inspiration’. It’s in episode 56 if you fancy a listen, and you should, because it was very interesting. All kinds of sources of inspiration were discussed: personal connection to the subject, history, a heroic story, model shows, air shows, a photograph, and so on. But again I thought, ‘I don’t think I’m inspired by any of these things’. And that struck me as rather odd.

Now, let me be clear: I am not knocking the MGP nor their discussion of it. And it’s a perennial topic in all kinds of corners of the hobby, and I’m not knocking those discussions either. And I’m not knocking any of the answers – these really are sources of inspiration. And I’m certainly not knocking other modellers and how they practice this hobby. It’s just that clearly I’m odd, and I’d like to know why. The discussion is about what moves you to start a kit, and I have realised I am simply not moved in this way.

In my reply to John, I figured out that I am building a collection. The parameters of that collection are broad, but very tightly adhered to: 1/48 post-WWII aircraft, and only one of each marque – no duplicates. If a kit fits these parameters, I’ll almost certainly buy it, and thus my purchasing is not driven by impulse or inspiration, but simply by definition. The last kit I bought was Trumpeter’s new Mil Mi-4, a green blob of a helicopter that I know nothing about, but it fits my collection, so I had to have it. There are some kits that qualify that I won’t consider, usually for practical reasons, such as the expense (but mainly size) of a 1/48 B-36, B-52, B-1 or B-2. The upcoming JetMads Neptune is tempting, but I know it will simply be impractically large, and so I’ll pass, but on the whole I add to my stash in a fairly disciplined, programmatic way.

In broad terms, my choice of project is governed by how long a kit has been in the stash – kits that have been hanging around in my loft longer move towards the top of my list. In February 2023, when the time came to start the next project, it was the Hasegawa Phantom FG.1 which I’d had the longest, and so that was what I started. Inspiration, impulse and emotion simply didn’t feature in the decision; to some extent, it was made for me by the arbitrary rules I have constructed. My current method is to then build all the related aircraft in my stash, so now I’m making the Academy F-4B kit I have (as a G) and next month I will start the Tamiya F-4B. I like this method because it means I build fairly stochastically through the stash.

Between more involved projects, I like to bang out a quick single-engine prop. The last of these was the Trumpeter Nanchang CJ-6 I finished in January. I had no interest in this subject: it is an average kit of a boring plane finished in a boring scheme. There is no inspiration involved at all; it simply fits my collection and so it needed to be added. And I loved it.

And this is the odd thing: I am never inspired before starting a kit, but I jolly well become inspired once I’ve started. I can’t help it. Later this year I’m going make Academy’s 1/48 CH-53E. I’m not interested in the Super Stallion. I don’t look at photos of it and think, ‘I really want to make that’. I feel completely uninterested in it, plus the kit is basic, it will take a lot of work, I’ve spent a ton on aftermarket, and I already know the kit stencil decals have to be used and will suck. Yet when I start it I know that I will become entranced. I’ll be thinking about it all the time until it’s done, I’ll be poring over endless photos, I’ll learn about all the modifications it underwent during its service lifetime; I’ll be obsessed. And when it’s done I’ll do the same with the Hawker Hunter. And this strikes me as odd.

I’m learning to live with this oddness. I’ve learned that if I wait for the impulse, the inspiration, to be moved into sitting at the bench and making something, I’ll never do anything. The activation energy is too high; it’s easier to watch YouTube and flick through Facebook. I sit down at the bench as a matter of habit, regardless of the desire to, and then the emotion flows.

Coincidentally, I recently watched Nick Cave’s interview on Unherd (Nick Cave: Christ, the Devil and the duty to offend). I’m not a particular Nick Cave fan. I’ve watched him from a distance for thirty years and bought only one of his albums, but I think he’s a pretty interesting guy and articulate with it, and he speaks a little in this interview about his creative process. He sits down at 9.30am every weekday and works until 5.30pm (or whatever – I don’t recall the exact times) and that’s his creative time. He’s disciplined and regular about it. He does it whether he feels like it or not. And within those parameters he is incredibly creative. He goes to church, and he goes to church not out of impulse or desire, but to bring order to his creativity. He intentionally creates the space and the structure to allow his creativity to flourish.

I am not creative like Nick Cave. In fact, I think the reason modelling appeals to me is because it can (notice the work that little word is doing, and so I repeat, ‘can’) be practised in a way where creative input is minimal. For me that’s a feature – so much of the form is already given to me I don’t need much creative vision to turn out something I can appreciate looking at. My creativity is mainly worked out in sermon-writing rather than model-making. Yet in a very faint way, I recognise what Nick Cave was talking about – the need to not fall into the trap of thinking all that is of worth comes from the spontaneous, that all that is authentic is a matter of impulse, that discipline is bondage and doing what you want to do when you want to do it is freedom. I think it was Stanley Hauerwas who said that planning is simply spontaneity in slow-motion.

But hark! I preach too much. This is a hobby and the last thing I want to do is lecture. No, my aim is simply to broaden the discussion a little. I love hearing about what inspires people, because I love hearing about how people engage with our hobby. There’s no right or wrong way to do it, just your way, and this is my way. I’ve mapped out my build schedule for the next three years. Yes, it will be tweaked and modified for arbitrary reasons. I decided a few weeks ago that in early 2024 I’ll make my Academy Hunter F.6 simply because I realised it will be the last Academy kit in my stash, and it pleases me to expunge that manufacturer from the attic. And that then entails I’ll make my recently acquired Airfix Hunter F.5, because that’s the other Hunter kit I’ve got. I’m not interested in the Hunter, and I think it’s a spectacularly bland airframe in a dull colour scheme, but I will really get into them once I’ve started. So I reserve the right to change my plans as and when I wish, but the future is sketched out: for the next few years I know what I’ll build and when. It’s just the way I am.

And that strikes me as rather odd, and I think I’ve made my peace with it.

Back to home.

© Copyright 2023. All Rights Reserved. Jonathan Bryon.

Today I tried to add scratchbuilt detail to a kit. And it sucked.

I’ve never been that interested in scratchbuilding. I am a man of limited imagination and craftsmanship, and the main reason I like making kits are the defined parameters: there is a box of bits, and from it I shall create a model. There’s no blank canvas; it’s a bit like painting by numbers. The sky is not the limit; I’m following the instructions.

Now, of course, over the years I’ve extended those boundaries. I treat the instructions as advice, not a rule book. And however much work one puts into the finish of a model, more could always have been done to make it more realistic, or interesting, or visually pleasing. And inaccuracies have been corrected, and details refined, and parts added from the spares box, and other parts replaced. I’m not a complete modelling luddite.

In the past year or so, I’ve stretched myself by dabbling in a little scratchbuilding, but always on the big exterior stuff, on the stuff that matters to me. So with my Classic Airframes Duck I created quite large, new fuselage parts from nothing other than plastic card and superglue. The kit was wrong and I couldn’t live with it, so I fixed it myself. The results were, even if I do say so myself, really rather good.

