Craftsman quality structure kits have been on my mind a lot lately, both because I have just completed my first build of one and because I am helping a friend dispose of a lifelong collection. This has led to a lot of research as I track down original product numbers and prices, and try to get an idea when various items were produced. That in turn has given me an overview of a part of the hobby I had never paid much attention to.
Although railroad model kits have been around since at least the 1930s (Here's a good history), the word craftsman apparently was not used much before the 60s. And it didn't mean fancy new kits, it referred to kits that predated the shake-the-box junk produced in the early days of injection molding. Folks were talking about classic rolling stock by companies like Ambroid, Red Ball, Silversides, Laconia and others. Apparently, modelers of the era viewed changes in the hobby with alarm. It wasn't long before companies were advertising "craftsman style" kits to distinguish their products-- primarily an old school approach to materials and methods.
I'm not sure when "craftsman" began to mean "large and complex". My less than exhaustive research would put it at George Sellios' FSM #100 Jacob's Fuel with over 700 parts. That product meets two other indicators of the craftsman genre also-- a limited run (1200 compared to 5000) and a 50% price increase over the previous model ($24.95 vs $15.95).
So these features seem to characterize the contemporary "craftsman kit". Mostly wood construction, lots of parts (especially cast details), and a limited high ticket run. But I have another thought.
The best kits have a name associated with them. George Sellios, Doug Foscale, Leo Campbell and a few others. These folks are (or were) masters of the arcane art of designing a beautiful structure that is reasonably realistic, has its own narrative, and can be built by a ham handed amateur like me.
What makes a structure beautiful? Well, all of the classic artistic qualities apply-- balance, harmony, color. When these refer to buildings, you get architecture, and you won't have to look far to find buildings that are unbalanced, disjointed, and ugly. It's not an accident that this is a vital part of the equation-- kits are sold from photographs, and even the most gifted photographer cannot make a turkey look like a swan.
What makes a structure realistic? Well, there have to be some common features with the prototype, but precise scale models of the real are impractical. For one thing, there's no room. Few layouts have scale acres to spare, so all structures are condensed. Doing this without producing a caricature is tricky. For another, scale lumber is not scale wood, it's real wood cut to scale sizes. The look of real wood is an artistic choice (I.e. makes no sense). No, a realistic structure is convincing-- it looks like it can serve its function and reminds us of real buildings we have seen.
What makes a model buildable? Well, the first thing that comes to mind is instructions, and yes, those are important. But in my few years of experience I've come across models that can only be assembled from the inside, models with parts that don't fit, and models that require elaborate jigs to get things in line. No instructions can overcome the impossible. The more elaborate a model is, the harder it is to avoid these problems.
The designers are the craftsmen, not the person who assembles their masterpieces.
Your thoughts?
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