1
I think my obsession with the ht. miniatures began when I was eig I had come across photographs in an old National Geographic from the 1980s showing a series of remarkable rooms. There was a library comprised of tiny books — in each one only big enough to conta the first lines of famous English n poems and novels — hand writte ny in ink by their authors across ma small pages. A cellar was stocked with glass bottles of wine from the d finest vineyards — all labeled an d each scarcely an inch tall — seale with pieces of cork that could only
have been inserted with the most delicate of tweezers. In the bedroom, which was paneled in luxurious blue damask, matching material hung from the bed’s canopy — that though probably lighter than a piece of tissue and about the same size — pooled on the floor realistically as if weighed down by yards upon yards of silk. I was mesmerized and pined veral away for the visit I would make se s years later to see this house — thi een dollhouse — designed for the Qu of England by the architect Edwin Lutyens in 1924, in 1:12 scale. Having planned the itinerary for a family trip around pilgrimages to various English miniature worlds we, also saw “Titania’s Palace,” the son tabletop castle built for the Wilkin sisters in 1922. Prior to receiving to this gift, they had discovered how of use early photographic techniques nt” collaging cut negatives to “docume d a society of fairies they claimed live
in the woods near their house. The images were printed in newspapers all over the world and the hoax captured the imagination of the believing public. To us now, the images appear goofy and handmade, but somehow the disconnect between representation, reality, and scale was confused. The process by which one’s mind accepts that something is not real and chooses to engage with it anyway seems to me an essential part of making miniature architecture or full-sized architecture. As a kid playing with my own doll-less house, I spent hours arranging elaborate catastrophic tableaux in the kitchen with icing splatter around the room, shattered porcelain plates, spilled sauces, and grotesque Sculpey meals. I believe my subsequent delight in running around to the façade of the house and peering in at these scenes through the glass windows, tapped into something universal: a suspension of disbelief so thrilling and pure. Today I feel the same awe when I adjust my vantage point to meet the windows
of models my business partner Andre Herrero and I build, and see the spaces come to life as light filters in. On that first family trip, trekking around England in search of miniature follies renowned for their exquisite and almost-uncanny precision, it was the instances where the illusion was fractured that affected me most deeply in the end. We saw the oversized textiles and clumsily rendered china of the 17th-century Dutch cabinet houses. In all their muddled scale, these elaborate inventories were made by merchant families to document their earthly possessions. We visited Denton Welch’s amateur restoration of a dollhouse rescued from a country attic, a diversion from writing and his general sense of not belonging. We ended with the little Magritte and ham-fisted upholstery of Salvador Dalí's lip sofa in Edward James’s bedside shadow box — a distillation of his own collection. All of them catalogues of desire; their diminutive scale impossibly weighted with longing, loss, and memory.
My sons were in the living room watching something. I thought to myself, I should at least look like I’m working. I barely dusted, looked around, got the drug from where I’d hid it, took two drops as instructed, and waited. After 90 minutes, I looked outside. The trees were breathing. Their leaves were a dark red, like the shade of a dress I’d once bought and never worn. The wind shook and tossed them. Nature was
wild and good. Where was that dress? It had been hundred years There probably was an alternate universe where I years. The trees were probably a rot in the middle was not sick. I thought about that place. I was tired old. Somewhere I’d read that they its heart. of being here, alive, destroyed, decorating a dead before they go, as if a cavity got in tree. That used to be fun once, just like how I used me in weeks to be. But I’d changed. That’s what routine can do One of my sons hadn’t spoken to a suicide to you. Make you unlike yourself. I’d accepted this. since reading my email. I had drafted note on one of my bad days. My 13-year-old read Felt stuck to it. it, having either hacked or guessed my password, which was strange, since I’d changed my I had decided to buy drugs after googling how to ever guess. tie a noose. I wasn’t afraid of losing my mind, I was password to something no one would I’d changed it to ourdeaddog and I didn’t even like afraid of losing my life. Thought drugs might save our dead dog and even that didn’t fucking work. me. Sometimes I whispered to Ian, told him those three I went online. I wasn’t dumb. I knew how to get promised I things. My marriage had been a way to escape my words I thought might reassure him, would stay, but all he did was look away. He didn’t psycho parents. Someone I asked told me about seem to believe me anymore. Though sometimes a drug in the form of an oil. She said, how much when I said this I was laughing. My youngest, do you want? I said, a year. The package came on drugs stamped with a blue spider, the symbol, I guessed, Dennis, was six. It was like he was without being on drugs. He didn’t know about pain for high-quality stuff. or grief or suffering yet. I admired that about him. The next day, when I was not on drugs, I felt like Before I got high, I sobbed. This was usual. I was sinking into the floor. I couldn’t get up. I felt I was always somewhere in my house crying.