When it came to my more recent Kinetic F-84F Thunderstreak, the same thing happened: I wanted to model a particular airframe, and the kit was substantially different. I needed to shorten the tail fin by about 10mm, which was easy and doesn’t really count as scratchbuilding, but I also needed to completely replace the lower rear fuselage, and that definitely does count, at least in my book. Again, I surprised myself with the results.

Cut to my current build, Academy’s 1/48 CH-46E Sea Knight. I was fortunate enough to be pointed to an excellent walkaround for this helicopter which shows that the interior cargo bay is way, way more complicated than depicted in the kit. I am using an Eduard Big Ed set, but to be honest it adds almost no interior detail and a lot of what it does add is wrong. In the past I wouldn’t have cared and just painted what Academy provide as best as I can and button it all up, but for some reason I wanted to add the detail. I don’t know why; maybe I’ve was looking at John Chung’s magnificent Hornet with its scratchbuilt interior detail and thought to myself, ‘I’ll have some of that. How hard can it be?’

Well it turns out *really* hard. At least for me. To avoid biting off more than I can chew, I did limit myself to the forward end of the interior. After all, the ramp and doors were all going to be shut, and the only view inside would be past the guns at the front and the open upper door behind the cockpit. I just needed to add the wiring right up at the forward end and that would be enough – black paint and limited visibility would hide the rest. With lead and copper wire of many diameters in hand, I set to copying the photos.

What ensued were a miserable couple of hours. Even though I was only detailing a few square inches, progress was painfully slow, immensely frustrating and the results looked crap. And this is where the title of this little post comes in. I’ve never cared about interior detail in the past. If there’s decent aftermarket, and I’ve got it, then fine, I’ll add it and paint it, but I’ve always considered it a largely wasted effort on my models. No one sees the insides so no one cares, including me, so why should I care about it on the CH-46? There isn’t really any good reason. If I’d reflected a bit more on myself as a modeller, I’d have known the detailing project was a waste of time and doomed to fail; my heart was never going to be in it. I love it when other people do it – it looks amazing – but it just doesn’t float my boat for what I want to do with my hands.

So I’ve learned this in 2022: scratchbuilding for accuracy on the exterior: YES. Scratchbuilding for interior detail: NO.

At this point, a well-meaning person might tell me stick with it. It looks crap because you’re inexperienced. Develop those skills, and your interiors can look like Fanch Lubin’s, too! But I know myself and I know this about modelling: if you want a detailed interior, you will need time. Lots of it. Like maybe only building-one-kit-a-year time, and I just don’t want that. I want this model done by December, Christmas at the latest. That is way more important to me than interior detail. I listened to Julian in the latest On The Bench episode where he commented that figure modelling is a whole separate hobby, and who’s got time for that? I reckon interior scratchbuilding is the same. I’ve already got one hobby – building my stash. I haven’t got time for another, to be messing around with interiors.

At the risk of sounding like a broken record, I do reckon that modellers in general underappreciate how different we all are. There’s lots of well-meaning advice given on how to get better, how to get more productive, how to get more creative, and much of it good. But whether it works or not will depend on who you are and what goal(s) you’re working towards. Adding interior detail works against my modelling goals. I’ve heard it (strongly) recommended that modellers should build in multiple genres to be better modellers. I’ve heard it that shelf queens are the product of better modellers because it shows you know when to stop, pause and overcome a hurdle, and produce something better in the long run. This might be great advice if you want to be the best modeller, a Paul Budzik or a David Parker. But it’s no good to me because, whilst I do want to be a better modeller, I’m constrained by the goal I have: to build 6-8 1/48 post-WWII aircraft per year. That’s the goal, and there’s no sign of it changing any time soon. About an hour into adding lead wire to the interior of a CH-46 I realised I was not working towards this goal, but rather away from it, and I almost jacked the whole kit in out of frustration. Things have recovered now: I’ll just paint what Academy, Eduard and my shoddy detailing have provided and be happy with it. Quality and quantity: it’s a direct trade-off.

I’m not a psychologist, although I would love more discussion on the psychology and philosophy of modelling, but I’m a firm believer in knowing yourself. Figure out what it is you want and make a plan to work towards that. Listen to advice that aids you in that goal, and ignore that which distracts. I hope this is not the pot calling the kettle black. You may completely disagree with me (or simply not care), and that’s okay. There is no right way or wrong way, but my way might correspond with your way, or overlap with his way, or be going in a completely different direction from her way. If I can figure that out, I can figure out what sort of conversation we’re going to have.

Still, if the aftermarket had done the work for me and offered a properly detailed CH-46 cargo bay, I would have snapped it up and loved making it.

Back to home.

© Copyright 2022. All Rights Reserved. Jonathan Bryon.

I’ve just finished listening to the latest episode of the Sprue Cutters Union podcast, which was excellent as always. It was the anniversary episode featuring a great discussion between the three hosts, Paul Budzik and David Parker. I highly recommend you give it a listen.

Towards the end of their chat the discussion skates over the fact we do this hobby for fun; it’s not like exercise. And since I was listening whilst doing some exercise, that got me thinking: do I make models for fun? Because I’m not sure I do.

If my wife were to come into my modelling room at any given moment and ask me, “Are you having fun?” I’m pretty sure the answer would be, “No”. It’s not that I’m having the opposite of fun, whatever that is, but it’s just not an adjective I’d use to describe how I feel about modelling, in the same way I wouldn’t describe it as ‘exciting’ or ‘painful’.

But who cares, right? This is surely just semantics. I know that when they touched on this on the podcast they were not making a technical philosophical argument, but meant that this is a hobby, it’s not work (for most of us), it’s optional, a choice; you really can take it or leave it. But I think it might matter, at least to me, and the words we use are important because words are powerful and have consequences.

I suppose I react a little against the ‘it’s meant to be fun’ trope because of the expectations that sets. What do I find fun? Drinking a bit too much with mates is fun. Driving at 150mph on the M25 is fun. Going to Telford for SMW is fun. Having sex is fun. Watching decent comedy is fun. Talking with Scott Gentry and John Bonnani on the Plastic Posse Podcast was fun. Loads of things are fun. And when I sit down at my model bench to sand out a seam, mask a canopy or apply decals should I expect the thirty minutes I spend doing that to be fun? For me, no. It’s not. The worry I therefore have is that if I expect modelling to be ‘fun’ and I sit down and it doesn’t match the experience I get from these other activities, does that mean I’m not going to do it? Is the mythical mojo going to be depleted? Am I asking to much of scale modelling?

My personal perspective (and bear in mind I have written those three words!) is that present day society does hype up our expectations of what we should feel when we engage in fairly ordinary activities. Take work. It seems blindingly obvious to us that you should aim for work that is enjoyable, even though you do not have to go back many generations before that concept would have been nonsensical for vast swathes of humanity. I know the pressure my daughters are facing is the need to find a career they enjoy.

People often ask me that: do you enjoy your job? I never know how to answer. If I say ‘yes’ it implies I enjoy picking up dead bodies, depriving people of their liberty, telling them off, taking their vehicles off them, making them poorer. No one should enjoy these things. I recently stopped a private hire vehicle taking a couple to an airport. It turned out the driver had no licence. I had no choice but to seize his vehicle; they missed their flight. Did I enjoy that? Of course not. But if I say ‘no’ people don’t understand why I do it. If I don’t enjoy it, why not do something else? It would be easy to change.

