By: Alexandra Cohl
Interview with Meg Romero: Miniatures, Memory, and Cross-Generational Community Building
This week, I spoke with Meg Romero, an artist located in Cumberland, Maryland. Meg’s experience spans from fifteen years of high-end residential design to fifteen years of designing and building full-scale furniture. Her most recent work and what she calls her “next 15” is her work with miniatures. We spoke about the industry of miniatures, her work within it, how she has used miniatures to explore her personal life and witnessed them be an effective community building art project, and how one might try it out for themselves. You can read more about her and her work, as well as purchase a miniature, on her website here.
This interview has been edited for clarity and flow.
Meg, thank you so much for joining me today. We are here to talk about your work with miniatures. Can you tell me a bit about that?
Thank you very much, Alexandra. I am often introduced as a miniature artist, but I can assure you, I am full-size. I am five-foot, four-and-a-half, 130 pounds, and it’s just my work that is miniature. Miniatures are the third most collected thing in the world. You have stamps, coins, and miniatures. Historically, the boys have had the model railroad, the matchbox cars, of course those little green soldiers. If you remember those. And, the little girls have always had the dollhouse. But, currently there is kind of a global reawakening in the industry. Maybe not a reawakening so much but a redesign. Things used to be very Victorian and very froufrou, and now there is everything. With 3D printing technology, there are no limits to the kind of work that is being produced in this industry today, and some of it is very contemporary. It’s fantastic. You may be familiar with the miniature chairs that the Vitra Design Museum is producing. They’re in a two-inch scale, and you can purchase for yourself a miniature Mies van der Rohe, and my favorite is the Saarinen Tulip Chair and they are beautifully done. They’re gorgeous.
For me now, as always, my work has been all about the interior. It’s always been about some kind of variation on a living space and that’s where the similarity to the dollhouse ends for me. The interiors that I make are housed in some form of a fantastical structure. So, if you will picture something perhaps the size of a shoe box standing on end, that would be kind of the main room. And, that’s where I start. Then, I just kind of take off from there. The piece gets an attic, it gets a basement. It gets finials, secret drawers, lots of cubbyholes. One of my vocabulary pieces for my work is the tall skinny ladder, from what you can use to access these little intriguing doors. The ones that I can incorporate some kind of a crank, that moves something, are especially fun for me. So, I build these boxes around a particular element, usually something that’s full-scale. A hand tool or a family treasure. Then, I build the structure behind it or around it or something.
Awesome. So, first of all, that was super fascinating to hear. I loved getting to hear a little bit about the history and also the way that that works into your specific work. I understand you built a piece on a rusty roller skate, and you often begin your work, as you mentioned, with found objects. So, what is the creation process like from start to finish?
Yes, Alexandra. I build these boxes around a particular element, sometimes found, sometimes built, usually something that’s full-scale like a vintage hand tool or a family treasure, and then I start with the structure around it, behind it, or under it. Oftentimes it’s the structure that starts the story. For example, I picked up this rusty roller skate that you talked about, and the minute I picked it up, I knew it was a bookmobile. So, I’ve built a library and an antique clock case, and I’ve used old drawers and hollowed out encyclopedias to build my rooms. All of that aside, I am a woodworker at heart, so I often typically build the box and all the trim. Once that structure is in place, then the fun starts. I pick up a tray, and I start circling around my studio. I have these long shells and all kinds of drawers and boxes, and they are full to the brim with goodies.
This is where the story really starts to emerge. I pick up the supporting elements, the hardware, the fabrics. Wood trims. All kinds of windows, little bits of copper, silks, and lots of books. Books are an important element in my design vocabulary, and I never include titles on the books for the same reason that I never include people in the box. The reason being, I want the viewer to write the story. I want them to string together their own narrative.
So, on this little walk about through my studio, I always stop at what I call the furniture department, and I pick up a couple of chairs or some kind of table. Right now I’m building a little tiny drafting table for a custom piece. As I arrange these pieces in the box, I always set up a project. I want there to be something going on, you know, ripping open gifts, writing letters, or organizing something. At the minimum, I’ll leave an open book on the seat of the chair, but my goal for these pieces is to give you the feeling that if you wait just a few more minutes, this unseen person is going to walk back into the room.
I love that. I especially love that you intentionally keep the titles out and anything that would inhibit someone’s own ability to imagine what might be happening in there. I think that’s awesome. So, I know one of your pieces that I love is called “Dear Mother and Dad,” and that one is very much based on your personal experience, their personal experience, and I’d love to hear what the story is behind that piece and any others that you would like to add.
