11 minute read
BRICK BY BRICK
Combining his lifelong love of Lego and his creative and performance skills, Adam Ward has managed to turn play into work with happy results. What’s more, he’s about to complete his largest build to date—an artistic masterwork that could shatter all previous records in Legoland.
BRICK BY BRICK
By Joel Hoekstra
Illustrated by Owen Davey—Folio Art
One afternoon last fall, Adam Ward opened the front door of a palatial residence located on the outskirts of Salt Lake City. Ward doesn’t live in the house— he grew up in Minneapolis and now resides in Los Angeles— but for nearly two years now, he has spent two weeks a month in Utah, constructing what may be the largest Lego installation ever built.
Flashing a toothy grin underneath his curly black beard, Ward welcomed the visitor who had just arrived and led the way down a flight of stairs. He opened the door to a brightly lit room where a team of eight people was working. The walls of the space were lined floor-to-ceiling with cabinets and shelves containing plastic totes, all filled with Lego blocks and carefully organized. Dozens of Ziploc bags filled with Lego—sorted by size and color—were strewn across a countertop, alongside several half-built structures, including a haunted mansion, a Chinese dragon and several Lego trees. The Violent Femmes blared from the sound system. There was, as any place where work and play are intermingled, a mini fridge stocked with sodas and La Croix.
Ward advanced a few steps and surveyed his team’s progress. There, in the center of the room was a 680-square-foot platform roughly shaped like the state of Utah and covered with Lego creations: a medieval castle, a ski hill, a frontier town, a main street, an industrial harbor, a Ninjago lair, a coal mine, an amusement park, a concert stadium. Each scene teemed with cylinder-headed figurines, skating on an icy pond, mountain-biking, driving a wagon, playing tetherball. Creatures of every kind—buffalo, birds, a satyr—traversed the landscape.
Several scenes came to life with the turn of a crank; others were powered by hidden motors: a monorail train that circumnavigated the entire platform, a parade of pioneers, horses and wagons that zigzagged along a track through an Old West frontier town. Everywhere, there were details upon details: ghosts lurked behind the windows in the upper reaches of the castle; birds hid among the vines that cascaded down a rocky ledge; in the harbor, several lobster traps contained a cache of tiny crustaceans. Even the transitions between each landscape were somehow seamless.
“There are 12 realms altogether,” Ward said. “None of them are straight-from-the-box builds.”
DESIGNING A DREAM
Ward has been making a living from Lego for more than a decade. He’s hosted a show and written a book about Lego. He’s done workshops at conventions and led icebreaker activities for corporate events. He’s built and sold thousands of coasters, frames and small items. And he’s done several “builds” (Lego parlance for an installation) for private collectors.
His current commission, however, is by far his longest, most complex and most lucrative engagement to date. When finished, the Utah build will include an estimated 7.5 million Lego pieces. And it will be the largest installation in the world built at the scale of the typical Lego figure (known as “minifig scale”)—as opposed to human scale or some other measure.
Ward’s client is a prominent Salt Lake businessman and a lifelong Lego aficionado. Like many others who have hired Ward, he owns thousands of Lego sets. But he wanted something bespoke, something original. He and Ward explored a variety of options, including several that relied on personal memories or inspirations. He’s a huge U2 fan—could it include a concert replica?
As Ward and his patron discussed the project, a singular idea emerged as a unifying concept. A poem about a bridge had inspired the client in his career and continued to serve as a compass in his life. Ward proposed a human-sized footbridge—18 feet long and four feet wide—in the center of the build. SNOTs (short for “stud not on top”) would be used to turn the sides into an artistic canvas, studded with “stones” and detailed with moss, vines, bugs and more. While other elements of the build would be constructed by local Lego enthusiasts hired to assist with the build, Ward would drive the vision for the bridge.
It wasn’t difficult to find people willing to work on the project. But success depended on finding talented builders. Ward turned to the local Lego community (there’s an official club or loosely connected network in nearly every major U.S. city) and recruited a team. Some members put in full weeks, while others come when they can. A shift may involve building rock faces, stringing leaves into trees or adding tiny pieces used as “grout” between rocks in the bridge. Some tasks are mundane; others require mulling and problem solving. From 9 a.m. to 9 p.m. four days a week, the work goes on— brick by brick.
BUILDING A CAREER
Ward was first exposed to Lego at age 2. In his semi-autobiographical book, Brick x Brick, he tells the story of his parents’ search for a home in Minneapolis. While visiting one house, his parents noticed that their toddler was mesmerized by the Lego bricks dumped on the floor of a bedroom closet. “The fact that my incredibly curious, loud, half-Jewish, afro-sporting, 2-year-old self didn’t bother them at all during the entire duration of the house tour almost certainly gave them the time and space to learn more about that house than any other we toured,” Ward recounts. His parents bought the place.
ADAM IS JOYFUL, PLAYFUL, DEEP, THOUGHTFUL, CURIOUS AND WILDLY CREATIVE. ONCE YOU'VE CONNECTED WITH ADAM AS A HUMAN, YOU HAVE A FRIEND FOR LIFE—ONE WHO ALSO HAS KILLER DAD JOKES IN HIS POCKET AT EVERY TURN.
The Lego collection didn’t come with the deed, of course, but within a few years Ward had several sets of his own. He stacked block after block and, at age 8, entered a Lego rocket building contest sponsored by the University of Minnesota engineering department. He won third place, besting several adults.
Lego remained a passion, but his obsession dwindled as he entered his teens and twenties. He developed an interest in art (Escher drawings were a brief fascination) and theater (his gregarious, spontaneous nature aligned nicely with public performance). After attending Syracuse University, where he majored in psychology, he moved to Los Angeles, intending to write and act. Two boxes of Lego traveled the country with him, but he poured his creativity into other outlets. He did event production. He did commercials. He hosted live events for Gillette, Butterfinger and several other brands.