Like ‘fun’ and ‘modelling’, ‘enjoy’ and ‘policing’ are not a happy pairing for me. But I do both, and both for positive reasons. Maybe I need to find other adjectives.

The SCU guys made a joke about exercise, and the implication it’s not fun. And I completely agree. I loathe exercise with every fibre of my being, yet for professional reasons and to avoid dying from a heart attack before I’m 70 (like my dad), I do it. Regularly. It hurts, it costs me money, and I could spend the time doing something I enjoy or find fun, but I exercise anyway because that’s my expectation: this is good for me and I don’t expect to be having fun at the gym.

To not quite the same extent that’s how I approach my daily modelling sessions. I’m not expecting to have fun, and I think that’s a central reason why I don’t suffer from the mojo-problem. I have no expectations of what emotions the ensuing thirty to sixty minutes will engender. Satisfaction, tedium, pleasure, frustration, enjoyment, disappointment – they will all feature in unpredictable and fleeting moments. It will be what it will be. In the long run, the pleasure will outweigh the frustration and a new model will grace the shelves in the living room. And for me that’s where the real satisfaction and pleasure will be obtained. I know lots of modellers are all about the journey and the model at the end is somewhat disposable, but not me. Looking at completed models is what I enjoy the most, and that’s what keeps me making more (and makes it critically important I make quite a few). I would rather know a little about a lot than a lot about a little (I’ve tried both, and it’s the main reason I hated doing my PhD); similarly, I’d rather make a lot of models to a competent standard than a very few to an exceptional standard. Until I’m retired (if I’m ever blessed to be), I think that choice will always be one I have to grapple with because of the tension between quality and quantity.

One of my great themes is that you are you and I am me. Much conflict on modelling social media platforms could be eliminated if people just realised this. So what I am certainly not saying is that modelling can’t be fun. Of course it can be, and if it is for you, more power to you! But if it’s not fun, it might be worth asking the question: Am I asking to much from this hobby? Is ‘fun’ a reasonable expectation of what it can offer me?

But listening to modelling podcasts: now, that is fun. You can find a list of them here: http://modelpodcasts.com/

Back to home.

© Copyright 2022. All Rights Reserved. Jonathan Bryon.

I love listening to the modelling podcasts, which was a revelation as I was convinced the subject matter wouldn’t lend itself to an audio-only format. How wrong I was; I enjoy them all.

Whilst listening to one of the recent Plastic Model Mojo episodes, Dave Knights made a comment along the lines of, “I have only 30 minutes and that isn’t enough time to do what I need to do next”. Now, I think that’s the gist of it. I can’t remember what Dave actually said, and it sounded like a rather throwaway comment, but I’ve emailed him and I think this is a fair representation. I’m not going to go trawling through the last five episodes to find one sentence of audio!

But it did catch my attention and got me thinking, since I often model in thirty minute chunks. In fact, I don’t think there’s anything I can’t make a significant dent in if I’ve got thirty minutes: parts can be glued together, seams can be filled and sanded, a model can be primed or painted, decals added, something masked…the project can always be moved forward. It may not be the most efficient method, but at least it’s moving.

A lot of this is down to the materials that are now available and which I referenced in my previous post on productivity. Superglue sets in seconds and makes a wonderful filler. Lacquers dry just as quick. Mini spray guns mean large quantities of paint can be applied in minutes; I once primed an 1/48 MiG-31 in the half an hour I had before teatime. With a motor tool a canopy mould line can be scraped, sanded and polished in little longer than it takes to dip it in Klear. In the 2020s we’re modelling on steroids and I think it’s us that are struggling to keep up.

Because I actually understand Dave’s comment. I think it’s a psychological block. When I got going on my collection in the mid-90s, things *did* take a long time. Plastic cement did take a while to cure (I was using Revell Contacta dispensed through a tiny needle – horrible stuff). Putty was solvent based, came out of a tube with HUMBROL written on it, and needed at least 24 hours to cure, whereupon it would have shrunk and you’d add more and wait another day. There was a lot of waiting. My paints were enamel. They took ages to handle and mask. Even simple camouflage schemes took multiple sessions because once you’d sprayed a wing, you’d have to wait until the next day to hold the other.

Modelling was an effort. Nowadays I can hold the airbrush in one hand and the sanding sponge in the other, polishing as I go. It’s astonishing. The problem is my mindset evolved much slower than the materials I was using. I was still mentally thinking, ‘It’ll take me x hours to do y’, when in reality it could be done in x/4 (or whatever). You don’t need to wait until tomorrow to mask. You can do it now!

So materials and mindset. There are other factors, too.

You can clean your airbrush quicker than you think you can. It used to take me ages to clean out my Badger 200 siphon feed. That was a real mental block to airbrushing: do I want to have to clean it at the end? But there is a dirty little secret not often spoken of: with a powerful enough solvent (I use a generic gunwash), you can get your airbrush clean enough just by squirting a cupful or two through it (assuming you’re using a paint that will dissolve in such a material; I don’t airbrush water-soluble paints and with them all bets are off). If you’re modelling regularly, in daily thirty minute chunks like me, that’s good enough. You can clean the airbrush more thoroughly the next day if you have a spare moment. Even then, a thorough clean shouldn’t take more than a couple of minutes.

Lastly, I have a plan. Not a complex one, but I know where I’m going. Whenever I finish my modelling session, I know exactly what needs to be done next. Often I write it down, on the decorators paper I use to cover my workbench anew with every project. I jot down lists. It takes seconds and it means that the next day, when I sit down, there is no dithering, no decision making, no getting my mind back in the project: it’s there already; I know what I’m doing. It helps that I only work on one project at a time so don’t get distracted or confused, but it’s a simple trick that has hugely helped me just get on with modelling.

Materials, mindset, maintenance and method.

But who am I to dispense advice? I am not you and you are not me. In all our discussions on mojo, and productivity, and shelf queens and What You Can Do To Fix Your Modelling Problem(s), we too often forget that a lot of it just comes down to psychology. What works for you may not work for me, and vice versa, because we’re wired differently. The idea, for example, of a ‘palette cleanser’ from a different modelling genre is anathema to me; I cannot think of anything less motivating. For others, it really works.

So take what I say with the pinch of salt it deserves, but I will still contend this: In thirty minutes you can make a meaningful dent in any model you’re working on. Prove me wrong in the comments!

For more info on modelling podcasts, visit http://modelpodcasts.com/.

Back to home.

© Copyright 2022. All Rights Reserved. Jonathan Bryon.

When it comes to model aeroplanes, I really geek out, even for what is already a pretty geeky hobby. I make lists. Lots of lists. One of them, which lies at the heart of all the other lists, is an attempt to list every single military aircraft type, defined by unique designation, that has seen operational service since 1946. My aim in my collection is to make as representative a sample as possible of this list in 1/48, which is why I only build one example of each type. There will always be gaps – I’m never going to make a 1/48 KC-135 (although I was tempted by the HPH 1/48 B-36 and B-52, the temptation only being resisted by the fact I’d have nowhere to display them) – but it’s sort of a direction for why I make what I make.