a little dramatic, like I was on fire. Tho
demon had invaded my body, filled it
ught a
with gasoline, For the first time I wan ted to and lit a match. That was what depres sion was like I felt fine. Not scared. No pain. for me, a kind of burning that wouldn’ t end. Yeah, we were all gonna the body was a body and When I was high, everything was better. Cleaning, I needed music. I laundry, making the beds, pouring coff ee, fucking TV off and someone my husband, whatever. I floated from room to room Hey! And I think they on drugs, and I could perform myself as a true back on, but I didn’t masterpiece of a woman. As sweet, sub servient, was listening to the and smiling. My family was happy for me. Suddenly the cat One day, I doubled the dose and took
For some reason I thought that would
five drops.
be good. When I opened my eyes, my sons wer e sitting on the couch. The Christmas tree shim mered with a glow far brighter than any light I’d ever seen. It was amazing. I felt like I was part of it and everything in the room. The silk curtain s, wool rug, stone fireplace. I was the smudge on the goldplated coffee table, which I now realize d didn’t go with the baby blue on the walls. I star ed at our cat who was me. Then at my sons, who rea lly were me, with their skin like mine, brown hair , a faint gray in their eyes. I was that disdain in Ian’s voice when he said, What do you want? Tha t was me. Had Mary ever wanted kids? I though t about her now, giving birth to a boy who would late r be crucified. One day, her son would rise from the grave and men would surround him, stic k their fingers in him to prove he was real. I saw it in a painting once by Caravaggio. Jesus take s a man’s hand and guides it deep into his wound. See? He seemed to say, I’m dead but alive.
cry because No worries. die. But it went. turned the said, turned it care, I universe. jumped
weird. That was
funny,
I thought, and
started
laughing hysterically like
person, like the stereotype of the high
I was.
a crazy person that
By now, Dennis was giggling, and I too
k the opportunity to lift him into my arms and we danced from room to room. We weren’t even listening to anything. Just going. Everything was really good. It was a great day. Didn’t feel like dying at all. Somewhere a door shut. I guessed Ian had gone to his room. But Dennis stayed. Good, sweet, Dennis, with so much love to give. He really was beautiful. Someday he’d be someone else’s to hold, but right now he was mine and it hadn’t happened yet, that bad day. The day when he’s 16, staring at the fire I started that has gotten out of control, not knowing why or when it’ll happen again. There are things he’ll say, but has n’t yet, like, You crazy bitch. You crazy fucking bitch.
troops, they had then toy guillotines. A patriotic gesture, I suppose: le rasoir when remotenational. One wonders es, built-tocontrolled Predator dron t-haves. scale will be holiday mus
Nicolas Jacques Pelletier’s head was lopped off in what was then called the Place de Grève on the 25th of April, 1792. It was the first execution by guillotine. At that point, the end of the 18th century, the es were Some of the toy guillotin guillotine was not new, or not entirely. would ll as two feet. Children ta as the for given — new was The name and dly behead their dolls, rte po re onist aboliti y penalt deathphysician and y, dents. In his 1853 essa ro en ev ed propos who in, Joseph-Ignace Guillot sophy of Toys,” Charles ilo Ph he “T did he h its use three years earlier (thoug recalls witnessing an re ai el ud Ba was not build the initial prototype, that child who had dropped ss la r-c pe up Antoine Louis, proof that marketing is as its doll, “as neat and clean s hi but n), creatio than ant import more often de him to gawk through si be r,” te as m ” similar beheading devices had been in a poor child, an “urchin, as e at gr e th use around Europe since at least the 13th is k a live rat in a cage. “H oo sh century. , had drawn parents, to save money e itself.” There were lif m fro y to a What was truly new was efficiency, scale. s that banned the toy wn to ch en Fr n At the height of the Reign of Terror, as ing for what the childre ar fe , es ad bl baskets overfilled with skulls and they to be. I wasn’t yet six up ow gr ay m ran short on pikes to prop them up on, d Columbine happened an en wh role ed outsiz its ed the guillotine assum ng s after I remember havi ar ye r fo the of ies fantas in the morbid fears and th my mom to play wi e gu ar to could public mind which no deadly device violent video games, ly ng si ea cr in compete with until, perhaps, the atom ws-driven fear of their ne e bl ca e th bomb. Violence is cultural and much like ts growing more manic gu d an d oo bl children today have plastic tanks and even as wars during the Bush years got easier metastasized and guns
to get. On TV some people propose students wear bulletproof backpacks. Fleur Jaeggy, introducing John Keats by way of the sinister toy: “Do childhood games typically leave cadavers behind in the nursery?” It seems yes, often the child’s own as they walk out the door. Keats: “Who are these coming to the sacrifice?” One can imagine a child cutting off his finger and another sucking the blood.
mouth, incanting the 1-800 number on the head of his cock? Call now for this special TV offer.
