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Hello, Mark. Thank you for your participation in the discussion. I have filed your opinion in my notebook. You have given me food for thought in other topics beyond this issue. I will try to revisit your examples a little later. In the meantime, I'll take a moment to reflect on the situation. Plus, it's the right thing to do for my customer. Let him see other opinions without me interfering with them. Thanks for the advice about the mailbox. I'll try to start another one and post from the new one. Unfortunately, I don't know if that will help. One of the last emails I got was about my customer having problems with other people too. From this I conclude that the problem is not with me after all, but with him. It's so frustrating when something you're used to stops working. It doesn't matter what exactly it's about. When the car breaks down, when the light, water or electricity in the house goes out, or when the TV remote control is lost.

Chapter 21 In which the author is already tired of writing, but still continues... Now I’ll move on to the window on the second floor. I believe, unlike the issue with the cannons, this won't take as much time. However, I can't completely set this topic aside—after all, this is where one of the most significant disagreements between my opinion and the client's arose. Let me remind you: the client believes that this window should be glazed. As an argument, he refers to Frölich's model, which serves as an important reference for him. He also mentioned that in the British Museum, all models have mica windows—regardless of whether they are in actual openings or merely false panels imitating glass. These arguments puzzled me. I can't agree with the idea that all models must necessarily have glass windows. I didn't set out to track and classify every window. Moreover, it seems to me that in museum models, there are at least as many blind windows—even in places where they were glazed in the original. Perhaps, during the creation of models, this detail wasn't considered important. It's possible the craftsman didn't have suitable mica, or he was dissatisfied with how it delaminated and became cloudy. I won't judge why windows were often made blind, but there are quite a few such models. And this isn't a "mistake," but simply one of the acceptable approaches. Even if there is a consistent tendency in the British Museum to insert mica everywhere, it's unclear to me why this particular museum should be the standard. Why not French museums? Or German, Russian, Spanish, American ones? Why specifically England? I didn't understand the logic of this choice. Let's try to look at the issue from another angle: how was it arranged on real ships? Of course, on real vessels, cabins had actual windows—to let in light, provide a view of the sea, and create comfort for the inhabitants. But ships also had false windows. They were made for symmetry and beauty, creating the illusion for the observer that there was also a room inside. Such false windows could simply be painted, depicting glass with blue paint, and over it—drawing dark or yellow lines of the frame. And if the ship was particularly luxurious, such "windows" were decorated with mirrors or polished metal so that from the outside they sparkled and looked like real ones. Based on this, it's quite logical that the same principle can be applied to the model. If even false windows were tried to be made as close to real ones as possible, then perhaps in models they were intentionally glazed. One can imagine that a monarch issued a decree: all models presented to him must have "real" windows—with mica. Or conversely: craftsmen, knowing their client's love for everything shiny, inserted mica into every window so that he would be pleased and approve the projects. That is, let's assume that some models indeed have a reason to be fully glazed. But here it's important to emphasize: if glazing is to be done—then in every window. It doesn't matter whether it's a real window or a fake one—within the chosen approach, glass should be everywhere. This is an interesting thought, and it's quite logical. If a viewer on the shore is supposed to see glass and not suspect that some windows are merely illusions, then why not reproduce the same concept on the model? But here I notice a contradiction in the client's logic. If he truly wants to adhere to such a principle, then all windows on the model should be glazed. And if some windows are made with mica, and others—from ivory, then the idea falls apart. We immediately show: "Here is a real window, and here is a fake one." And in this case, the placement and design of each window become fundamentally important. Do you understand what I'm saying? Now about the client's next argument: he claims that the starting point for his decision was the model L’Ambitieux, made by Frölich. Allegedly, in the upper part of the castle, there's a window with glass—so we need to do the same. But, looking at the photo, I don't find confirmation of this. Moreover, the photographs sent by the client quite clearly show: there's no glass at all. It's an absolutely black background. Most likely—a plate of ebony or similar material. But definitely not transparent glass. Look more closely—you might have confused something. Furthermore, the final model of L’Ambitieux gives an unambiguous answer: on the second tier of the side castle, there can't be a real window. Look at the reverse side—Frölich made half of the hull in the admiralty style, and it's clearly visible: there are no cutouts in the frames. It's a solid structural hull, with a decorative panel overlaid, imitating a window. In our case, when we're building not L’Ambitieux, but Le Fulminant based on it, cutting a window at this level would fall right at the junction between decks. And that would look extremely strange. The only way to install mica there is to follow the already described path. Adhere to the logic that can conditionally be called "a hook for the English king": insert mica into all windows without exception. How will this affect the visual perception of the model? Will the hull be visible through the mica? I don't know. But you can simply try: carefully insert mica from the back instead of the ivory plate—without cutting holes in the hull. See how it looks. If the result isn't satisfactory—you can always revert everything back. It's not difficult. On this note, I will probably conclude my descriptions. Earlier, I had already sent letters with similar reflections, but I'm not sure if you received them. Therefore, this is my last attempt to find a way out of the current situation. I had sent letters with similar descriptions before, but I'm not sure if you saw them. So this is the last attempt to find a way out of the current situation. I really hope that sooner or later you will see this series of posts and read all of this. Then you will have the opportunity to make decisions, and I will be sure that I have expressed everything I could. For me, Le Fulminant has become a very interesting project. And I try to invest everything I can into it. And I do care about what the result will be. I also hope that after this series of posts, hints and advice from other forum participants will appear. This series turned out a bit different from what I planned. And can such a thing be planned at all? But I always tried to engage in dialogue with all of you in not quite standard ways. I live, and building this model is also part of my life. I tried to share my thoughts, experiences, life events. This project is more than just a description of construction. I really hope that in the end, by deciding to voice the problems that have arisen, I haven't crossed the line. Therefore, I apologize to the client. I really hope he won't be offended when he reads that I decided to have some dialogue with him outside of personal correspondence. And I also hope that in the end, new responses will appear. At this point, I’m typing with my toes — my fingers didn’t survive the previous chapter. Time to give my feet a rest too.