Which means I am interested in the gaps: the aircraft types that have not been kitted in 1/48, either at all or to a standard I’m happy with. And having maintained this list for nearly 20 years, I thought I’d reflect a bit on the gaps that were recently filled and those that remain.

2020 was an okay year for filling some gaps. The ICM O-2 Skymaster was an important aircraft missing for many years and an instant purchase, as was the ICM B-26C Invader, since I’d never been willing to buy and rescribe the Monogram/Revell kit. Airfix obliged with a decent Tiger Moth, which wasn’t exactly a major post-war aircraft, but was an excuse to add another biplane to the collection. Kinetic’s early Harriers were essential buys, as I added the GR.3 and AV-8A to the stash; this is the first time these have been kitted with recessed panel lines and a modern tooling. Lastly, in terms of what was released last year, I was delighted that AMP released a HUP Retriever, which is a gorgeous looking helicopter with some beautiful schemes; the joy I had building the same company’s Huskie only increased my determination to order one of these as soon as they were released. Right at the end of the year I added LF Models‘ model of the a rather obscure OH-13 Sioux variant, the HUL-1 Ranger, simply because I have a thing for little helicopters. So it was a pretty good year for plugging some gaps.

Which leads me to look forward to 2021. A whole bunch of kits have been announced which will plug more gaps in my quest to model a wider variety of post-WWII aircraft.

Kinetic’s Pucara has already arrived this week, and the Hobby Boss MV-22 is on its way to me as I write. Ark Models’ La-11 Fang, will be on its way as soon as the Russians allow post to the UK; I hope their La-9 will follow before too long. Airfix are again in my good books for promising a Chipmunk in the Spring and I’ve pre-ordered it from Hannants. The same goes for ICM’s OV-10A, OV-10D+ and B-26K kits. The Broncos, in particular, will fill a void that has existed for far too long. Freedom Models have released an AT-3, but it’s not available in Europe and they don’t seem that keen to send it our way. I’m holding out for the early version which is promised but has yet to materialise. Also near on the horizon are the Special Hobby/Eduard Tempest II and the Special Hobby SF-260 series. These will be instant purchases once they are available to plug some gaps.

Other kits announced that would plug some holes, but with no sign of any appearance soon, are the AMP Gazelle, TH-55 Osage and HH-43B/F Huskie, Anetra’s Mi-8/17 Hip (we’ve even seen sprues…where is it???), Clear Prop Models’ Firebrand, Kitty Hawk’s Ka-52, Mars Models’ MiG-9, Modelsvits’ F-82 Twin Mustang, Pilot Replicas’ Saab 105, and S&M’s Wasp. All are big gaps I want filled.

Which brings me to what’s still missing. I shall divide these into the Baffling, the Understandable and the Predictable.

The Baffling

Some of the gaps in my list baffle me. I am baffled there are no even semi-decent kits of these kits in 1/48. My assumption is that the kit companies know what they’re doing and know their markets, so I’m not baffled that they haven’t been made; I’m baffled there apparently isn’t a market for them.

Let’s start with what must be widely agreed as the most attractive of all helicopters ever made: the AH-1G. I don’t understand why this isn’t available in 1/48. It’s good looking, it’s pioneering (first dedicated gunship design), and it saw extensive combat use. We have kits of its ugly offspring (the terrible Italeri AH-1W, the barely adequate Monogram AH-1F/S, the great Kitty Hawk AH-1Z), but the original, and the almost-as-good-looking AH-1J are sorely missing. Special Hobby are rumoured to be working on it, but why this is not considered a mainstream viable proposition is beyond me.

Next we have the missing French jets. Why do they get so little love in 1/48? We are crying out for a Mirage F.1. It looks great, has loads of different schemes and loads of different operators. There are rumours of Kinetic working on one; if it’s as good as their Pucara, they can’t get round to it soon enough for me.

Then there are the early French jets. No kits (worth mentioning) of the Ouragan, Mystere and Super Mystere. Again, pioneering aircraft and operated by the Israelis for extra exoticism and cool colour schemes. Who will step up to the mark?

Lots of gaps among trainers have been filled in the last decade, but the Cessna T-37‘s absence cannot be missed. (And if I hadn’t already built an obscure resin kit, I’d say the same about the T-34C.) For the RAF, we’re still missing a Shorts Tucano and a mainstream Jet Provost (yes, I’m aware of the Fly kit).

Early US Navy jets also miss out on the love. We have Tamiya to thank for giving us a model of a plane as wonderful as the Skyray, but the lack of a decent Vought Cutlass – what must be the most exotic design to ever see carrier service – is mind-boggling to me. As is the lack of a Grumman F11F Tiger. I know these were not exactly successful aircraft, but I don’t see how anyone can disagree that they are eye-catching and saw operational service with the largest military machine in the western world, and they flew with the Blue Angels. Throw in an early F2H Banshee as well while you’re at it, and a late one too to make up for Kitty Hawk’s monstrosity.

Even the mighty USAF is missing key aircraft designs. It beggars belief there’s no market for an F-86A or F-86E given how famous the Sabre is and its combat record. No F-86H is rather more understandable, but is a gap that surely should be plugged?

Lastly, it’s the USN again, with the gaping hole that is the lack of conically-nosed Crusaders: the F-8A/B/C/D. Hasegawa never got round to them, and oh I wish they had. (Along with the fat-bellied RF-8.)

So these are the really big gaps for me.

Oh, and I forgot: I assume someone will give us a decent F-35B and the first F-35C before too long.

The Understandable

Next we have the gaps that really, I understand. I can accept the market for them might not be great, but I genuinely think they should be, maybe even will be, made. I’m sure enough of us would buy them…wouldn’t we?

I suspect that the de Havilland Hornet and Sea Hornet well has been well and truly poisoned by the Trumpeter and Classic Airframes disappointments. I hope we get decent and accurate kits eventually. Similarly, the Sea Venom and Sea Vampire surely deserve some love at some point. Keeping with the Royal Navy theme, the absence of a Supermarine Scimitar is a real shame, as is the fact I can’t buy a Fairey Gannet in either its AEW or ASW forms. From the RAF, we’re missing the Supermarine Swift. Every year I hope Airfix announce they’ve scaled up their relatively recent 1/72 kit…just like I hope they’ve decided to make a Westland Puma in 1/48, too….

Some American aircraft have been similarly neglected: a Douglas F3D Skyknight would be unbelievably welcome, as would the side-by-side seater Skyraiders – so many variants unexplored, in US Navy, USAF and foreign service. Early F-94A/B Starfires carried some amazing schemes and would look great alongside modern toolings of the F-94C and T-33 that already exist. The F-89 Scorpion is due a revamp; I fancy a J model. The short-nosed F-105B was a great looking jet that deserves a model.

I’m surprised that a Japanese company hasn’t tooled a Fuji T-1, given we can get good kits of most other operational Japanese aircraft, and similarly I don’t get why a Chinese company hasn’t given us a Q-5 Fantan.