“Is not the whole of life to be found there in miniature?” asks Baudelaire of the toy store. To play is recitation, repetition to become rote, rigid in the bounds of one’s person, Growing up, I knew a girl who would boundaries dismember her Barbies and put so uncertain each limb, torso, head, in its own as to be undone corresponding drawer. Fragmented and by the singular fetishized, object and abject speak slant. swipe of a blade. The desire to see the “soul” of the toy is There are guts but “a first metaphysical tendency,” explains then a hollow too. “Always Baudelaire, musing on the child’s childish enough, an eternal impulse towards destruction. “But where child!” Nietzsche exclaims in Beyond is the soul?” A shattered doll reveals Good and Evil. Can one be both so only a hollow. “This is the beginning of open to the world as the child and melancholy and gloom.” What might fill moral? Nietzsche’s fevered attempt the unfillable? An instruction towards to protect the horse from its master violence, or: the violence of instruction? marked the beginning of his end. The “I don’t find it in me to blame this infantile child is wild and eleven years mad. mania.” We’ve all seen something so cute we want to squeeze it till it bursts and then Why did I beg my mother to buy me one tear to pieces its ebullient corpse. of those dolls that pissed itself, seen on the commercials that came between The guillotine was only retired in cartoons? (I never received one.) Better, France some four decades ago. Tens why did they make them? Should I recall of thousands of citizens were killed, the commercials when I’m in a stranger’s and god knows the count of dolls and shower, urine bitter in my eyes and rodents.
My primal scene: bed, morning, December 23rd, 1996. It’s my third birthday and I’ve been gifted my first Barbie. My mom regards me as I carefully acquaint myself with my new favorite toy, her face imbued with slight concern, but also, obvious satisfaction. I was ecstatic. Ballerina Barbie was unique because she was equipped with rotating and bendable limbs, making her easily assume even the most obscure poses; an intriguing ability that I promptly began exploring and mimicking with great enthusiasm in and outside the home. Forever clad in her hot pink tutu, Ballerina Barbie became a true loyal companion in the following years: she followed me to kindergarten, in the car, to bed, and to the public swimming pool, where her stiff, pointy ethylene-vinyl acetate fingers helped me turn on the showers in the male-only locker room. While my brother boasted an invisible male friend, I had Barbie. Through this inanimate object, I acquired the tools to navigate an, at times, difficult childhood environment, with its overwhelming masculinities and unspoken social norms. Through her, I first mastered the act of metaphor: to imagine myself as someone — something — else. “If you scratch a child, you will find a queer, in the sense of, someone ‘gay’ or just plain strange,” writes Kathryn Bond Stockton in her book The Queer Child.1 Stockton argues that gay children
nge, make us perceive the queer (odd, stra etition, un-normal) temporalities (such as rep r fantasy, suspense) that haunt us all. “Fo from d no matter how you slice it, the chil rmal” adults is always the standpoint of “no 2 is queer,” she writes. Indeed, the child pre- and poly-sexual, non-human and post-human, non-gendered and schizoe. gendered, there and not there, all at onc add To these queer temporalities we might pe sca queer spatialities: childhood is a land ed of idiosyncratic perversions, hazily play and out, literally, as play, in a mix of virtual er oth h eac n real spaces that morph betwee in flux. Since ancient times, dollhouses have been used to imagine and re-imagine future domestic space along with children’s roles within it — yet actual dollhousepopularized in play for children was only 3 k 19th-century England. In her 1993 boo Made to Play House, historian Miriam adults Formanek-Brunell explains that while for in this time indeed found dolls useful — the social feminization of young girls essentially preparing them for a life as ally domestic housewives — there is an equ traceable history of children “hacking” the household norms of the Victorian s of period through their own, critical form 4 — doll play. To this day, “playing house” ch with or without dollhouses — is as mu old seh hou about disrupting the idea of a it, as it is about enacting and reinforcing s, eer adding new, surprising characters (qu or royalty, terrorists, animals, monsters) gic, narrative plots (death, domination, ma c, esti dom of sex) that transgress the logic heteronormative idyll. The basic social and dramaturgical g elements of dollhouse play — decidin a in ting rac the fate of human avatars inte ce delineated social and architectural spa nder — extend directly to the logic of mo