Chapter 20 In which the author still won’t let it go and once again examines the balcony cannons — but from a different angle. To present my final argument as to why I cannot agree with the client, I must return to the very beginning of this particular model’s story. It all began with a completely different nameplate — the ship was originally being built as L’Ambitieux, strictly following the drawings from the corresponding monograph. Only at one stage, when the hull had already been completed, the client decided to make some changes. He discovered a previously unnoticed drawing showing the ship's stern decoration. And that’s when the idea was born to completely rework the project and turn L’Ambitieux into Le Fulminant. These ships are very closely related, so in theory, there shouldn’t have been any serious problems. But structurally, we have a hull based on L’Ambitieux. Which means that the gallery exit has already been built according to its layout. Now, however, I’m working with a completely different stern structure. If we recall previous discussions, I had posted a comparative analysis of the two sterns on the forum. Back then, the topic was that the stern of Le Fulminant was wider than in Boudriot’s book. The decision was made to preserve the appearance shown in Bérain’s drawing as closely as possible. As a result, we ended up with a combination of two different designs. In Boudriot’s version, the toilet exit was precisely centered and aligned with the central section of the stern. But in the wider version of Le Fulminant, this centering is lost — the exit no longer ends up in the same place. If this is simply a toilet exit — then there’s no problem. But if the plan is to place a cannon in this opening, as the client wants, then the gun won’t be in the center. And that — is my final argument. So what now? There are several possible options in this situation. The first is to place the cannon in the outer segment. In that case, I think many concerns would be resolved. But we shouldn’t start there. First, it’s important to clarify something else. Last time, the discussion ended with the client writing that he didn’t plan to cut openings in the hull. The general consensus was that the entire lower row consisted of false windows without glass. That means I can safely proceed with the stern’s construction. In the final version, the shutters will be closed, no cannons will be visible, and there’s simply no reason to make cutouts in the hull. So the main question to the client is: does this concept remain unchanged? If so — does it even matter where exactly a cannon could be placed? And is there any point in continuing this debate? Last time, I myself raised the question: how was the situation resolved historically when a gun was hidden behind a false window? If it was a removable panel, then how was it removed? After all, the shield isn’t small and most likely heavy. How quickly could it be taken down to ready the cannon for firing? That’s when one of the forum participants suggested an interesting idea: the shield didn’t necessarily have to be a solid panel. If it was built as shutters opening outward, the whole process becomes simple and realistic. I really liked this idea. I even made a note to myself — be sure to return to this solution and make one of the false windows double-leafed. This way, I could elegantly show that something is hidden behind it — without revealing the cannon or making unnecessary holes in the hull. It could be presented as a subtle hint, without overt display. At the time, I didn’t share this idea — I figured that after such a hint, everyone would come to the same conclusion naturally. Especially since practical work was still a long way off, and small details could wait. But now I’m returning to this idea and suggesting it as a solution. Yes, I’ve already written a lot, and others have probably had to read quite a bit. You might throw your hands up and shout at the screen: “Couldn't you have just said that from the start?! You could’ve spared us all the long stories, the ‘museum tours,’ the knights and musketeers! Don’t you have anything better to do? You could’ve just made one window different — and that’s it!” And yes, you’d be right. I really could’ve shortened it all. But I really want to understand — what was the correct solution? How was it done in reality? I could just build closed shutters, I could place a “hint” wherever I want. But that doesn’t bring me any closer to answering the main question: did this have any technical sense? Could there really have been a cannon placed there? That’s the state of things. I really want to figure it out. To do it right. To be sure I’m not mistaken. If the client’s concept remains unchanged, and nothing has to be redone — I’ll build closed shields. And I’ll make one of the segments double-leafed. I’m ready to compromise and let the client choose where exactly he wants to hide a cannon. Even if that decision goes against my own opinion — I won’t argue. I’ve said everything I wanted. That means now the client can either accept my arguments or stick with his own decision. Of course, other modelers’ opinions may emerge later, and the picture might become clearer. Perhaps I’ll be the first to line up and openly admit I was wrong. With that, I consider the hidden cannon topic closed. I’ve tried to give it all due attention, laid out my arguments and doubts. I have nothing more to add — now it’s just a matter of waiting for the client’s response and that of the others. But that doesn’t mean I’ve finished telling stories. There’s still one more question — about the window on the second tier. We’ll talk about that in the next part.

Chapter 19 When we open our eyes, we let in a vast world. But beware: it may destroy your own. Sounds like a quote from a bearded old man in a strange book. Now I will turn my reflections 180 degrees. And even if I don’t entirely destroy my own logic, I will at least do it serious damage. Just take a look at the huge number of ship models. Alongside examples where I found confirmation of my theory, there are just as many that confuse me. In those, everything is arranged the other way around: the cannons are located precisely in the central sections of the side galleries. Here it’s important to pause for a moment. Side galleries were built in different ways. There are examples of ships where the lower parts of the stern galleries are open — without glazing or solid walls. There are also closed versions. It’s logical to assume that in the case of open balconies, nothing would obstruct cannon fire from the officer’s cabin. So such cases aren’t even worth considering — they do not contradict my theory. I’m putting all those ships aside and will not take them into account. But the closed galleries deserve a closer look. They have a lot in common with our Fulminant, and at the same time, the cannons in the central section of the sterncastle are clearly visible on them. Below I will provide a few examples of such ships. Let’s start with this model — it’s fairly well known. You can clearly see what I’m referring to. So how can this be explained? When I first saw this example, my initial thought was: this is a presentation model of a project that was never implemented. A real ship with such features never existed. That already provides some sort of explanation to satisfy my inner researcher. Moreover, the same can be said of many models currently displayed in museums and serving as sources of knowledge. Many of them were created as presentations, made by artists rather than engineers. Their goal — understandably — was to impress, to attract attention, to encourage investment in the construction. In other words — marketing. In this particular case, something went wrong, and the ship was never built. This raises a valid question: should we trust museum models? Do they reflect actual design solutions, or are they more the fantasy of the model-maker, later adapted at the shipyard? The question remains rhetorical. There’s no definitive answer — each case must be examined individually. This is a task comparable in scale to the work of the ANCRE team. A quote from the book on L’Ambitieux is relevant here: the very idea of the book was an attempt to systematize the available data and create a generalized image of the ship — a sort of calling card for an entire class. But, as Boudriot himself admits, the task turned out to be unachievable. The ships he studied were too different from one another. It’s the same in our case with the cannons on the balconies: each vessel requires individual analysis. Only by delving into its structural features can we attempt to answer the question — is this an artist’s fantasy or a feasible engineering solution? And if it is feasible, then my theory doesn’t hold. With this approach in mind, I began to study other examples. For instance, an English ship. Here we’re not talking about a particular school of shipbuilding, but about the very principle — and therefore, there’s no reason to ignore models from other countries. I specifically chose photographs from different angles. At first, I thought the side sterncastle was just a flat decorative structure applied to the hull. In that case, it wouldn’t obstruct cannon fire. But the photos show that the “bottles” have real volume — this is not an imitation. You can also see that the gunport is just a small window. The barrel of the cannon would have to pass through it. Which means the cannon truly stood inside the projection. But how was that structurally realized? Are there any drawings that show how the cannon’s mounting was reinforced? Logic suggests that the hull frames in that area might have had a different construction — the structural part of the hull could have extended beyond the balcony. But that seems unlikely. An alternative would be strong beams inside the extension, on either side of the window, to which the cannon was mounted. But I’ve never encountered either of these solutions before. I don’t have a single source describing such an implementation. All I can do is shrug. Maybe in such cases they used cannons with elongated barrels? But then how were they loaded? That creates additional complications. In the end, I arrive at this: I can find images showing cannons positioned inside side sterncastles, and this applies not only to cases where the gallery is just a flat façade. How exactly this was implemented — I do not know. Which means I cannot state with certainty that such a solution was entirely impossible on the Fulminant. But that’s not the end. I’ve traveled the path from confidence in my theory to doubt. And we haven’t covered everything yet. Now I will return to the construction of the Fulminant itself and offer one more argument — this time specific to this version of the ship.