One of the biggest advances in the past 15 years has been the filling of many Russian/Soviet gaps. Some still remain though. There is no good kit of the MiG-27, and a Kamov Ka-25 would complement Hobby Boss’ Ka-27 very nicely. Mil helicopters haven’t been particularly well served, and I’m hoping Zvezda will oblige with an early Mil-24A. I’ve lost track of where the Mil-28 is operationally, but it looks very cool and I’d like one. If someone could do a Yak-25 Flashlight as well, I’d be most grateful.

When it comes to France…all I can say is Sud-Ouest Vautour.

The Predictable

Lastly, we come to the gaps I doubt I’ll ever see filled; it’s predictable no one has made these. But when 2019 gives you a Sud-Ouest S.O.1221 Djinn, you can live in hope.

Business jets get little love, and so whilst a BAe Dominie and T-39 Sabreliner would be awesome, I’m not holding my breath. Same for the Beech C-12 family, which have a bewildering array of great looking variants, but I doubt will get many people’s blood pumping.

Every so often a Canadian makes a call for a decent CF-100. Look, I’d buy one straightaway, but I don’t see it happening anytime soon. Same for a Bristol Brigand. It would be nice to have one to allow the end of the Bristol twin-prop series to be modelled.

A Hiller H-23 Raven would be welcome, and might come from AMP since ultra-obscure choppers is where they camp out. I guess it depends on if anyone actually buys what they’ve made already.

Dare I hope for a McDonnell FH-1 Phantom? No. Nor a North American AJ Savage or B-45 Tornado, however great they might look alongside a Vigilante, Canberra, Tracker, etc.

Pilot Replicas made a well-lauded prop-powered Saab J21A; there’s an outside chance they might get round to the jet-powered J21R, but they seem to struggle to deliver on what they’ve already planned, which is a shame.

I think that’s pretty much it. Looking back over the past 20 years, it’s not that big an ask really. I know others will have plenty of other gaps I haven’t mentioned – a new Buccaneer tooling is an obvious choice, but having built two Airfix kits, I’m not in the market for any more – but this is my personal list. It’s not exhaustive either (I’d probably not say no to an F-104A, since no one’s made one, or an A-4A), but these are the main gaps I’d like filled.

What are yours?

The Addenda

Somewhat predictably, feedback and further musing have highlighted some additional holes. So, further to the above, we have two additional categories:

The Ones I Forgot

I would buy these:

Bell OH-58A/TH-57

de Havilland Canada U-6 Beaver

Fiat G91Y

Hawker Hunter T.7

North American F-100C/F Super Sabre

Sikorsky SH-60B/F

Sikorsky HH-3 Jolly Green Giant

Sikorsky UH-19/Westland Whirlwind (the helicopter. Obviously.)

Vought A-7A/B/C

Westland Scout

This list will get longer, I’m sure.

The Ones I Don’t Care About

Some holes have been plugged in my collection by obsolete, inaccurate kits + corrections, or models I think are good enough, and so I have no need of better kits. However, were I starting again I would definitely be agitating for:

Bell UH-1B/C/E

Blackburn Buccaneer

Convair F-102 Delta Dagger

de Havilland Venom

Fiat G91R

General Dynamics F-111

Grumman F9F Panther

Lockheed U-2R/TR-1A. We need accurate older versions, too (shame on you AFV Club!).

Lockheed F-16A/B/D/exotic foreign variants. Another bonkers omission in the world of 1/48

Lockheed F-80 Shooting Star

North American T-6 Texan

North American T-34C Turbo Mentor

North American FJ-1 Fury

SEPECAT Jaguar. Were someone to make a decent two-seater, I might be tempted.

Sikorsky UH-60 series

Sukhoi Su-7 Fitter

Sukhoi Su-15 Flagon

Sukhoi Su-24 Fencer

Sukhoi Su-25 Frogfoot

Yakovlev Yak-15 Feather

Back to home.

© Copyright 2021. All Rights Reserved. Jonathan Bryon.

If you’ve read any of my previous posts it should be clear that my musings are often triggered by podcasts. This one is no exception.

Sadly, the nature of the internet means one has to preface any commentary with various caveats, if only to assuage my anxiety that (despite choosing words rather carefully) I’ll be misunderstood. So please take it as read that this is all meant in the friendliest of possible terms and written with a great deal of affection and gratitude for all the podcasts and the amount of effort they put into generating content which, after all, is free.

I was listening to the Plastic Posse Podcast’s latest episode (#73) and their second conversation topic caught my interest: Modelling Outside Your Comfort Zone. If I have a slight grumble about many (but not all!) podcast discussions, it’s that they tend to be too consensual. Given the podcasts are usually hosted by friends, this is completely understandable, but as a natural contrarian I do like a good argument, and so I want to stick my oar in with a minority dissenting opinion on the grounds it’s always nice to hear an unexpected disagreement rather than a predictable confirmation.

The main point of near-universal agreement was that modelling outside your comfort zone is a good thing, but this was couched pretty much exclusively in terms of subject, genre and scale. And the upshot was you absolutely should not limit yourself in these terms. But since I do arbitrarily limit myself in all three of these terms, and do so with joy, I’ve taken it upon myself to articulate the benefits (for me) of these voluntary limitations.

Now, there is some ambiguity in what the PPP were actually discussing. The various questions could be listed as: ‘Does modelling in a different genre kill your mojo?’ ‘Should you limit what you build?’ and ‘Should you build across scales or genres?’ These are related but quite distinct questions. And then there’s the matter of how they relate to a ‘comfort zone’ and what that might even be. I realise, therefore, that these meandering thoughts are not a precise response to what was quite a free-flowing and wide-ranging discussion.

If you’re reading this, you are probably already aware of my approach to what I choose to model, in the same way everyone knows what Chris Becker is about, and thus I risk flogging my dead horse, but I’m going to do it anyway. For clarity, since 1994 I’ve only bought and made 1/48 models of post-WWII military aircraft, and only ever one of each subject. And if that’s not bad enough, I only make one project at a time. Everything else is, arbitrarily, off limits to me.

I think that had I been participating in the PPP’s discussion, this would have seemed a rather bonkers position to hold. I really want to make a model of a Grumman F11F Tiger, but one doesn’t exist in 1/48 (well, not one I’d want to build, anyway). So why don’t I make it in 1/72? I really like the B-52, and would love to have that in my collection, but 1/48 is too big, so why not make in 1/144? And I’d really like a Bristol Beaufort as well, but that was a WWII aircraft, so why limit myself? And what about dioramas, and all the cars I like, and the Gundams which seem so interesting, and the endless figure-painting YouTube videos I watch – what about all these subjects I’ll never get to model? And then there’s model trains…

I love all things miniature and I’ve cut myself off from the vast majority of them. Why?