day video games known as “God for rather complex subversions Games,” where the player assumes of almost all of the game’s the role of a Great Controller: an aesthetic and dramaturgical omnipresent onlooker in charge of components. autonomous characters which she Through this guards and influences. The biggest code, I created of these games is, of course, the permanently millennial game franchise The Sims. levitating mothers, Like dollhouses, The Sims functioned CEO children, as a virtual site where one negotiates same-sex alien/ domestic life, but adds a rather human couples with revolutionary architectural component offspring living permanently in a that allows users to virtually plan and custom-built rose garden; I retired construct “dollhouses” of their own with a toddler, forcing her directly to old relative simplicity. But while essentially age, resurrected a ghost, made functioning in the same way, The Sims her a master-chef, and had every is a much less gendered sphere of inhabitant of my Sims village play than “brick-and-mortar” (plastic?) show up at a birthday party of five dollhouses, and thus a safe haven orphaned siblings who were all for young queers like myself, whose world-class chess players, deep affection for Barbies proved only to drown everyone in their increasingly problematic with age. By villa’s sizable pool by removing no means is The Sims any less queer all the ladders. than traditional doll-play, however: gay sex, torture, magic, and interaction with In the idiosyncratic cosmologies aliens a commonplace if not everyday of children, the very distinction practices in the bucolic suburban between virtual and physical, townships that Sims 1–4 allowed its between fantasy and reality, users to build, customize, and control. is highly malleable and up for Add to this well-known cheat codes, negotiation. So do we, in these sourced from the social space of the dollhouses, find the foundation early Web 2.0, which instantaneously for a queer strategy of subverting, suspend the faux American-suburban resisting, or re-defining normative realism that the game — on the ways of being and inhabiting surface — obediently subscribes the world — and a strategy of to. In Sims 2, motherlode famously re-writing cultural narratives of provides an instant cash influx of domestic space? Can we use 50,000 simoleons, while boolprop critical doll-play to reverse and objectShadows, rather uncannily, re-think traditional social roles, removes shadows from all characters and help us broach life’s most and buildings. My personal favorite was powerful feelings — such as love, boolProp testingcheatsenabled true, a desire, and violence — in an complicated chant I learned to spell out before even learning to speak English, experimental way? If so, how can and one that I still remember to this day: a kind of master code that allows
we find ways to keep playing, to not grow up, but instead, “grow sideways,” as Stockton writes, and continue to generate new meanings, new fictions, new horizontal configurations of queer space, time, and sociality? “The child is precisely who we are not and, in fact, never were,” she reminds us, “It is the act of adults 5 looking back.” But then, why did we ever stop playing?
1. Kathryn Bond Stockton, The Queer Child, or Growing Sideways in the Twentie th Century (Durham, NC and London: Duke University Press, 2009), 1. 2. Ibid, 7. 3. For example, purely decorative function s. On a history of the dollhouse, see for example: Tobey Crockett, “The Compu ter as a Dollhouse” in Andy Clark and Grethe Mitchell eds., Videogames and Art (Bristol and Chicago: Intellect, 2007), 219–22 5. 4. Miriam Formanek-Brunell, Made to Play House (New Haven, CT: Yale Univers ity Press, 1993), cited by Mary Flanagan in Critical Play (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 2009), 31. 5. Stockton, The Queer Child, 5.
Today’s tweens know better than to waste their time with toys. Search “dollhouse” on Instagram and you’ll find strip clubs, microblading salons, and miniature household items handmade by disappointed adults. Pink plastic castles have been usurped by beauty apps and social networks, enabling girls to both consume and create their own fantasy worlds online. Like dollhouses, these platforms reinforce gender and aesthetic norms, only instead of Barbie there's King Kylie, and instead of a DreamHouse™ and glam convertible there are hidden mansions and a whole fleet of kustom kars.
Teens watch Kylie swatch her latest lip kit and then use her sponsored filter to try it — and her Juvederm-enhanced lips — on themselves. Online images have become trading cards, encouraging teens to level up with filters and Facetune so they can score more likes and followers. Like in real life, the goal of this online fantasy is to become beautiful, buy things, and get popular. But when tiny houses look like mansions on Instagram and girls can manipulate themselves like virtually dolls, there’s no difference between real and make believe.