Chapter 18 In this chapter, the author will start cooking porridge out of cannons and watching the process from the windows. Does that sound unclear? That’s because the author himself doesn’t understand anything. So, the question about real and fake windows is complicated and individual from the very beginning. If we are to look for any analogues, then it would be, of course, L’Ambitieux... We will look at it, compare, take it into account, reject or rely on this example. And it’s also time to voice the second component of the mystery with windows and gunport dummies. Somewhere in the area of the side castle, it is necessary to place an additional cannon. This question was also widely and thoroughly discussed last time. And I thought that a solution was found in the end. But now the client is raising this question again and suggesting his own version. And what exactly is this version? I will try not only to paraphrase it, but to bring it here directly from the letters: "...Hello, Sasha; If AMBITIEUX became famous (among ship modelers), it is because (a) in the first stage, Boudriot developed a monograph for AMBITIEUX. In the second stage, Frölich received a commission from the Naval Museum to build AMBITIEUX (based on Boudriot’s plans), and that commission was used to create a book for modelers (about the fleet of Louis XIV), which was translated into more than 5 languages. Sasha, if I ask you to emulate (as much as possible) what Frölich did (for AMBITIOUS), it is because all modelers (looking at our FULMINANT) will immediately compare it with AMBITIOUS. Let’s assume (for simplicity) that FULMINANT has a few more guns than AMBITIOUS... at least, as they were presented in Frölich’s model... Therefore, we will follow Frölich’s design (for the stern castle), i.e., with a window drilled for gun No. 14)... and that way, we will not attract criticism (justified or not, it doesn’t matter) and controversy from all modelers who will ask us why we didn’t follow what everyone else follows, and why we tried to change something in Frölich’s well-known standard. So it is reasonable (and wise) to make the middle window as Frölich did, and to make the upper window “real,” like in the English Naval Museum..." ---------- "...I’m going to show you my way of reasoning (which is adaptive), and don’t think it’s anything special... I reason this way because that’s how my brain is wired (or trained). I’m going to talk about the middle window, where gun No. 14 is located. I base this on the fact that my modeling experience and historical knowledge (I’m a modest person) probably fall far short of Mr. Frölich’s, who was commissioned to build the model of L’Ambitieux (and, I presume, paid a considerable sum) by the Paris Musée de la Marine. I saw this model of L’Ambitieux with my own eyes, and its photographs have gone around the world, it became the subject of technical books, and I assume Mr. Frölich had to meet with all the experts in France and around the world to justify and explain how he made his windows. There must have been more than a dozen discussions (with arguments and counterarguments)... which eventually led to a certain outcome. My pragmatism tells me to do what Frölich did..." ---------- "...Hello, Sasha; I will explain the number of cannons in more detail, it’s not that complicated. (a) For the lower deck everything is fine, and nothing needs to be added. (b) For the middle deck, the 14th cannon must be added. This cannon goes through an already drilled hole (a door), but since I don’t have the model in front of me, I assume that this already drilled hole corresponds to the center of the three lower windows. Is that correct? If so, then we will proceed as planned: all 3 windows (on the lower level) will be fake windows (i.e., with window frames installed on top of an ivory plate). I will send you an example. (c) Frölich made the upper window real (with mica), and the British Naval Museum also makes real windows, so I recommend making the upper window real. (d) For the upper deck, the additional hatch openings we will make won’t interfere with the side bottles, so we’ll talk about that later. Let me know if that’s clear, or if you need further explanation? To sum up: the 3 lower windows are fake (thus covered with ivory), and the middle one must let a cannon pass through (see Frölich); the upper window is real (covered with mica), as done by Frölich and the British Naval Museum. PS: model shipbuilders can make their own windows; in the British Naval Museum, all windows are real..." this is an example from the British maritime museum I have included several letters at once. All of them complement each other in meaning and form a single overall picture. To combine them into one answer, I will once again summarize the client’s wishes: There should be a glass observation window on the upper deck. On the lower deck, the windows should be false, and a cannon should be placed in the middle, which must come out through the toilet exit. In this case, there is no point in cutting an additional window in the hull next to it. The letters also clearly show that the client has a special reverence for Froelich’s model and sees this particular model as an example. And therefore, it is also set as an example for me. I must rely on it. Now I must try to respond to these words, since I am not sure whether my letters are reaching the recipient and whether the client is able to read them. So where should I start? On the one hand, the client’s wishes seem logical. And what difference does it make to me? Is it really so hard for me to meet these wishes? After all, the client’s opinion is not very different from my own thoughts. The only significant difference in our approaches lies in the window on the second floor. The client wants it to be transparent. But I firmly believe that it cannot be an observation window and must be a false one. And below — both in my version and in the client’s — all windows should be false. So what’s the problem, then? That’s how it looks at first glance. But let’s go step by step. What is it that troubles me so much? First, I want to address separately the issue of placing cannons inside officers’ quarters. Is there a certain order or rule about where a cannon could be placed and where it most likely could not? For me, this is now a question that goes beyond just the Fulminant. It is a topic for a more precise understanding of naval engineering and architecture. Something that will help me grow personally and will also be useful in the future. I want to understand correctly how I should think in similar cases. Are there any clear rules? Any prohibitions or taboos? Things that absolutely must not be done? And from that point of view, let’s consider the question: can a cannon actually be placed in a doorway? It seems so logical and natural. The opening already exists. Just roll the cannon into the doorway, open the window, and let it fire! So simple. But no. I see major problems here. What can we observe on L’Ambitieux? What disturbed me? How exactly do we want to position the cannon? There are two options here. In the first one, the cannon is rolled out through the toilet entrance and fires from there. In the second, it remains inside the cabin, and the firing is done from within. And now I will describe my doubts. Let me begin with the fact that the construction of the officer’s toilet here involves a sharp floor drop. The officer, rushing to relieve himself, must not only go out the door, but also descend about half a meter lower. The toilet floor is lower. And this plays a significant role when it comes to firing. The difference in floor levels between the two rooms would not allow the cannon to be rolled out into the side balcony structure. A platform would have to be built. Or better yet, the entire toilet structure should be redesigned. The blueprints of L’Ambitieux give no indication that there was even a theoretical intention to move a cannon toward the toilet window. The second problem lies in the doorway itself. It is not wide enough to accommodate a gun carriage. If we want to place a cannon in the toilet, then the doorway must be enlarged. And finally, I would like to mention one more issue. The side balcony construction is not sturdy. It is more like a light shed that leans against a solid house. The planks and frame of this extension simply cannot support the weight of a cannon. The very first shot would rip its fastenings out along with the boards. So, in my imagination, rolling the cannon into the toilet itself makes no sense at all. Then maybe we can use the second option. No need to move the cannon right up to the window. Let it fire from the cabin. In this case, a narrow doorway is even more convenient. It would prevent the cannon from rolling into the toilet. In this setup, all the fastenings would be attached to the strong inner walls of the ship, which is another huge advantage. But even in this option, my imagination draws some unpleasant scenarios. Let’s imagine you are an artilleryman and for some reason you dragged your cannon into a house and want to fire from there. But you didn’t place it near the window — you left it in the middle of the room. There are a few meters to the window, certainly more than a meter and a half. The essence of the problem becomes clear. When firing, some of the gunpowder gases will not exit through the window. They will scorch both the room and you. There might be even bigger problems if you're firing canister shot. It’s no coincidence that ship cannons are always rolled out into the gun port before firing, so that the muzzle is as far from the ship as possible. As a result, I see a problem in the idea of placing a cannon in the middle section of the side balcony. It would be much simpler to place the cannon so that the barrel lines up with the extreme section of the side balcony — the one closer to the bow of the ship. And there are plenty of examples of this configuration. Unlike the situations I’ve described above, this part of the side balcony is essentially false and leans against the ship’s hull. And a cannon placed inside the officer’s cabin has practically the same characteristics as any other standard cannon. This is how I reason and the option that I currently have. I believe that if a cannon is to be placed in the area of the side balcony, it should only be in the outermost section. Last time, the exact same decision was made. However, back then, neither I nor the others participating in the discussion spent time describing the situation in such detail. Now, I just want the client to have the opportunity to read everything — as wide and full an answer as possible. And at the same time, this won’t be just my opinion. Maybe others will add some thoughts to my words. Or perhaps, on the contrary, strong counterarguments will appear, and I will end up changing my opinion. The question of counterarguments is also very important. And I myself have been looking for them. Because as I said earlier, I am very interested in understanding this question for myself. It fascinates me. I truly want to know how things were arranged on the ship. That’s why, along with my logical reasoning, I also have questions. One could say that these questions undermine my own logical line of thought. How? And what kind of questions are these? I will write about that in the next post.