Because life is finite, I am finite, and my time and resources are finite. I cannot have everything everywhere all at once. And so I make choices. I’ve made choices before which have been extremely limiting and have worked out pretty well. I chose my wife (and she chose me!) and that’s been exclusively exclusive. We chose to have kids, and nothing has limited me like having kids. I’ve made radical changes in career direction which have, on the face of it, trashed what I’d invested in: there are not many front line police officers who have a PhD and speak Chinese. I regret none of these limitations of choice and what they have cut me off from.

I’m also a great believer in what I like being somewhat under my control. Not entirely, of course; ultimately there is no accounting for taste. But my distaste for classic music is a problem that lies with me, not the music; I just haven’t bothered to learn about it, to appreciate it. And I didn’t like my first beer, but I certainly liked the last. I don’t drink coffee – never have, never will – but I have no doubt that if I set my mouth to it, I could learn to love it. I mean, *really* love it. As per my last post on Inspiration, I’ve learned to like aircraft I’m not interested in at all, and the emotion tends to follow the choice. I’ve learned, in these areas if not many others, to be content to flourish where I’m planted, and not hanker after what lies elsewhere.

So what are the benefits? Well, primarily for me is the restraint it imposes on my tendency to excess. My collection currently spans 353 models, 190 of which remain unbuilt. This is already a significant investment of time and money, but who knows what ridiculous heights my hobby-obsession could have attained were I promiscuous with subject, genre and scale? Some might say that’s a matter of self-control, but then that’s what this entire post is about…

I’ve been forced to focus, and I like that.

It also takes the stress of decision making out of the equation. It seems strange to be writing ‘stress’ when I’m talking about a hobby, but it’s a perennial podcast and Facebook discussion topic, and I think you know what I mean. It’s like school uniform (or, for that matter, my work uniform). This might be a foreign concept to non-UK readers, but practically all schools in my country require all students to wear a uniform until they’re 16 (and sometimes beyond). There are many benefits to such a policy, but one of them is you simply don’t have to make the choice: ‘What shall I wear today?’ When I walk into a model shop, or browse online, the ‘Shall I buy this?’ question almost never comes to my mind. I’ve already bought every kit that fits into my collection – I’m just buying the new releases now.

I’ve been forced into simplicity, and I like that.

Limitation of choice also brings depth of knowledge. I know a lot about what I have given myself to, and very little about everything else. It follows I know very little about other genres, World War I or 2, 1/72, 1/35 or 1/144. But I do know about 1/48 post-war military aircraft: show me any 1/48 jet kit and I’ll tell you if it’s any good, what’s right about it and what’s wrong about, who’s reboxed it and how much it’s worth. I know a lot about a little.

I’ve been forced to dive deep, and I like that.

And then there’s the fact I’m building a collection, but that’s not really relevant to this topic, so I’ll move on…

But what about this comfort zone? Because I do believe in transgressing that, I do believe in stretching myself, I do believe in trying new things. In my case, that’s the unintended beauty of the choice I made in 1994. Had I limited myself to US Navy aircraft or US military aircraft (which were real options for me, only displaced by the arrival of Airfix’s first 1/48 Buccaneer – an irony which anyone who’s built that kit should appreciate) then my choice would never have endured, for the boundaries would have been too tight. As it turns out, the choice I did make allows for all the variation I’ve needed thus far. I get to model WW2 designs and stealth fighters. I get to paint glossy red and white trainers and seriously mucky props. I’ve had endless experiments with natural metal (including three attempts with foil), had to rig biplanes, figure out aquatic weathering on things that float, make vacforms and resin kits, learn to scribe, and so on. There’s always something to push, something new to do. I decided whilst listening to the PPP that next year I’m going to brush paint an A-6 Intruder, just to push myself and apply some of the Warhammer figure painting videos I’ve been watching. Maybe one day I’ll scratchbuild, like my friend Nick Hooper. About the only thing I’ve excluded myself from is tracks, and I think I can live with that. The possibilities are not endless, but the horizon is sufficiently far away for my comfort zone to expand some distance yet.

This has ended up a lot longer than I intended, and I’ve probably said very little of interest. As I always end: I’m certainly not saying what you should do, merely advocating for what I do. And I am not you and you are not me, and that’s the way things not only should be, but are. *Should* you build outside your subject/genre/scale? Absolutely not. *Should* you build whatever you want to build? Absolutely, yes.

Back to home.

© Copyright 2023. All Rights Reserved. Jonathan Bryon.

A while ago my friend John Chung asked me what inspired me when it came to my next project. I’m a one-kit-at-a-time kind of guy and thus inoculated against the temptation to start something on impulse, and was slightly nonplussed by the question: why do I choose to build what I do?

After giving it some thought I concluded I’m not inspired. At least I don’t think I am. And this struck me as rather odd.

Fast forward a few months and the most recent episode of the excellent Model Geeks Podcast featured this as their main topic of conversation: ‘Modeling (sic) Inspiration’. It’s in episode 56 if you fancy a listen, and you should, because it was very interesting. All kinds of sources of inspiration were discussed: personal connection to the subject, history, a heroic story, model shows, air shows, a photograph, and so on. But again I thought, ‘I don’t think I’m inspired by any of these things’. And that struck me as rather odd.

Now, let me be clear: I am not knocking the MGP nor their discussion of it. And it’s a perennial topic in all kinds of corners of the hobby, and I’m not knocking those discussions either. And I’m not knocking any of the answers – these really are sources of inspiration. And I’m certainly not knocking other modellers and how they practice this hobby. It’s just that clearly I’m odd, and I’d like to know why. The discussion is about what moves you to start a kit, and I have realised I am simply not moved in this way.

In my reply to John, I figured out that I am building a collection. The parameters of that collection are broad, but very tightly adhered to: 1/48 post-WWII aircraft, and only one of each marque – no duplicates. If a kit fits these parameters, I’ll almost certainly buy it, and thus my purchasing is not driven by impulse or inspiration, but simply by definition. The last kit I bought was Trumpeter’s new Mil Mi-4, a green blob of a helicopter that I know nothing about, but it fits my collection, so I had to have it. There are some kits that qualify that I won’t consider, usually for practical reasons, such as the expense (but mainly size) of a 1/48 B-36, B-52, B-1 or B-2. The upcoming JetMads Neptune is tempting, but I know it will simply be impractically large, and so I’ll pass, but on the whole I add to my stash in a fairly disciplined, programmatic way.

In broad terms, my choice of project is governed by how long a kit has been in the stash – kits that have been hanging around in my loft longer move towards the top of my list. In February 2023, when the time came to start the next project, it was the Hasegawa Phantom FG.1 which I’d had the longest, and so that was what I started. Inspiration, impulse and emotion simply didn’t feature in the decision; to some extent, it was made for me by the arbitrary rules I have constructed. My current method is to then build all the related aircraft in my stash, so now I’m making the Academy F-4B kit I have (as a G) and next month I will start the Tamiya F-4B. I like this method because it means I build fairly stochastically through the stash.

Between more involved projects, I like to bang out a quick single-engine prop. The last of these was the Trumpeter Nanchang CJ-6 I finished in January. I had no interest in this subject: it is an average kit of a boring plane finished in a boring scheme. There is no inspiration involved at all; it simply fits my collection and so it needed to be added. And I loved it.

