TWO kampung eggs fill a cream-coloured dish and a set of roti bakar (toast bread) sits beside a cup of tea. It’s a typical Malaysian breakfast in an old-styled kopitiam (coffee shop) furnished with the usual red stools and white square tables. Everything seems normal until I pick up the red stool — it fits perfectly on my forefinger. Instead of the usual plastic, the stool is made of wood. Noticing my jaw dropping in awe, Lim Pui Wan, the self-taught miniature artist, can’t help but laugh heartily.
Better known by her nickname PicoWorm (“pico” being the smallest measurement and “worm” being a word play on “bookworm” ), this bubbly 25-year-old has been creating minute living spaces and replicas ever since her sister brought home a book on the subject about 11 years ago. “The bright colours and intricate details attracted me. So I began reading it one day and couldn’t put it down!” she recalls, enthusiastically.
Being only a young high school student then with limited pocket money, she decided to make her own miniatures instead of buying them. “I used to secretly take out my sister’s collection of miniature food and snacks to play with when she wasn’t around,” reveals Lim, chuckling.
But after a year or two, she decided to attempt making them herself. Shares Lim: “The materials weren’t cheap, which was why I did a bit of part time work to sustain my hobby. But it was certainly cheaper than buying ready-made miniatures.”
Her newfound hobby slowly became her source of livelihood. Today, she’s commissioned by big organisations such as museums as well as individuals seeking to immortalise family treasures and memories.
“Quite a number of people seek out my services because they want me to replicate their grandparents’ shop or parents’ old house. They want their memories to live on in a somewhat life-size art,” confides the artist, continuing: “As for me, my personal projects are just my way of preserving the old and the forgotten. Hopefully, one day I can pass these memories down to my children or grandchildren and they’ll be able to see in a more tangible form rather than just flat in photographs.”
FORM OF ESCAPISM
Miniatures and dollhouses fitted with tiny replicas first emerged and became popular in the 17th century in northern Europe, with the name derived from the German word dockenhaus (miniature house). In Germany, Holland, and England, they could be found in the homes of the wealthy, serving as markers of social class and status — and certainly not to be played with.
It was only later in the 19th century, as a result of the industrial revolution and the increase in mass produced objects that could be used to make dollhouses and miniatures, that its status changed. Dollhouses became more affordable and soon joined the ranks of exquisite toys for children.
“Many of my friends found it weird that I spend so much time on making miniatures and building these nostalgic houses and living spaces. But I don’t see it as any different from them spending time on social media or playing computer games,” says Lim passion lacing her voice.
Her first full-fledged dollhouse project was a recreation of a bakery found in one of Studio Ghibli’s animated movies. She worked on it for a contest while juggling her mechanical engineering degree classes. Curious, I ask her how it looks.
A smile and Lim sheepishly confides: “I tore it down recently because it was too amateurish looking. It was painful to tear it apart but now that my skills have improved, it has motivated me to rebuild it.” Suffice to say, it’s a project that she’s looking forward to executing next year.
HER LITTLE WORLD
The affable artist confides that working on her miniatures in the modest studio that she rents in Damansara Perdana for her projects gives her a nice sense of solitude and peace, a much coveted state in today’s harried world.
The studio itself is sparsely furnished with a few long desks to accommodate the ongoing projects and materials. There are also two display shelves showcasing some of her final products in addition to a couple of collections from other artists. Unfortunately, her little workspace isn’t open to the public.
“I used to do my work at home in my room, but it became too cramped. I also collect quite a number of used items because I can use them in my designs such as biscuit wrappers, old uneaten capsules or even cereal boxes. But my parents, being typical Asians, have different thoughts about it. I decided that it was best that I didn’t clutter the home,” shares Lim, chuckling. “As they say, ‘out of sight, out of mind’ right?”
When she first decided to venture into creating miniatures as a career, her parents were not exactly against it. But they did try, countless times, to persuade her to settle down with a more stable job. However, they couldn’t diminish her fire for her craft and to this day, despite the fact that money doesn’t come easy, Lim continues to plough on.
“I’ve been dreaming about doing this since my first foray into art and I don’t think I’ll ever back out now,” she says with conviction. Continuing, Lim admits: “At the end of the day, my satisfaction or sense of motivation is not derived from how much money I make. It’s more the overwhelming sense of achievement and pride I get whenever I complete a project. It’s an even better feeling the more challenging the task — the smaller the better.”
Sweeping my gaze to the kopitiam she was working on when I walked in, I guess there would be a sense of overwhelming contentment to realise something so minute. Her masterpiece is a 1/35-sized replica of the popular How Kow Kopitiam located in an alleyway off Jalan Panggung, Kuala Lumpur.
“I got to know of this place when my sister did her pre-wedding photo-shoot there. The idyllic old charm caught my interest. But it was the news of the place being slated for demolition that pushed me to recreate it as a keepsake for the next generation,” confides Lim.
RETELLING STORIES OF OLD
All of her completed personal projects thus far which she proudly posts on her social media platforms such as Instagram are replicas of classic spaces we’re familiar with from our childhood days. There’s her grandmother’s kitchen complete with intricate floor tiles and a traditional Chinese sundry shop. Each piece has been handcrafted with much love and is a slice of nostalgia.
“Being able to build these miniatures is a way for me to bring to life whatever that’s stored in our memories or in photographs. It lasts longer, it’s more realistic, and the nostalgia is more apparent. To recollect stories from something so three-dimensional is easier too!” she says, animatedly.
Besides that, Lim recounts how her uniquely Malaysian creations have time and time again intrigued and piqued the interest of international collectors and artists alike. “They’re always so fascinated to see something they’ve never seen before. It gives me much pleasure to explain to them about our multicultural and colourful nation,” shares Lim, eyes twinkling.
As the minutes tick and it’s soon time for me to take my leave, I couldn’t help asking Lim a final question: What’s the most challenging aspect now that she has decided to dedicate her life to this art form.
A short pause ensues before Lim eventually replies: “I guess the most challenging thing about all this is to get the details right in every finely crafted object. But that comes with a cost. I’m afraid that my eyesight will deteriorate the longer I keep at it and the smaller my projects become. I’ve always had 20-20 vision and I like that I don’t have to wear glasses. I guess that might change soon!”