Chapter 17 In which the author remembers Porthos’s baldric and talks a lot (what a surprise) Let me begin the topic of the side gallery from afar. Ornamentation in the military has an ancient history. Since time immemorial, men with weapons have sought to emphasize their status and impressiveness. Some painted their shields and armor, others covered their bodies with war paint and decorated themselves with feathers, some enlarged cockades and aiguillettes, embroidered patterns on lapels and sleeves. The desire to show one’s importance has always been present. How are we any worse than gorillas and baboons, showing off their silver backs and bright rear ends to rivals? It's a good time to remember Porthos from Dumas — with his famous baldric, rich but fake. And now, let us imagine not mere soldiers, but high-born officers (yes, I know Porthos was also an aristocrat, but that’s not the point here). Ships became the pinnacle of this drive for outward grandeur. A captain’s or admiral’s cabin turned into a splendid palace with carvings, sculptures, and luxury. But let’s step back from this general pomp to a narrower subject — windows. The 18th century had already moved away from the medieval reality where castles served not just as homes but as fortresses. Back then, windows were narrow, adapted for defense. Later, castles became palaces — and the windows grew larger, adorned with stained glass and graceful frames. This trend spread to ships as well. Although a ship is not quite a palace but a war machine meant to fight in battle. However, the practice of forming a line of battle allowed the stern to remain relatively safe. Which meant that large and beautiful windows could appear there. Naturally, there was a desire to show status not just from the rear, but from the sides as well. And thus, side galleries — "bottles" or "castles" — came into being, which were decorated just as lavishly. This leads to a problem: stern windows, though vulnerable, are at least somewhat protected. But from the side, a beautiful glass window could easily be hit by a cannonball. So what could be done? First, a real window could be placed high — in a spot where it’s hard to hit. Gets broken? No big deal, the crew will fix it. The captain himself won’t be playing glazier. Restoration after battle is a whole separate story — whether one window more or less... As for the officer’s safety — he wouldn’t be sitting in his cabin during a battle anyway, wondering whether a cannonball will come through the glass. He’d be on deck. And the risks there are quite different. Second, one could simply create an imitation. From a distance — it looks like a window, but up close — it’s a solid wall. Another Porthos’s baldric. And so different options emerged: some had real side windows, some had false ones, and some had both. Each case had its own story. Even ships that looked similar on the outside could have variations. One shipyard decided one way, another — differently. Maybe they ran out of glass. Maybe a master wanted to try something new. Now imagine us — 21st-century viewers. We walk into a museum and see several models of the same ship. All different. And we clutch our heads — what was it really like? We’re used to standards, technical specs, clarity. You buy a spare part — and it’s supposed to fit. A different mindset. But in the 18th century, things were different. And we won’t find a universal answer. As a teenager, this kind of ambiguity used to bother me. One day, I noticed different depictions of Nelson’s death in paintings — and on each canvas, his uniform was different. Sometimes a tricorne lies beside him, sometimes a bicorne. How could that be? Why is there no accurate report? This was an important event, surely someone documented it. But — alas. And this is both frustrating and delightful. For a historical modeler, it’s a kind of freedom. The main thing is that my choices are well-argued. The viewer has their own criteria. They may disagree. But if, after seeing my work, someone says: “I’ll go build my own version!” — I’ll be only glad. One more ship modeler in the world. A celebration! But what happens when I have one opinion and my client has another? On the one hand, this question has a logical answer from the start. I’m building the model for the client. Which means their opinion takes precedence. And that could be the end of the conversation. And I’m okay with that too. Except for one nuance. I sincerely believed that I was building with an eye toward what had previously been agreed upon. And that the current state of the structure and what I did completely matches our mutually accepted decision. Which brings up a much more significant issue: what happens next? What if such questions arise at later stages too? Where is the guarantee that makes the next steps clear? And how can I be sure I understood everything correctly? That I’m not going down the wrong path, one I “painted” in my imagination? And what if tomorrow the client comes up with a new idea and takes things in a completely different direction? Or the opposite — we agreed, the client expects one thing, and along the way I made some adjustments or forgot something, and now the result and the expectations have diverged. Then I’ll once again face the question: how do I redo it? When you have ready-made blueprints or a schematic in front of you, they serve as that very guarantee. Either of us can point to the plans and check whether we stuck to them. But when you’re working based on a concept, with a degree of creative freedom, that freedom can become a problem. Simply because each person might have their own vision of what the final result should look like. A difficult situation. That’s why, at some point in history, people decided they needed specialists to write laws and standard contract templates. There is another option. As I’ve already mentioned, it’s to try discussing our views. It’s very possible that I went down an overly complicated path, delved too deeply into history, and brought in far too much extra information. Why bring up basics and vague examples about Porthos and Nelson? I know perfectly well that my client already knows all this without me. And could probably describe all this unnecessary fluff much better than I did. I also know that this post turned out to be a waste of time for many who have been following this topic step by step. But I decided to start the discussion from scratch. The previous conversation took place a long time ago. And if I were a third-party reader, I wouldn’t find it convenient to flip back through pages to figure out when that discussion happened and what was said. I might not even be sure what exactly was expressed back then. So I decided to construct the topic now in such a way that regardless of whether you remember what happened many months ago, whether you were reading the topic back then or not, from this moment you’ll be able to understand everything, recall everything, and see the heart of the issue — starting from the very basics. So I apologize in advance to anyone who is surprised and wondering why they wasted their time. Now I can take the next step and begin describing my client’s opinion.