And this is the odd thing: I am never inspired before starting a kit, but I jolly well become inspired once I’ve started. I can’t help it. Later this year I’m going make Academy’s 1/48 CH-53E. I’m not interested in the Super Stallion. I don’t look at photos of it and think, ‘I really want to make that’. I feel completely uninterested in it, plus the kit is basic, it will take a lot of work, I’ve spent a ton on aftermarket, and I already know the kit stencil decals have to be used and will suck. Yet when I start it I know that I will become entranced. I’ll be thinking about it all the time until it’s done, I’ll be poring over endless photos, I’ll learn about all the modifications it underwent during its service lifetime; I’ll be obsessed. And when it’s done I’ll do the same with the Hawker Hunter. And this strikes me as odd.

I’m learning to live with this oddness. I’ve learned that if I wait for the impulse, the inspiration, to be moved into sitting at the bench and making something, I’ll never do anything. The activation energy is too high; it’s easier to watch YouTube and flick through Facebook. I sit down at the bench as a matter of habit, regardless of the desire to, and then the emotion flows.

Coincidentally, I recently watched Nick Cave’s interview on Unherd (Nick Cave: Christ, the Devil and the duty to offend). I’m not a particular Nick Cave fan. I’ve watched him from a distance for thirty years and bought only one of his albums, but I think he’s a pretty interesting guy and articulate with it, and he speaks a little in this interview about his creative process. He sits down at 9.30am every weekday and works until 5.30pm (or whatever – I don’t recall the exact times) and that’s his creative time. He’s disciplined and regular about it. He does it whether he feels like it or not. And within those parameters he is incredibly creative. He goes to church, and he goes to church not out of impulse or desire, but to bring order to his creativity. He intentionally creates the space and the structure to allow his creativity to flourish.

I am not creative like Nick Cave. In fact, I think the reason modelling appeals to me is because it can (notice the work that little word is doing, and so I repeat, ‘can’) be practised in a way where creative input is minimal. For me that’s a feature – so much of the form is already given to me I don’t need much creative vision to turn out something I can appreciate looking at. My creativity is mainly worked out in sermon-writing rather than model-making. Yet in a very faint way, I recognise what Nick Cave was talking about – the need to not fall into the trap of thinking all that is of worth comes from the spontaneous, that all that is authentic is a matter of impulse, that discipline is bondage and doing what you want to do when you want to do it is freedom. I think it was Stanley Hauerwas who said that planning is simply spontaneity in slow-motion.

But hark! I preach too much. This is a hobby and the last thing I want to do is lecture. No, my aim is simply to broaden the discussion a little. I love hearing about what inspires people, because I love hearing about how people engage with our hobby. There’s no right or wrong way to do it, just your way, and this is my way. I’ve mapped out my build schedule for the next three years. Yes, it will be tweaked and modified for arbitrary reasons. I decided a few weeks ago that in early 2024 I’ll make my Academy Hunter F.6 simply because I realised it will be the last Academy kit in my stash, and it pleases me to expunge that manufacturer from the attic. And that then entails I’ll make my recently acquired Airfix Hunter F.5, because that’s the other Hunter kit I’ve got. I’m not interested in the Hunter, and I think it’s a spectacularly bland airframe in a dull colour scheme, but I will really get into them once I’ve started. So I reserve the right to change my plans as and when I wish, but the future is sketched out: for the next few years I know what I’ll build and when. It’s just the way I am.

And that strikes me as rather odd, and I think I’ve made my peace with it.

Back to home.

© Copyright 2023. All Rights Reserved. Jonathan Bryon.

Today I tried to add scratchbuilt detail to a kit. And it sucked.

I’ve never been that interested in scratchbuilding. I am a man of limited imagination and craftsmanship, and the main reason I like making kits are the defined parameters: there is a box of bits, and from it I shall create a model. There’s no blank canvas; it’s a bit like painting by numbers. The sky is not the limit; I’m following the instructions.

Now, of course, over the years I’ve extended those boundaries. I treat the instructions as advice, not a rule book. And however much work one puts into the finish of a model, more could always have been done to make it more realistic, or interesting, or visually pleasing. And inaccuracies have been corrected, and details refined, and parts added from the spares box, and other parts replaced. I’m not a complete modelling luddite.

In the past year or so, I’ve stretched myself by dabbling in a little scratchbuilding, but always on the big exterior stuff, on the stuff that matters to me. So with my Classic Airframes Duck I created quite large, new fuselage parts from nothing other than plastic card and superglue. The kit was wrong and I couldn’t live with it, so I fixed it myself. The results were, even if I do say so myself, really rather good.

When it came to my more recent Kinetic F-84F Thunderstreak, the same thing happened: I wanted to model a particular airframe, and the kit was substantially different. I needed to shorten the tail fin by about 10mm, which was easy and doesn’t really count as scratchbuilding, but I also needed to completely replace the lower rear fuselage, and that definitely does count, at least in my book. Again, I surprised myself with the results.

Cut to my current build, Academy’s 1/48 CH-46E Sea Knight. I was fortunate enough to be pointed to an excellent walkaround for this helicopter which shows that the interior cargo bay is way, way more complicated than depicted in the kit. I am using an Eduard Big Ed set, but to be honest it adds almost no interior detail and a lot of what it does add is wrong. In the past I wouldn’t have cared and just painted what Academy provide as best as I can and button it all up, but for some reason I wanted to add the detail. I don’t know why; maybe I’ve was looking at John Chung’s magnificent Hornet with its scratchbuilt interior detail and thought to myself, ‘I’ll have some of that. How hard can it be?’

Well it turns out *really* hard. At least for me. To avoid biting off more than I can chew, I did limit myself to the forward end of the interior. After all, the ramp and doors were all going to be shut, and the only view inside would be past the guns at the front and the open upper door behind the cockpit. I just needed to add the wiring right up at the forward end and that would be enough – black paint and limited visibility would hide the rest. With lead and copper wire of many diameters in hand, I set to copying the photos.

What ensued were a miserable couple of hours. Even though I was only detailing a few square inches, progress was painfully slow, immensely frustrating and the results looked crap. And this is where the title of this little post comes in. I’ve never cared about interior detail in the past. If there’s decent aftermarket, and I’ve got it, then fine, I’ll add it and paint it, but I’ve always considered it a largely wasted effort on my models. No one sees the insides so no one cares, including me, so why should I care about it on the CH-46? There isn’t really any good reason. If I’d reflected a bit more on myself as a modeller, I’d have known the detailing project was a waste of time and doomed to fail; my heart was never going to be in it. I love it when other people do it – it looks amazing – but it just doesn’t float my boat for what I want to do with my hands.

So I’ve learned this in 2022: scratchbuilding for accuracy on the exterior: YES. Scratchbuilding for interior detail: NO.

