The Little World

Or, how to tread the primrose path in spite of the barriers.

You cannot blame me, unless I am guilty. And I always am. Guilty of following orders, guilty of believing what other people tell me, guilty of valuing theatre over intellect.

Not in real life, I hasten to add. When someone in vague authority gives me a vague order, I obey it vaguely…or not at all. I rarely believe what the radio tells me and never what is shown on television. And I always reject the appearances of staged events as being fanciful and fake.

Yet I’ll build model airplanes that have been kitted from museum exhibits…that have passed through so many restoration teams and paint shops that they look like 17th century courtesans. If I can see it on the net or in real life I can be suckered into believing it to be real.

I’m not alone in the scale modelling hobby in this, and the hobby itself is not the only place you’ll see it. The reproduction business for firearms and re-enactor’s apparel is rife with expensive and well-made howlers…outfits and products that are treasured by their owners despite being as fake as a Queensland road minister’s promises. Why? Because they have the appearance of something that has an appearance, and because they are pretty. This could describe a lot of ladies, too.

What to do? Nothing. If the museum thinks that it looked like that, the onus is on them for the blooper. If you make a model that looks like the one in the museum, it is an accurate model of that blooper and you should receive full credit for your effort. Let them argue with the other experts…get a tub of popcorn and a big orange drink and just watch the show.