I’d love to tell you the story about three different kinds of projects. Two of them were my projects. One was something with a friend of mine. You know, there’s several ways to introduce this work into a space, and as a designer, I think with some creativity, they could create the spaces that support this kind of work in the community that it can bring into the space. So this piece, “Dear Mother and Dad,” this was the first one. It’s very small. It’s very personal, and it looks backwards into my family. Picture something the size of a shoe box on end. I’ve created a lovely little roof line and a finial. They have a pediment hanging down the front, which is an old pendulum from a mantle clock. It’s very detailed. I have a little gold leaf on it. It catches some lights, so it sets a nice little tone for it.
But, the interesting part is the inside. I’ve wallpapered this small space with family documents. Above the chair rail are copies of letters sent home from World War II. A young man wrote them to his mother and father, Dear Mother and Dad. And below the chair rail are copies of pages from a young woman’s diary. The young man’s letters are dated August the 8th, 1945, and they talk about the bomb. This was, if you remember, two days after we dropped the bomb on Hiroshima. So, the young woman’s letters are on the bottom. They talk about her life in Center City, Philadelphia. She’s going to dances, she’s going to parties, and she’s having a grand old time. But, the most interesting part about these two letters for me? They were the same dates. They were in August, 1945. I found these letters when I was cleaning out my father’s apartment soon after he passed away. It kind of explained some things to me. My parents had a great relationship. They had a great time, but I always knew there was something very different about them and reading these two letters really kind of highlighted that for me.
Against the wallpaper of this box, I have reproduced miniature photographs of the family. They’re an inch or two squares. The biggest one I think is about two-and-a-half inches. There are photos of my folks as kids, their wedding photo, and then of course, photos of the children, my brothers and me. In the basement of the piece are more photos, my father with his 56 Buick.
In the attic, we put some more photos of my father laying the block for our home that he built. There’s a little tiny door into the attic. On that door, I stamped 1120, which was our street number of our home. It’s very sweet.
Another way to present this is in a more dynamic, less structured idea that was brought to me by some friends of mine. They were doing some renovating, and along this new hallway, they built these cubbyholes. Just simple little boxes between the studs. You know, they’re about 14 inches wide and just as deep as the studs. So, they’re not complicated. They built six of them. One for each of the grandchildren and for both of them. The deal is when these kids come to visit, they always bring something for the cubbyhole. And whatever it is that they bring, it stays there until the next visit. It could be a craft project. It could be some acorns in the feather from a walk in the woods or some kind of a drawing. The kids love it. It’s kind of their patch at Grand mom’s house, and for Kenny and Annie, they get a very clear picture of what’s going on and what is important in the lives of each of these kids. The other thing that I love about it and is equally important, if not more important, is these kids get to see what their grandparents are all about. What they’re interested in, what they’re working towards, what they’ve accomplished. It’s like, “Oh, look, Pop won this award. I wonder what that was.” This situation happened in my family, which was we found these documents: awards, newspaper stories, and we have questions and there’s no one there to answer the questions. So, I love that they’re doing that.
In contrast to these very personal stories, I’d like to wrap up with a story about an installation. This kind of projects outward into the vibrant community. Several years ago, I was given the opportunity for a show and an art gallery here in my town. For it, I built what I called the community house. I don’t know where the idea came from, but the next thing I knew I was on my hands and knees fabricating this multilevel structure. Not so much a house as it was a collection of fantastical rooms. I did this all out of foam board. My press release invited everyone in the community to bring something to the house, something that represented them in one-inch scale.
I had no idea what was going to happen, but as artists, you know, we just kind of put ourselves out there. I took the structure to the arts council, and I waited. And, I waited. Nothing happened. So, I’m waiting one Saturday afternoon, nothing is happening, and I’m thinking it’s going to be a very long month, but then midday, I see this family peering in the window. It’s a mom, dad, and two kids. They were looking at it, they were kind of interested, but they weren’t coming in. So, I did what any self-respecting artist does, and I went outside. I explained what I was doing, and I invited them into the gallery. With slight trepidation, they came in. The two boys checked out the house and they immediately got to work.
I had a table set up with all kinds of art supplies, and they just had a ball. They made artwork. They made the stones for the patio. They made the walkway between the garage and the front door. I mean, it was awesome. And those two little boys broke the dam for that project. People suddenly came in, they sat at the table and worked, or they brought things from home that they had built. I had to build an addition onto the house. I had to build another addition onto the house. I had a landscaper bring me some trees. I had a fiber artist make a little bird’s nest. I had stained glass. I had a copper gate. I had woven rugs. One of my favorite parts was this older gentleman, a retired scientist, printed off a periodic table of elements, which he proudly hung in the garage.