Chapter 16 In which the author feels like a character in a TV show, a sci-fi novel, or the movie “The Lake House,” and thus occasionally behaves like Keanu Reeves… although, perhaps, also like Sandra Bullock. This will be a long chapter — in fact, more like an entire series of posts. And in it, it’s important for me to try to find a way out of a rather strange situation. I’m warning about the length right away. Where should I start? Perhaps with the fact that the latest discussions on this forum have given my project an unexpected twist — almost a detective one. My client reads this forum, and we often discuss in private correspondence what participants write here. And recently, someone brought up the topic of windows and cannons in the side gallery. Seeing this, the client immediately picked up the idea and began sending me emails with questions — where do I plan to place the cannons, where will the glass windows go, and where will there be shields with imitations. He even proposed some options himself, and at that point, I felt confused. The thing is, we already raised this question here on the forum — and discussed it exactly when we needed to: before starting work on the side gallery. I did the theoretical groundwork, found solutions, and started working based on them. By now, part of the structure has already been installed on the model — strictly according to the approved plan. But the client’s new version contradicts the previous agreements. So now what? Tear everything down and redo it? To reach the hull, cut new gunports, carve out openings for regular windows? That’s an enormous amount of work and, essentially, a step backward. It wouldn’t be such a problem if the new idea really made the Fulminant more accurate or beautiful. But unfortunately, I see neither logic nor benefit in it — only compromises and questionable decisions. And now, at this stage, another factor comes into play — a technical one. And it is precisely this that became the reason for this chapter’s appearance. It’s a problem with Google Mail. From the very beginning of our correspondence, the client and I have occasionally encountered issues with email delivery. Sometimes he would write to me, wondering why I wasn’t replying and whether everything was okay, while I hadn’t even received the messages. Sometimes it was the other way around — my emails wouldn’t reach him. It used to happen rarely, but lately the problem has worsened. I send an email — and hours or even days later, I get a notification: the email wasn’t delivered. Either postponed, or blocked. And the system doesn’t specify which email was affected. Perhaps all of them. Or half. It’s no longer just annoying. At a time when we need to actively discuss important technical details, such failures become critical. Those who’ve read my posts already know that brevity is not my strong suit. Yes, in Sparta, I would’ve been thrown off a cliff long ago. And now imagine the length of my emails — comparable to a volume of War and Peace. Especially when I’m trying to explain my position in detail. I began searching for the cause. Is the problem on my end? Or on the client’s? Are the messages too large? Or does Google “stumble” because I attach the original Russian text? I often include it — so that if there’s any doubt in the translation, the client can refer to the original and do his own. It’s logical when discussing fine nuances. But maybe this format seems suspicious to the mail system? I tried everything. Broke the text into parts and sent it in fragments. Sent emails with screenshots instead of text. Changed the format, removed Russian, changed fonts, shortened the volume... And still: messages don’t get through, and the notifications keep coming. Sometimes — several at once, delayed by several days. I get responses from him — but only to fragments. What about the rest? Did he get the first part? The last? Or only the middle? How does he perceive it? What is he thinking about me? That Sasha has lost his mind? I’m at a loss. I wrote to him that we have problems with the correspondence. I suggested switching to messengers. But did those messages reach him? Who knows. The only option I have left is carrier pigeons. Or a bottle in the ocean. This post is not just another of my traditional digressions from modeling. This is a last attempt to make contact. If the client reads this forum (and I’m almost certain that all the current confusion began right here), perhaps he’ll see this message too. And maybe we’ll be able to reestablish communication. Of course, turning the forum into something like the magical mailbox from The Lake House is a strange idea. Although it does sound amusing. He writes to me by email, and I reply here, on the forum. A ready-made script for a romantic comedy! But that’s a movie. In real life, it’s not funny, not romantic, and — alas — unethical. The forum is not the place for this kind of correspondence. So why am I writing all this? What’s the goal? If my client truly follows the forum, and if the reason for the misunderstanding lies in something he read and interpreted his own way, then maybe my analysis will bring the conversation back to a constructive direction. If the topic resurfaced again, it means it needs to be discussed. And so, I invite all participants to once again walk through the theoretical, technical, and aesthetic aspects of this part of the project. In the next post, I’ll describe the initial situation — lay out the client’s opinion and my own point of view. And in conclusion, I want to touch on a very important point. To begin the actual discussion, I first need to outline which option my client prefers. As I already mentioned, my viewpoint is different, and I’ll try to explain in what way. But even the very format of presentation creates a somewhat unfair situation: I’m the one speaking, while my client, not having the opportunity to respond immediately, finds himself in a less favorable position. Often, an outside reader may have an unconscious urge to support the one who’s speaking — that is, me. And, accordingly, to question the position of “the other side.” Therefore, I want to stress from the start: my goal is not to question the dignity or opinion of my client. I deeply respect and value this person. It’s important to understand: I don’t consider myself automatically right. I fully admit that I might be mistaken. So I ask you to treat my viewpoint calmly and thoughtfully. If I’m wrong somewhere or in need of correction — please say so directly. My task is not to sway the client to my opinion using public support. No. What matters to me is arriving at the most reasonable, fair, and well-founded decision. That is why I consider it important to state this introduction before the main discussion begins. And one more — truly final — clarification. I’ve already spoken about the influence of translation and interpretation. Two people may speak about the same thing, be like-minded — but translation or personal perception can introduce distortions. And as a result, the meaning at “the other end” turns out completely different. What am I trying to say? I will describe my client’s position — but it will not be a literal transmission of his words, rather my understanding of his viewpoint. And I’m well aware that this may not be the same thing. It’s quite possible that he’ll read my words and say: “What nonsense? That’s not what I meant at all!” So I apologize in advance if I turn out to be that very “distorting prism” through which the meaning gets twisted. I will describe what I understood from what was said—but I do not claim absolute accuracy in conveying someone else's position. What am I hoping to achieve with this post? I hope that my client will be able to read everything I’m trying to convey. I also hope that the technical issues with email will be resolved. If necessary, I’m ready to switch to any other communication channels—for me, direct dialogue is extremely important. And of course, with the support of other modelers, I sincerely hope that together we will find a logical and, ideally, historically documented solution. With that, I conclude this post.

Ouch! I've already heard that the labeling of emotions differs from country to country. And in America they don't understand the way Russians draw emoticons. So I'll explain, I wanted to depict unrestrained laughter. This does not mean that I read chat and cut my nails ). I hope the meaning of the joke is clear and I didn't make my posts even weirder. (emoticon that is embarrassed)

Oh, yes, you're right! A thousand times right! I'd give a lot if I could go back to that time for one minute and see the ships with my own eyes. The only thing that reassures me is that science fiction is not on my side. And as soon as I get my hands on a time machine, I'm going to regret it. ))))).

Mark, thank you for sharing your explorations and conclusions. In a way, I have encountered a very similar situation. However, while you decided to reduce the number of windows to achieve a more harmonious composition, I am considering increasing the number of windows from three to four. And the fact that my solution is turning out to be rather unsuccessful is precisely what is causing my confusion. I don’t like the original three-window version by Beren, mainly because of the very long second window. But the alternative of splitting it into two doesn’t satisfy me either. I realize that over time, the concept of aesthetic taste has changed significantly, and what was not an issue for Beren now causes discomfort for me. But how do I determine where to stop and say, "This is the ideal solution"? For example, I used to perceive some of his other decisions differently. But now the time has come to examine them more closely. Previously, when I looked at the eagles beneath the windows, I somehow thought that Beren was illustrating different levels of protrusions and that the oddly halved eagle was actually the figure placed in the central segment of the stern, where the wreath with the ship’s name is located. From the side, it is partially visible, and I believed this was what the artist intended to depict. But now I see that it is something else entirely. It is actually positioned on the side castle. L'Ambitieux uses the same approach, but instead of a bird, there is an ornamental scroll. Budriot depicted it in the same manner, as if it were an accidental misalignment. To me, it looks like a clear mistake or a flaw. I cannot call such a composition a successful design. However, neither Beren nor Budriot seemed to have any issue with it. And if that was considered acceptable, how should I perceive my own discomfort with the elongated window? There are many conflicting elements here that raise questions for me. If we compare the design of the transom and the side castle, we can notice discrepancies. For example, the upper frieze below the windows, where the lion heads are depicted, maintains roughly the same visual rhythm. From both the transom and the side projection, this line is executed in a fairly consistent manner. However, at the lower level, where the eagles are located, the situation is completely different. The space between the eagles on the transom is filled with ornamental decoration. But as soon as this same strip transitions onto the ship’s side, everything changes. There is no decorative embellishment between the eagles—just emptiness. Why? I could continue further, but that would take our discussion too far. I am trying to determine the best way to resolve these emerging questions, but so far, I have not found an answer that satisfies me.

But let me add a late afterthought and adjust my own words. On one hand, this can be seen as a curse. But on the other, it is also a blessing. Each of us has the joy of being not just a copyist but a creator. Consider models of modern ships or battleships. If someone places the wrong gun or designs the bridge differently, it would be a mistake, a flaw. But we, in contrast, have the fortunate opportunity to be architects of our own vision and make our own choices.