Thanks to click-based algorithms, popular adults, just like Barbie and her friends, know that posting photos similar to one another will get them more attention online. Instead of playing house, young girls learn to become women by replicating each other’s images, creating a feedback loop full of grainy selfies and Insta-friendly coffee shops. Teens learn fashion and makeup trends from influencers and beauty vlogs that encourage creativity and experimentation while simultaneously
teaching young women which looks get es the most likes. It’s this system that giv ation LGBTQ kids a platform for experiment ire while simultaneously convincing an ent generation that oversized Anastasia to Beverly Hills™ eyebrows are essential a beautiful face. Like movies, social media requires a ge suspension of disbelief. Influencers sta “candid” photoshoots in millennial-pink s accented, rent-by-the-hour apartment while marketing companies generate streams of CGI images of avatars “playing dress-up” at home. Teens know that these images aren’t real and yet they keep scrolling and liking anyway. When everything is fake, it’s easy to play along and the threshold for participation is lower, too. Can’t afford ass implants like KKW? Just photoshop your own. Apps also inspire new forms of consumption through voyeurism and engagement. The aspirational curation of images and goods online has created a parallel universe where consumer satisfaction is supplanted by n Poshmark likes and unfulfilled Amazo at wish lists. Sometimes just knowing wh you’d like to buy is enough to make you tes feel like it’s all yours; that’s why websi y like Pinterest fill consumerist voids. The their encourage those who can’t renovate kitchens or revamp their wardrobes to just create dreamy mood boards instead,
like playing house. Even repulsive imagery plays into the aspirational world of social media. Outrage influencers like Lil Tay, the ten-year-old “rapper” who spews offensive lyrics to earn attention online, stage video shoots in open-houses and hotel rooms to incite≠ envy from little girls and adults glued to their devices. “Broke-ass haters” watch Tay while she waves $100 bills and screams about how her bed costs as much as a Lamborghini. It’s only when you look closely at what is going on in the background that you realize her mansion in “the hills” is just a carpeted condo in Vancouver, and the toilet that costs “more than your rent” is just plain old porcelain. Like with Barbie and her elevator-equipped DreamHouse™, today’s virtual realities encourage girls to pursue a life of beauty and consumptive leisure — but how this might be achieved is not important. Like Lil Tay says: “If y’all work hard, y’all can accomplish your dreams just like I did.” But when virality equals success and likes are currency, the easiest way to get rich is to act as if you already are. If you keep your blogging to the living room no one will know that you have a closet for a bedroom instead of a Barbie-approved dream boudoir.
Augmented reality in analogue, this optical outreach of swanlike craning — an effort to compress the scope of one’s gaze into the keyhole of the small, a house in hieroglyph.
A real mouse-skin rug adds a Lilliputian “game” touch to this hall…even an ordinary cigarette dwarfs the diminutive features of the dining room. A match stick illustrates the size of these pipes, for instance.1
A game of Telephone in scale, of dial-in and dial-out. — The effect of Alice’s “Drink Me”: alchemy for telescoping in to interiors in perpetual close-up, high-density enviros, via eyes “mounted on some snail-like stem.”2 Notice the plaster snail in Gertrude Jekyll’s green velvet-grass garden, “mown in imagination” for Queen Mary’s Dolls’ House…3
“How funny it’ll seem to come out among the people that walk with their heads downwards! The 4 antipathies, I think —” 5
‘Plunge’ into tininess. Listen!
A tiny gramophone, with its first and last breath whispering “God Save the King.” A cottage piano, responding to your touch in tinkling tones scarce audible to mortal ears!…nursery rhymes set to 6 microscopic music. Seventy technicians later, Queen Mary’s Dolls’ House gramophone (5.5 inches tall), spins shellac in sonatiny — inspiriting Gaston Bachelard’s provocation for studies of “‘miniatures’ that appeal 7 to each sense.” Capsulelike as Carl Sagan’s Golden Record sent into space for supraterrestrial listening,
the subsonic sillage of Rule, Britannia! lures us into the deep time of dolls’ houses. This is perhaps the place to draw attention to the futurehistorico-scientific aspect of the Queen’s Dolls’ House.8 One-thousand-two-hundred bottles of real liquor in Queen Mary’s Dolls’ House cellar, corked in hand-labeled mini bottles, glass-blown to scale for corresponding vintages left to age: “If you were small enough, you could get tipsy in the cellar.”9 An allegory for inebriate (in) dimensionality — We become amazed and confounded at the wonders of minuteness; nor can we distinguish in its effects this extreme of littleness from the vast itself.10 A media archaeology of play might be mapped in gesture — in the extension of a hand into a dolls’ house drawing room, or the opening of lips to overdub a Dollomite’s voice… Dolls’ houses are wrapped up in digits, only in correspondingly nano registers. (“Nano” derives from Greek nanos for “dwarf.”)
