About the service
I make paper theatres the old way: a box that opens into a stage, with a portal, a curtain that really draws aside, and two or three planes of wings cut with slots so a figure can ride in from the side and stop exactly where the scene needs it. The shell is heavy bookbinding board covered in paper, and the portal is cut and reinforced separately, because that is the edge small hands touch most often. Everything is painted by hand rather than printed and pasted on, so the timber of the hut, the snow on the street and the grey trunks of the forest are made of brushwork.
The set that leaves my bench is ten figures and three backdrops. Figures are cut from dense board, painted on both sides when the plot turns them around, and mounted on wooden rods with rounded, sanded ends and a small loop at the top so they hang on a hook instead of lying in a heap. Small parts such as a hat, a basket or a tail are not simply glued to the surface; they are pinned through and backed from behind, so they survive the tenth performance and do not come off in a pocket. Backdrops slide in from above: forest, house, winter street. Plots come from folk tales and fables, or from a story you write yourself; I do not use characters from modern films or cartoons.
Light is a warm LED strip along the footlights, run from batteries, with the compartment closed by a screw. This is the one detail I never let anyone talk me out of: paper and board burn, and a candle inside such a box is simply a fire waiting for a draught. The theatre folds flat and goes on a shelf between performances, and later I can cut you a second set of figures and backdrops for another tale on the same stage.
— box stage with portal, working curtain and two or three planes of wings with entry slots;
— ten hand-painted figures on wooden rods with rounded ends and storage loops;
— three interchangeable backdrops: forest, house, winter street;
— battery LED footlights, screw-closed compartment, never an open flame inside;
— printed prompt card with scene order and staging hints, not a ready-made script;
— folds flat for the shelf, packed in a rigid carton with corner protection;
— an add-on set for a second tale can be cut later to the same stage;
— meant for play under adult supervision and not for a child under three.
The set that leaves my bench is ten figures and three backdrops. Figures are cut from dense board, painted on both sides when the plot turns them around, and mounted on wooden rods with rounded, sanded ends and a small loop at the top so they hang on a hook instead of lying in a heap. Small parts such as a hat, a basket or a tail are not simply glued to the surface; they are pinned through and backed from behind, so they survive the tenth performance and do not come off in a pocket. Backdrops slide in from above: forest, house, winter street. Plots come from folk tales and fables, or from a story you write yourself; I do not use characters from modern films or cartoons.
Light is a warm LED strip along the footlights, run from batteries, with the compartment closed by a screw. This is the one detail I never let anyone talk me out of: paper and board burn, and a candle inside such a box is simply a fire waiting for a draught. The theatre folds flat and goes on a shelf between performances, and later I can cut you a second set of figures and backdrops for another tale on the same stage.
— box stage with portal, working curtain and two or three planes of wings with entry slots;
— ten hand-painted figures on wooden rods with rounded ends and storage loops;
— three interchangeable backdrops: forest, house, winter street;
— battery LED footlights, screw-closed compartment, never an open flame inside;
— printed prompt card with scene order and staging hints, not a ready-made script;
— folds flat for the shelf, packed in a rigid carton with corner protection;
— an add-on set for a second tale can be cut later to the same stage;
— meant for play under adult supervision and not for a child under three.
