Finally, the Old Blue Barn goes electric, thanks to Ikea and their LED bookcase lights.
Move the chairs and tables, there might be dancing.
For some reason, I've been a compartmentalizing doll houser. My two houses are irony free, I've
separated my art world from my hobby almost completely. They're little fantasies of the ideal attic studio, and the cafe stacked with the cakes and pies I seldom ever eat. They're aspirational, for things I only partly aspire to: no one would ever trust me with food service in the real world.
I've had moments of disappointment in myself after seeing the astounding work of artists, (Do Ho Suh, Charles Matton, Adam Makarenko), who work in miniature, not doll houses, but dioramas and animation and sculptures and vitrines. I fear that I should have allowed myself to melt my hobby with my artwork when I was younger. Why had I made distinctions back then? Who was I trying to convince, or impress? But ultimately, the fact is, I didn't. I indulged other aspects of my world. I went towards the microscopic instead. And the size of things just underfoot.
That's just the way it is. So my hobby remains my hobby, and that's fine. It's a place of pure play instead. And pure play is a rare thing nowadays.