Hello. If I understood your words correctly, you want to contrast two perspectives: on one side, strict historical accuracy, and on the other, an aesthetic approach that may not always align with historical criteria or pragmatic logic. That is an interesting question. I did not quite understand the mention of the fictional literary "Unicorn" as an example. Perhaps there is a meaning here that I failed to grasp correctly, or maybe it requires an understanding of the French way of thinking? In my imagination, this is somewhat like discussing the intricate details of a specific submarine’s construction while simultaneously reading about Jules Verne’s Nautilus. In my younger years, I loved exactly this kind of reflection, sketching the Nautilus in my notebook or imagining what the Duncan might look like. Later, I drew space tugboats inspired by my favorite science fiction stories. But that is a completely different approach. Perhaps I simply misunderstood you. On the other hand, reflections on aesthetics are not limited to fictional ships. When I examine Bérain’s drawings, I have just as many questions. Where does his imagination take over—where something simply could not exist in reality and must be altered? And where am I obliged to stay as true to his style as possible, making every effort to ensure that his artistic vision remains intact on the model ship? Well then, let’s try to follow this thread together. Where can we discuss the decoration of Fulminant, particularly its windows, as an aesthetic element? And where must we consider pragmatic logic? Let the duel between real and false windows begin! Before we start the discussion itself, I have taken a step to make things clearer. I have numbered the windows in Bérain’s drawing to spare both myself and you the agony of explaining which window I am referring to at any given moment. First, let’s break down the fundamental question: what is aesthetic beauty? After all, everyone may perceive it differently. What, in this case, can be considered a more beautiful appearance? I would assume that a real window with glass is perceived by the eye as something authentic, whereas a false window forces our brain to think of it as a mere imitation—something of lower rank and lesser value and beauty. This is a very brief description and can easily be challenged. But if we were to dwell on this point for too long, we might never move forward. So, I will state a debatable thesis: real windows are the more aesthetically pleasing option, and they look better than artificial false windows. And if we disregard all logical and pragmatic considerations, looking at this question solely from the perspective of aesthetic beauty, then we would want all windows to have real glass. Now, let’s go through each window and consider whether glass can be installed there. I propose we start with window number 1. This window is located on a nearly flat structure that imitates the upper part of a tower, positioned almost on the outer hull of the ship. This does not prevent it from being a real window with glass. Remember, we are not thinking about military concerns—only aesthetics. But is it that simple? No. The problem is that window #1 is much higher than the transom windows and is positioned in such a way that it intersects the deck level between floors. If it had glass, it would look not aesthetic but rather absurd. So, this window can only be false. We have already dealt a blow to the aesthetic approach. Let’s move on and examine windows #2, #3, and #4. These windows are on the hanging structure, meaning there is no issue with them intersecting deck levels. Technically, all of them could be real glass windows. But even here, there are questions. What kind of questions? Let’s look at window #4. Imagine it had glass—what would we see? The window would face a wall. This reminds me of the TV show Friends, where multiple windows face brick walls of neighboring buildings. In contrast, Joey’s window looks straight into his neighbor’s apartment, allowing them to shake hands across the gap. I always wondered why someone would make windows with such a view. In the show, the point was to emphasize that the characters live in a cheap, budget-friendly building—one where students and retirees reside, in a cramped neighborhood where buildings stand close together. Tight spaces do not convey wealth or high status. Yes, we could say much more here. We could note that this is a toilet window, that we are discussing the 18th century, not modern times, and that simply having a private toilet already signifies an officer’s high rank—unlike the hundreds of sailors exposing their bare backsides to the sea winds on the open latrines. But still, a window facing a wall is not the most aesthetically pleasing solution. So, it would be much simpler to make this window false as well. And once we make that decision, we trigger an artistic principle: human perception is naturally drawn to symmetry. We instinctively seek balance, and asymmetry is often displeasing unless counterbalanced by other artistic elements. This principle applies here too. Windows #2 and #3 could easily be real glass windows, but for the sake of symmetry, it becomes tempting to make the left-side window false as well. Does this mean that, out of all the windows, only one can remain glass? Yes. But even that is not a final decision. At this point, it becomes a torment for anyone who loves aesthetic harmony. The human artistic sense will keep focusing on that single glass window, feeling that something is off. Everything else is false, so why is this one real? What is the reason? A casual observer walking by will not know the technical justifications we just considered. They will only see that something feels unbalanced. Then, should we simply cover all the windows with wooden shields? But this raises the same question—why are all the windows false? No matter what choice we make, the sense of aesthetic beauty will still be dissatisfied. In the end, my inner aesthetic sense led me to the conclusion that all the windows on the side castle should be false, except for window #3, which should have a small glazed vent to let light into the toilet. This way, the officer would feel more at ease, without worrying about sailors on nearby ships watching him struggle after a hearty meal. We agreed not to consider pragmatic concerns, so I did not include military factors here. I did not mention that this is a warship and that glass windows come with drawbacks. I also did not discuss the fact that there was likely another cannon behind window #4, making it necessary to have a solid wooden panel instead of a glass frame. Nor did I introduce the topic of non-transparent glass, which could let in light while concealing the officer or the wall behind it. But adding this discussion would only make the post even longer. Conclusion What final thought can I offer? I believe that even if we start discussing windows solely from an aesthetic perspective, we inevitably return to pragmatic reasoning. These topics are too interconnected to consider one while ignoring the other. And the solution? The solution remains open-ended. Perhaps that is why we see models of the same ship built with different approaches—one modeler deciding on one execution, while another chooses a different path. Until we find actual photographs of Fulminant, L'Ambitieux, and other ships, we are doomed to keep asking the same questions over and over again.

Now let’s talk about the unclear points. It’s difficult to separate the questions into distinct parts here. Each individual nuance smoothly transitions into another. I’ll try to describe at least some of the most important questions at this point. To start, I’ll once again present two types of stern decorations that can be seen in Beren’s drawings. The first thing I’d like to discuss is the lower-tier windows of the side gallery. If you look at the drawing, you can see how much they differ from all the others. Especially the window on the far corner, where it meets the stern transom. This window looks very large and elongated. It reminds me of limousine windows, as if it’s been stretched too much. And this is where I faced a dilemma. Should I stick to Beren’s historical drawing, or should I make some adjustments? On the one hand, the answer seems obvious. I have the primary source, and I should follow it. But on the other hand, Beren only sketched a general concept. This drawing isn’t a rigid blueprint. In actual shipyard practice, modifications were often made later. So, I can’t say I don’t have the right to make adjustments. For example, I can point to Budrio, who made corrections to the decorations for Ambitious in his monograph, and that was considered acceptable. So, what should I do? That corner window, in my opinion, looks very unattractive. I think it could be replaced with two narrower windows instead. What do you think? The second question is a natural continuation of this topic but with a slightly different focus. What should all the side gallery windows look like? Are they even real windows? After reviewing several other models, I’ve concluded that the upper-tier window is definitely a false window. Similarly, the lower-tier windows should also be false. The only difference is that the upper false window is directly attached to the ship’s hull. Meanwhile, the lower windows are solid wooden panels on the officer’s toilet compartment. Only in the central segment could there be a small glazed window mounted in the upper part of the shield with the false window. Something like this: Is my reasoning correct? Am I right in thinking that all the windows here should be false? Moving on. Now let’s look at the model from the stern view. Here’s what I’ve achieved so far. In the empty space, the very windows I discussed earlier will eventually be placed. I could make this section flat, with the slope following the red line. Or I could make it curved so that the plane matches the yellow line. Which option do you think is better? A gentle curve is more elegant, especially if I choose the false window option. In that case, nothing would interfere with assembling the shields with a curve. But was this done in cases where glass windows were mandatory? On the one hand, a curved structure would be much more complex to make, and a flat glass window would be easier to install. On the other hand, glass panes would certainly have been installed as small pieces, and making a window frame with slight bends isn’t too difficult either. So, technically, a window could also have had a wavy shape. Or is it definite that this wasn’t done? There’s also an intermediate option that combines both approaches. The vertical columns could have a curve, while the shields or glass windows remain flat and unbent. Which of these options seems more correct to you? Please, let’s reflect on this together. I’d really like to hear other opinions. I deliberately didn’t provide additional examples to leave as much freedom as possible in your answers.