We puppet dolls’ houses. Huts for hands. House puppets. Subtract the shell, and a cartography of the micro-movements of rearrangement emerges, writ large in air. Thus, space. And not by means other than the gestural.11 Nanontology Played from without — so as not to thumb away their contents into annihilation — unboxed in imagination instead, they remain instruments for interior tuning. Animist receptacles. Narrativity generators. Phoney houses. Fictohouses. Fairy houses. Houses in hieroglyph. Toy dwellings. Worlding devices. Talkie furniture. Pedagogical puppet theatres. Prostheses. Spaces of social practice. Sites for spatial practice. Exercises in vicarity. Ventriloquy. Microcabinets of curiosity. Maquettes for inhabitation. Objects whispered into… The first miniature rooms in 17thcentury Holland were built into cabinets, without proper fronts — cabinets of curiosity in microcosm. (They only grew faces later.) There is a jest about houses with Queen Anne fronts and Mary Ann backs. It does not apply to the Queen’s Dolls’ House, every face of which is for delight.12
Scenography: Blow Up, four and some centuries later. Enter an epidermal cabinet, its exterior channeling Tom Thumb(e)’s boots “made of chicken skins,” and encounter “industrial 13 skins” — a dollscape of biomorphic molds at “actual size.” Bubble wrap mille-feuille — a telephone (talkie furniture), baroque with exaggeration, that sounds through a Lobster Quadrille receiver — ear plinths, auricularly curved — arrowed notation in coiled abaca — another phone, but of mollified enamel — a dancing crib with tissue-like wilt — an Ultrasuede settee in Florine Stettheimer pink, ultra-micro soft — steel stovetop prototype — sponge-like steel mesh… Modern molecules. If a dolls’ house were a burrow, it might look like Kiesler’s model for Endless House, ever unbuilt in 1:1. All threshold. Mise-en-scène for ma(i)crobial musings — Playing at tea parties is great fun — and, of course, there’s always 14 a lot of…model gossip.
1. “Dolls House,” British Pathé newsre el, 2:37, April 11, 1955, https://www.britishpat he. com/video/dolls-house-aka-dolls-hous e. 2. A.C. Benson and Sir Lawrence Weave r, eds., The Book of the Queen’s Dolls' House (London: Methuen & Co. Ltd.), 1924. 3. Ibid. 4. Lewis Carroll, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland (New York: Minia Press, 1938). 5. Gaston Bachelard, The Poetics of Space (Boston: Beacon Press, 1994), 172. 6. Benson and Weaver, The Book of the Queen’s Dolls' House, 117 - 118. 7. Gaston Bachelard, The Poetics of Space (Boston: Beacon Press, 1994), 191. 8. Benson and Weaver, The Book of the Queen’s Dolls' House, 44. 9. Ibid. 10. Edmund Burke, A Philosophical Inquiry into the Origin of Our Ideas of the Sublim e and Beautiful (London: R. and J. Dodsle y, 1757). 11. Lisa Robertson, Occasional Work and Seven Walks from the Office for Soft Architecture (Toronto: Coach House Books, 2011), 68. 12. Benson and Weaver, The Book of the Queen’s Dolls' House. 13. Gaetano Pesce’s coinage. 14. “Dolls House Issue Title,” British Pathé newsreel, 00:46, March 17, 1938, https:// www.britishpathe.com/video/dolls-hou seissue-title-order-to-view.
Dear Diary,
En tries by Adam Charlap Hyman Micaela Durand Emma McCormick-Goodhart Taylore Scarabelli Jeppe Ugelvig Drew Zeiba Edited by Drew Zeiba Design by May Kim Drawings by Charlap Hyman & He rrero Concept and Creative Direction by Felix Burrichter Special thanks to Friedman Bend a Published on the occasion of Blo w Up, an exhibition curated by Felix Burric hter and designed by Charlap Hyman & He rrero at Friedman Benda, New York January 10 – February 16, 2019