About the service
I make props for the stage and for the camera, and I start not with the shape but with the hand that will hold it. A goblet raised in a banquet scene lives in an actor's palm for half an act: it is lifted, passed along the table, set down in the dark and now and then dropped in the wings. So it has to be light enough to hold with two fingers and tough enough to survive its hundredth performance. I work from the designer's sketch — first we agree on proportion and weight, then I choose the material. Papier-mache laid over a sculpted form gives warmth and almost no weight. Extruded foam under a shell of glass mesh and filler carries volume: urns, columns, oversized fruit, a shop sign that must look like carved oak from the fourth row. Cast and vacuum-formed plastic comes in when a dozen identical pieces are needed and every one of them must match.
Painting is done for the back row and for the lighting plot, never for a photograph on the workbench. Under a warm wash clean gold flattens into dull yellow, and a beautiful glaze made under workshop lamps can vanish the moment the scene turns blue. That is why I finish with glazes, scumbles and dry brush, check the piece under the same colour temperature it will live in, and keep the contrast a step stronger than looks right up close. Every item is treated with a certified flame-retardant impregnation, and I hand over the paperwork for the venue's fire officer together with the props.
Repairability is designed in from the first day. A prop lives between performances: chipped edges, a cracked handle, paint rubbed off where the actor's grip always lands. I build with seams that can be opened, keep the same paints and a repair kit for the running crew, and put together a short note on how to touch the piece up in twenty minutes between shows. Deadlines are counted backwards from the premiere, with the fitting rehearsal fixed in advance so that the actor can hold the object on stage before the dress run, not after it.
What the work includes:
— reading the sketch, agreeing on size, weight and balance;
— a mock-up in cheap material for anything the actor must handle;
— sculpting, moulding and casting; papier-mache, foam or plastic by task;
— painting and finishing tested under stage light;
— flame-retardant treatment with documentation;
— a repair kit, touch-up paints and instructions for the running crew;
— safe props only: dishes, books, scrolls, crowns, fruit, signs, seals and letters.
Painting is done for the back row and for the lighting plot, never for a photograph on the workbench. Under a warm wash clean gold flattens into dull yellow, and a beautiful glaze made under workshop lamps can vanish the moment the scene turns blue. That is why I finish with glazes, scumbles and dry brush, check the piece under the same colour temperature it will live in, and keep the contrast a step stronger than looks right up close. Every item is treated with a certified flame-retardant impregnation, and I hand over the paperwork for the venue's fire officer together with the props.
Repairability is designed in from the first day. A prop lives between performances: chipped edges, a cracked handle, paint rubbed off where the actor's grip always lands. I build with seams that can be opened, keep the same paints and a repair kit for the running crew, and put together a short note on how to touch the piece up in twenty minutes between shows. Deadlines are counted backwards from the premiere, with the fitting rehearsal fixed in advance so that the actor can hold the object on stage before the dress run, not after it.
What the work includes:
— reading the sketch, agreeing on size, weight and balance;
— a mock-up in cheap material for anything the actor must handle;
— sculpting, moulding and casting; papier-mache, foam or plastic by task;
— painting and finishing tested under stage light;
— flame-retardant treatment with documentation;
— a repair kit, touch-up paints and instructions for the running crew;
— safe props only: dishes, books, scrolls, crowns, fruit, signs, seals and letters.