Thank you. Yes, the vertical positioning of the model has its advantages. First of all, it saves a lot of space. I adapted an ordinary clothes rack for such a vertical slipway. It was left by my son after he moved to a separate apartment and his room became a testing ground for me, where I do my modeling now. For a classic horizontal slipway I have to look for a lot more space. When I work with the stern in this condition I have the opportunity to put my wrists on the hull and so my hands are not on the weight, which is also very convenient. But as in many situations and here too along with pluses there are also minuses. For example, the vertical positioning of the ship breaks the correct perception. I have noticed several times that the eye gets used to this view, but when you turn the model in the correct position, it turns out that you made mistakes somewhere. Well and as it is a rack for clothes on it weighs and different clothes. And my heavy bags with camera equipment are stacked at the bottom. All this is needed as ballast, so that a heavy model does not topple the whole rack. It doesn't interfere with the work in any way, but when shooting, you can see fabrics or things in the background. And it makes the shots a bit dirty. And here is more than enough and shambles, which is visible on my table. Those are the downsides.

Chapter 15 This chapter, by all the rules of the genre, should have featured a serenade, a passionate lover with a lute, and a shy lady behind a curtain. But none of them will make an appearance. And honestly, that’s for the best. After finishing the windows, it was time to focus on the balcony. Finally, I removed something that had been hanging around on the model for way too long. A little backstory: when I built the balcony floor ages ago, I reinforced it with temporary braces and ribs to keep it safe from accidental damage. Back then, I made the temporary structure out of stiff paper. Now, I’m not sure if there’s a similar expression in English, but in Russian folklore, there’s a saying: “Nothing is more permanent than something temporary.” And this project proved it true yet again. When I crafted those paper supports, I thought they’d only be there for a day or two. It was supposed to be a quick fix until I could replace them with something sturdier made of wood or plywood. But time passed. The paper structure held up remarkably well—nothing tore, nothing collapsed. So I kept postponing the replacement, thinking, “Eh, it works for now.” Still, it always felt a little embarrassing when those paper supports showed up in photos. I mean, this is a big, elegant ship model. Paper details? Even temporary ones? Come on. I’d cringe at the sight and promise myself, “Tomorrow, I’ll fix this. At least for the sake of the photos.” But tomorrow never came. So here we are—finally tearing off that paper. It felt like the start of a new era for this model. No more weird paper braces in the pictures! Honestly, it’s worth celebrating. A holiday, even! But what should I call it? Cartondance? LiberPapira? Maybe something fancy like Papirôle with a French twist? I’ll have to think about it. Of course, as soon as I removed one temporary fix, I started building another. This time from different materials. I know, it looks just as primitive and pathetic. But hey, it gets the job done. This new contraption was necessary to bend the balcony railings into the correct radius. And gradually, the outlines of the balcony began to take shape. After working on the windows, it was an immense pleasure to cut regular wooden planks for the paneling instead of slicing thin strips of wood as delicate as noodles. Little by little, the balcony started to take shape. After working on the windows, it was such a relief to stop cutting delicate strips for the rain spouts and switch to crafting regular planks for the cladding. When building ship models, we all face countless decisions: what details to prioritize, what to simplify, and what to ignore. These dilemmas come in many forms. For instance, should you leave a small gap between parts? You could fix it by crafting a new piece, but that takes extra time. Or maybe a strip of wood ends up slightly too short—should you cut a new one or just leave it, knowing the gap will later be hidden under additional layers? You’ll also encounter the opposite situation. Sometimes you meticulously detail an interior cabin, knowing full well that no one will ever see it once the model is complete. Yet, you do it anyway—for the satisfaction of knowing it’s there. It’s always a balancing act: where to cut corners and where to go all out, even if no one else will notice. There’s no right answer. Each modeler decides for themselves. That’s what makes this a hobby—it’s about doing what brings you joy. Why am I spending time writing about such a seemingly trivial topic? Because I want to leave behind a record of this little piece of Fulminant that will never be seen. Maybe I’ll forget about it someday, but at least here, it’s preserved. For example, I carefully crafted the interior cladding of the balcony—complete with supports and wooden planks—just as it should be. Now, I’m making everything the way it should be on a proper model. No paper. Everything is serious and meticulously crafted. After all, it’s LiberPapira and Papirôle! Life, however, just smirked at me and said, “No paper, you say? Sure, keep dreaming. I’ll wait for tomorrow.” And tomorrow came... Chances are, I’ll end up photographing more temporary fixes—maybe even made of paper—and worrying about how they look. So much for Cartondance! But in the meantime, progress continues. Rough drafts and sketches are giving way to permanent details—at least the first layer of them. Eventually, these will be built upon with additional layers and finer details. Going forward, I won’t stray off-topic with stories or jokes about placing a young lady on the balcony and a lovestruck suitor below. Nor will I describe the following photos in detail. Instead, here are just a few images. That’s pretty much it. Over these last few posts, I’ve briefly described what’s been happening over the past few months. Believe me, even these long-winded posts barely scratch the surface. I could tell so many more stories—some of them worthy of a full comedy script, filled with misunderstandings, mishaps, and unexpected twists. Some of those stories have already reached their conclusion, while others are still unfolding, and I have no idea how they’ll end. But that’s a topic for another time. For now, I’ve shared the latest updates. As you can see from the photos, even the finished parts aren’t truly final yet. That’s what I’m working on now. At every step, I find myself wondering: Did I make the right choice? Does this solution work, or did I mess up? Does the model resemble the drawings? How do I balance Berain’s designs with the actual construction and my own vision? These are the questions on my mind, and I’ll address them in the next post.

Thanks for the feedback. I couldn't quite read the main point of the glue question accurately, so I may not be answering exactly what you wanted to know. I have mentioned in past posts that some of the tagua parts have come off. In particular, this happened with some of the sunbursts. The thin parts started to buckle and they came off the surface of the base. I have written about this before. And at that time I was just raising the question about glues. After that I glued the parts again. And I did it with the same glue that I used originally. Thought I'd give it another chance. The bulk of the parts are still in place. But there are a couple rays that came off again. So I definitely need to change the glue. I tried to look for an answer to the question of what is better to glue the tagua parts with, but I didn't find a definite answer. I got the advice to try two-component glues based on epoxy resins. I was even given an example of such glue. It is Devcon 5 Minute Epoxy or Loctite Epoxy. They also recommended a polyurethane glue, such as Gorilla Glue. I also have a variant of organic glue made from rabbit skins. I bought it for gluing parts made of bone. I tried this variant on training pieces of bone. And they glued very securely and firmly. However, in that experiment the parts had a rather large plane of contact. But I still have high hopes for this variant. And first of all I will try this variant. Especially since I already have it in stock. And the rest are still to be found and ordered. As you can see, I haven't made any more attempts with glue in the meantime and the problems with the parts that were sticking off have not been solved completely. and you can see that just as well from the pictures in this last post. You can see there that the entire panel area is covered in dust. So I haven't touched it for quite some time. You can see the puffy ray as well. Part of the reason for this long pause is that my attention has been focused on other issues. And partly I saw a certain logic in it. I was waiting and seeing what would happen to the rest of the parts that I had already re-glued. Would they or the other parts come off? I gave myself time to assess the situation more accurately and if there were any more problem areas, I would re-glue everything at once and not have to dilute a new batch of glue each time. I don't see the logic in that. It's not like I can boil two drops of glue. I would have to make a much larger batch. And it would take a couple drops to glue it together. The rest I'd have to throw away. If I do this over and over again, I'll use up the whole jar of glue. I've decided that when the new new balcony parts come in, I'll glue them all at once. In the meantime, I'm just observing what's already glued. I hope I was able to explain the whole situation and correctly understand the essence of your question.