But it was a business flop that led Ward back to Lego. In 2011, he found himself mired in the middle of a food truck business funded by friends. He started out offering ideas, then got involved in the day to day, and then found himself unable to sleep because the truck wasn’t making enough money. After 11 months, the venture folded. Still, the experience taught him something: how you could turn a small idea into an actual business.
At nights, to relieve stress, Ward started making tiny objects out of Lego: coasters, picture frames, games, key fobs. He occasionally posted pictures of his creations on Facebook, and when he did, people commented like crazy. Not just close friends. Mere acquaintances too. So three months after the food truck closed, Ward launched a $10,000 Kickstarter campaign in the hopes of funding a business focused on Lego. The campaign blew up. “All of a sudden I had 750 clients,” he says, still marveling. What’s more, his creations garnered interest from corporate clients.
WE’RE ALL IN FRONT OF SCREENS ALL THE TIME. BUILDING WITH LEGO FORCES YOU TO LOOK AT WHAT’S IN YOUR HANDS.
Zappos, the shoe company, hired him to craft a mural inspired by the company’s logo for the grand opening of its Las Vegas headquarters. Another company called and asked for 800 Lego picture frames.
Ward’s design talents and social personality propelled him forward; he successfully pitched a build-this-project series to SoulPancake, a now defunct YouTube streaming channel. “Adam is joyful, playful, deep, thoughtful, curious and wildly creative,” says former SoulPancake CEO Shabnam Mogharabi.
“Once you've connected with Adam as a human, you have a friend for life—one who also has killer dad jokes in his pocket at every turn.”
Gabe Huffstutler, a creative specialist who works for Lego, concurs: “What’s so rad about Adam is that he’s able to take something that for the average person is very intimidating [building with Lego bricks] and make it super-approachable and fun. It’s clear he loves to create, and his passion is pretty contagious.”
The YouTube series, Brick x Brick, led to a book by the same title. But just as the volume hit the market, COVID arrived. Promotional events were canceled. Ward’s touring plans vanished overnight.
In hindsight, however, the pandemic was a boon for Lego. People stuck at home turned to the bricks for entertainment. Lego sales more than doubled in the first six months of 2021, and company profits surged. Tapping his entertainment abilities, Ward pivoted to virtual presentations, birthday parties, classes and more. His roster of private clients grew and grew. “The landscape is so different from what it was in 2012, when I launched the business,” he says. “Lego has really gone mainstream.”
A TOY THAT CAN BE ANYTHING
Ward has turned Lego bricks into flowers and picture frames and a viable business that supports a family. But at home, the flowers on the table are real. The picture frames are actual wood or metal. His wife, Stacey, isn’t really into Lego. And Ward is content to let his two young girls—Plum, 5, and Storey, 3—play with dolls, cars and other toys. When his daughters unpack a box of Lego or Duplo, he likes to sit back and watch what happens, wondering where their imaginations will take them.
IT’S GREAT TRAINING FOR THE ARTS AND CREATIVE ENDEAVORS. THERE’RE SO MANY WAYS YOU CAN GO: LEGO CAN BE A TOOL, A TOY, A WEAPON, A TEACUP. I’M SO FASCINATED BY HOW MUCH YOU CAN DO WITH ONE THING.
In an age of cell phones, tablets and screens, Ward likes Lego because they aren’t digital. “We’re all in front of screens all the time,” he says. “Building with Lego forces you to look at what’s in your hands.” What’s more, playing with Lego requires problem-solving skills. You have to innovate if you can’t find the right piece. And you can change direction mid-build, adding a turret to a tower instead of a roof or transforming a teacup into a truck. “It’s great training for the arts and creative endeavors,” Ward says. “There’re so many ways you can go: Lego can be a tool, a toy, a weapon, a teacup. I’m so fascinated by how much you can do with one thing.”
And nobody ages out of Lego, he adds: “It’s not a toy that won’t mean anything to your kids in three months or even three years. Just the replayability of Lego is amazing.”
Ward’s evangelism on behalf of Lego is infectious. But he doesn’t work for the company. And he sees room for improvement: Why, for example, do all minifigs have yellow heads? “Minifig diversity is something I’m really passionate about,” he recently noted on a podcast. “As a kid, there were no minifigs that looked like me. So I would take the little brown or black 1-by-1s and replace the heads so I could have some Black population in my minifig collection.” In the early 2000s, Lego launched an NBA collection that included Black players. And earlier this year, the company announced that it planned to reissue its decade-old Lego Friends line, which featured a more diverse set of characters. But Ward, who says he has a good relationship and open communication with Lego executives, hopes to leverage his rising reputation to push for more changes.
Ward expects to complete the Salt Lake City build sometime this spring. Once the last piece is added to the installation, his patron will flip a switch and watch the train roll through the 12 realms. The monorail will glide along its track, the ships on the inland sea will schooner about, and the frontier town will come alive with pioneers headed west. The lights of the main street cinema marquee will blink on and off. The ghosts in the upper reaches of the castle towers will glow. Perhaps the voice of Bono will rise from the stadium’s stage.
Like many works of art, the build—estimated to be the largest Lego creation ever constructed, based on number of pieces, if not size—will remain essentially a private pleasure. Ward’s patron has no plans to put the work on public display or open his home for tours. No museum has asked to exhibit the piece, and dismantling and reassembling it would prove a significant challenge. Still, Ward hopes the work will lead to new commissions, a show, another book, a career leap.
Or maybe he’ll break everything apart and create something entirely new.
Joel Hoekstra is a writer and editor based in Minneapolis.