At this point, a well-meaning person might tell me stick with it. It looks crap because you’re inexperienced. Develop those skills, and your interiors can look like Fanch Lubin’s, too! But I know myself and I know this about modelling: if you want a detailed interior, you will need time. Lots of it. Like maybe only building-one-kit-a-year time, and I just don’t want that. I want this model done by December, Christmas at the latest. That is way more important to me than interior detail. I listened to Julian in the latest On The Bench episode where he commented that figure modelling is a whole separate hobby, and who’s got time for that? I reckon interior scratchbuilding is the same. I’ve already got one hobby – building my stash. I haven’t got time for another, to be messing around with interiors.

At the risk of sounding like a broken record, I do reckon that modellers in general underappreciate how different we all are. There’s lots of well-meaning advice given on how to get better, how to get more productive, how to get more creative, and much of it good. But whether it works or not will depend on who you are and what goal(s) you’re working towards. Adding interior detail works against my modelling goals. I’ve heard it (strongly) recommended that modellers should build in multiple genres to be better modellers. I’ve heard it that shelf queens are the product of better modellers because it shows you know when to stop, pause and overcome a hurdle, and produce something better in the long run. This might be great advice if you want to be the best modeller, a Paul Budzik or a David Parker. But it’s no good to me because, whilst I do want to be a better modeller, I’m constrained by the goal I have: to build 6-8 1/48 post-WWII aircraft per year. That’s the goal, and there’s no sign of it changing any time soon. About an hour into adding lead wire to the interior of a CH-46 I realised I was not working towards this goal, but rather away from it, and I almost jacked the whole kit in out of frustration. Things have recovered now: I’ll just paint what Academy, Eduard and my shoddy detailing have provided and be happy with it. Quality and quantity: it’s a direct trade-off.

I’m not a psychologist, although I would love more discussion on the psychology and philosophy of modelling, but I’m a firm believer in knowing yourself. Figure out what it is you want and make a plan to work towards that. Listen to advice that aids you in that goal, and ignore that which distracts. I hope this is not the pot calling the kettle black. You may completely disagree with me (or simply not care), and that’s okay. There is no right way or wrong way, but my way might correspond with your way, or overlap with his way, or be going in a completely different direction from her way. If I can figure that out, I can figure out what sort of conversation we’re going to have.

Still, if the aftermarket had done the work for me and offered a properly detailed CH-46 cargo bay, I would have snapped it up and loved making it.

Back to home.

© Copyright 2022. All Rights Reserved. Jonathan Bryon.

I’ve just finished listening to the latest episode of the Sprue Cutters Union podcast, which was excellent as always. It was the anniversary episode featuring a great discussion between the three hosts, Paul Budzik and David Parker. I highly recommend you give it a listen.

Towards the end of their chat the discussion skates over the fact we do this hobby for fun; it’s not like exercise. And since I was listening whilst doing some exercise, that got me thinking: do I make models for fun? Because I’m not sure I do.

If my wife were to come into my modelling room at any given moment and ask me, “Are you having fun?” I’m pretty sure the answer would be, “No”. It’s not that I’m having the opposite of fun, whatever that is, but it’s just not an adjective I’d use to describe how I feel about modelling, in the same way I wouldn’t describe it as ‘exciting’ or ‘painful’.

But who cares, right? This is surely just semantics. I know that when they touched on this on the podcast they were not making a technical philosophical argument, but meant that this is a hobby, it’s not work (for most of us), it’s optional, a choice; you really can take it or leave it. But I think it might matter, at least to me, and the words we use are important because words are powerful and have consequences.

I suppose I react a little against the ‘it’s meant to be fun’ trope because of the expectations that sets. What do I find fun? Drinking a bit too much with mates is fun. Driving at 150mph on the M25 is fun. Going to Telford for SMW is fun. Having sex is fun. Watching decent comedy is fun. Talking with Scott Gentry and John Bonnani on the Plastic Posse Podcast was fun. Loads of things are fun. And when I sit down at my model bench to sand out a seam, mask a canopy or apply decals should I expect the thirty minutes I spend doing that to be fun? For me, no. It’s not. The worry I therefore have is that if I expect modelling to be ‘fun’ and I sit down and it doesn’t match the experience I get from these other activities, does that mean I’m not going to do it? Is the mythical mojo going to be depleted? Am I asking to much of scale modelling?

My personal perspective (and bear in mind I have written those three words!) is that present day society does hype up our expectations of what we should feel when we engage in fairly ordinary activities. Take work. It seems blindingly obvious to us that you should aim for work that is enjoyable, even though you do not have to go back many generations before that concept would have been nonsensical for vast swathes of humanity. I know the pressure my daughters are facing is the need to find a career they enjoy.

People often ask me that: do you enjoy your job? I never know how to answer. If I say ‘yes’ it implies I enjoy picking up dead bodies, depriving people of their liberty, telling them off, taking their vehicles off them, making them poorer. No one should enjoy these things. I recently stopped a private hire vehicle taking a couple to an airport. It turned out the driver had no licence. I had no choice but to seize his vehicle; they missed their flight. Did I enjoy that? Of course not. But if I say ‘no’ people don’t understand why I do it. If I don’t enjoy it, why not do something else? It would be easy to change.

Like ‘fun’ and ‘modelling’, ‘enjoy’ and ‘policing’ are not a happy pairing for me. But I do both, and both for positive reasons. Maybe I need to find other adjectives.

The SCU guys made a joke about exercise, and the implication it’s not fun. And I completely agree. I loathe exercise with every fibre of my being, yet for professional reasons and to avoid dying from a heart attack before I’m 70 (like my dad), I do it. Regularly. It hurts, it costs me money, and I could spend the time doing something I enjoy or find fun, but I exercise anyway because that’s my expectation: this is good for me and I don’t expect to be having fun at the gym.

To not quite the same extent that’s how I approach my daily modelling sessions. I’m not expecting to have fun, and I think that’s a central reason why I don’t suffer from the mojo-problem. I have no expectations of what emotions the ensuing thirty to sixty minutes will engender. Satisfaction, tedium, pleasure, frustration, enjoyment, disappointment – they will all feature in unpredictable and fleeting moments. It will be what it will be. In the long run, the pleasure will outweigh the frustration and a new model will grace the shelves in the living room. And for me that’s where the real satisfaction and pleasure will be obtained. I know lots of modellers are all about the journey and the model at the end is somewhat disposable, but not me. Looking at completed models is what I enjoy the most, and that’s what keeps me making more (and makes it critically important I make quite a few). I would rather know a little about a lot than a lot about a little (I’ve tried both, and it’s the main reason I hated doing my PhD); similarly, I’d rather make a lot of models to a competent standard than a very few to an exceptional standard. Until I’m retired (if I’m ever blessed to be), I think that choice will always be one I have to grapple with because of the tension between quality and quantity.

One of my great themes is that you are you and I am me. Much conflict on modelling social media platforms could be eliminated if people just realised this. So what I am certainly not saying is that modelling can’t be fun. Of course it can be, and if it is for you, more power to you! But if it’s not fun, it might be worth asking the question: Am I asking to much from this hobby? Is ‘fun’ a reasonable expectation of what it can offer me?

But listening to modelling podcasts: now, that is fun. You can find a list of them here: http://modelpodcasts.com/

Back to home.

© Copyright 2022. All Rights Reserved. Jonathan Bryon.