We have several authors in my town, and I had several of them bring me miniature copies of their books, which just thrilled me to the core. All kinds of original artwork. I had people bring in little family pets. This one young woman made a piano out of Popsicle sticks. The two groups that came in that I loved one was the Boy Scouts, and they wanted to make a little camp with tents and a little fire pit, but they did not want to be near the house. So, they set up on another table and then they crafted this little rope ladder that went from their campsite to the garage. I loved that.
Then, some special needs children came in and they made some furniture and a big flag for the top of the chimney. It was really cool, but I knew I was onto something when this guy, a friend of mine, Bill –great , big guy, works in the yard of the railroad—he comes up through the door with a smile on his face, and he opens his hand and here in the palm of his hand was this little piece of artwork. It was a drawing of a monster, and he was so proud of it. And I just, I mean, I almost cried. It was a great project for me in terms of meeting people in the community, but it was also really fun having interactions with other people. I would say it was a great cross-generational, multicultural community building art project.
That is amazing. I loved getting to hear all of those different parts and how they came together. With “Dear Mother and Dad,” I didn’t anticipate that the title came from the letters that were written by your father. I initially thought it might’ve been you saying Dear Mother and Dad to your parents. So, I love that. And, all of those art projects that everyone did are also amazing to me in seeing how much cross-generational, community building it can bring in. So, let’s say someone outside of this community story that you just shared, someone who might just want to try out this type of artwork and form of storytelling: what kind of tips or starting points would you give them?
Thank you for all of that. Yes, so if you want to dabble your feet in this kind of work, think of these questions: What are your true loves? What are your proudest accomplishments? How do you contribute to this world? Once you have those things thoughtfully identified, you can get wicked creative in the way that you present these ideas. Like, pages from your favorite book, old stamps, diplomas, dictionary pages. I’ve used sheet music in my work full scale and also reproduced and reduced to miniature scale. Buttons or jewelry. I once made a ceiling full of old rhinestone jewelry and pointed my little light at it. Magic. Coins, postcards, of course old love letters. Handwritten recipes, always one of my favorite things. Do you garden, do you woodwork, or do you play cards? Play music? Who’s your favorite sports teams, your favorite vacation places, your family pets? You know, photographs figure largely in this and in the work that what I do. In the scale that I do it in, the photos are roughly the size of a postage stamp, and I just shoot them with my phone, punch them up a little bit in Photoshop, and purchase frames of all styles. It’s really easy to make your own tiny little frame. It’s also fun to use photos like wallpaper. Like, a Florida ceiling photograph with a pair of chairs in front of it and your favorite books. Right there, those three things, the photo, the chair, and the books tell a story. That’s a little glimpse into your personality.
Yeah, and it’s a really great way for people to deal with memory and reflection, both self-reflection and reflections on relationships and observations of the world. I think that’s really cool. So, my final question is what has been the response to your work outside of what you shared about that particular community moment? In artistic spaces or showcase spaces or anything else. And, what’s your hope for that response to be?
I’ve watched a lot of people peer into these little rooms, and I can tell you, there was always some kind of response. At a minimum it’s delight. Sometimes it’s tears. Oftentimes, there’s a physical kind of moving closer to the piece. I mean, people really want to get in there. They want to see around the corner, which of course, there’s nothing around the corner. But, if I do my job right, and I set up things and I light it properly, you can really think that there’s something down that hallway. In terms of that response and tying that into the theme of the podcast, Jane Rohde talks a lot about community and she talks about how the community includes so much more than just the building. You know, it’s your neighbors, it’s the personalities and the relationships. To me and to Jane, community is what happens inside of those spaces when people interact. My father lived in this assisted living facility—it was a big one with 480 apartments—and late at night, we’d walk down the hallways, and I always love seeing the decorations that residents had on their front door. Little glimpses into their personality, and it made me happy and made me curious.
Sometimes I wanted to knock on the door and just meet this person. And, you know, I didn’t really realize it until this week as I was preparing for this interview with you, Alexandra, but I think it was probably that experience of seeing those doors that planted the seeds in me to do the memory boxes. I’ve taken miniature chairs and upholstered them and favorite neckties and taken pocket watches and made them focal points in boxes. I just think it starts conversation and reflection.
Looking forward, as far as my work goes, I of course want to go down those two tracks, the small boxes, and I’d like to also develop some more installation work. I don’t know how it could work, but if the goal is to build community, I truly believe that this idea of the community house is a great big step in that direction. I’d love to do it in a library and in a special needs school. I think in a medical facility it could build bridges between patients and doctors and staff. In the senior living complex like the one my father was in, I think it could make connections and jumpstart friendships.
Now these miniature representations invite conversation on a very personal level, and I think it also can tie in with the younger generations of your friends and your family, which is what Kenny and Annie are doing with their cubbyholes. Generally, I think it’s a really creative, engaging way to express your history and your relationships and what’s important to you, and I think it’s a great big, welcome sign.