Chapter 14 Where the author makes you peek through windows. My previous post ended with this view. I had completed all the decorative elements on the large panel above the balcony. This was the main and most prominent decoration of the ship’s stern, but it was far from the only one. Moreover, for me, this part of the decor was the easiest. It’s practically a flat surface. Now, I had to move down, work on the balcony, the first level of windows, and create the side galleries. And that was a much more challenging task. At least because I had to figure out how all these shapes should look. It’s one thing to see them in a drawing, and a completely different thing to turn them into a three-dimensional construction. To adapt the real forms of the model to the image on paper. But I’m jumping way ahead. All of this was still in the future. At the moment, I had set myself a different goal: to make the windows. And here’s where I should start showing the stages of work on the window frames, posting photos of my desk covered with blueprints, templates, and patterns. Showing the small slats being cut and turned into window grids (I don’t know what this element is called in English, and I’m not sure a computer translator would pick the right word, so I hope for your ingenuity). But you won’t see any of this because I didn’t photograph any of it. Usually, when we work on a hobby, it’s positive emotions that motivate us to share our work. But I had no positive emotions. I didn’t feel like taking pictures. I kept making attempt after attempt, and I absolutely didn’t like what I was seeing. I really didn’t like it. And these damned windows took so much time and energy from me. I even saw them in my dreams. I clearly remember one of those dreams. In it, I had finally made good windows and was admiring them on the model. But when I woke up and realized it was all just my imagination playing tricks on me, I felt utterly defeated. I tried many different methods, made countless attempts, and threw a whole pile of scraps into the trash bin. In the end, this is what I came up with. Even here, I saw a lot of things I wasn’t happy with. But this version ended up being the final one. I sent the result to my client. In many cases, his reaction is what puts the final stamp on my projects. I’m next to the model and see the details more closely. I know all the flaws. And I want to do things differently. But he often calms me down, stops me, and writes something positive. That he likes everything and doesn’t want me to redo it. That’s what happened with the windows too. He approved this version of the window frames and suggested moving on. I simmered with emotions for a while but eventually calmed down and followed his advice. All that was left was to glaze the windows, and I could move forward. The glass was provided by the client; it arrived along with other useful cargo and the model itself. He had also informed me about it beforehand. He immediately made it clear that he was against using modern materials like plastic or film for the glass. He wanted the glazing to be done with sheets of mica. I’ll spend a bit of time discussing this material. I had encountered mica before. Back then, when I was building my own models and making windows, I also wondered how to make the glass. I don’t remember where exactly I bought the mica sheets. But I do remember that the mica I had then was different from what I saw in the client’s supplies. His mica sheets looked... how should I put it? They looked different. This mica looked ancient, as if it had been made long ago using old methods. The mica I had seen before was smoother. These sheets had far more particles and bubbles between the layers. If a more modern person, like my son, were to look at this mica, he might consider these sheets to be defective or garbage. By the way, that’s an interesting thought. I should show him these sheets and find out if he would say that. For me, it didn’t evoke negative emotions. As I said, I perceived these sheets as ancient. And that somehow made me handle them more carefully, as if they were an ancient mummy or amphora. I wonder if these mica sheets really have a history of their own? I’ll also mention that among the materials the client provided for the work, I found another type of glass. And this was actual glass—a small case with a whole set of tiny thin glass plates. If I understood correctly, they are used either in microscopes or for microscopes. I think these are slides on which material is applied for examination through optics. But that’s just my guess; I didn’t verify the exact purpose of these plates. I wanted to make two options: one window with mica and another with glass, so the client could compare and choose. The glass turned out to be very fragile. It shattered eagerly when I tried to work with it, cutting it. I tried cutting the slides to the right size first to glue them into the frames. And I tried gluing them first and then trimming the edges. But in both cases, the glass cracked. For some reason, I’m confident I would have eventually found the right way to handle it. But the first photos the client saw led to his clear verdict: no glass, only mica. So I didn’t bother finishing the work with glass. I cleaned up the shards, put the case with the glass back into the supplies, and continued working with mica. What can I say? In my opinion, mica as glazing has its pros and cons. Among its advantages is relatively simple processing. There are nuances—mistakes during cutting are easy to make. But the process isn’t too difficult. Another major plus is that, unlike plastic or film, this material will remain as it is for years to come, which can’t always be said for modern materials. But there are downsides too. As I mentioned earlier, the mica (and now I’m talking specifically about what I had at my disposal) had its natural defects. Additionally, more defects could appear during the cutting and installation process. These include bubbles between layers. As a result, there’s a significant chance that some spots on the windows will show these specks and other flaws. It can look like traces of glue or other careless actions. And here, only you can decide whether this is acceptable for you or not. A modern person who’s used to even dust on the window being unacceptable might grimace and say they’d rather choose plastic. But a history enthusiast might not even notice these features. They might even say that these imperfections prove it’s real mica and that the windows were made exactly as they were centuries ago. And the artifacts on the surface only make the windows more beautiful. So, it’s a pretty ambiguous situation.

Hello. I'm glad you enjoyed reading about my creation. I hope there is something useful in it. Or at least interesting. I prefer hand tools more in carving. And I use a set of miniature chisels. In working with tagua walnut, I also use a hand router with different burrs. But I use this type of tool much less. Unfortunately, I can't take a picture of my chisels right now. But you can see and read more about this set in another thread I am also posting on this site. It's here:

I'm glad to hear that, Mark. I sincerely wish you are doing well. There's one thing: I haven't watched much television in years. I listen to audiobooks more often than not, and I watch movies. At best, it can be some podcasts on history or science. It may look strange, but I've gotten used to it. The only downside to this situation is that when I suddenly want to see what's going on in the world, it shocks me. Yesterday, after Mark's words I also decided to see what was being said on the news and again I was discouraged. The world seems to be going crazy. I quickly run to my cave, push the huge rock behind me again, look at the fire and try to catch my breath and come to my senses. Once again, I sincerely wish you, Mark, and everyone else too, that you are okay. This forum for me has remained one of the islands where everything is calm and people are calmly doing things that bring positive emotions. May it continue to be so. Peace and goodness to all! Amen.

I apologize for the flooding. But what happened? You had me worried. Did something happen to Mark? Is he okay?

Thank you for your kind words. Now I'm sitting here with red ears from embarrassment. I realize you're joking when you compare me to Netflix. But just in case, I still wonder which actor could play me in a movie? I'd like it to be Tom Hanks. I'm ready to sign a contract now. 😄 I've always looked with particular envy at the fact that your avatar has a reference to Versailles in the location. One day I might pack my bags and go to France and visit the museums. It's a very longtime dream of mine. And now I've also read about your collection in the glass cases. And my curiosity is just bursting out. Your house must look like this? In my imagination, that's exactly what it must look like. That's it, I'm going to get on with my work. If I can finish this project with Fulminant, I'll have a better chance of getting Tom Hanks to agree to play me in a movie. And then I'll be famous and I'll definitely be able to go to Paris.

I try to make jokes in some places. And make the text slightly absurd. There may be problems in this, the translator may not translate my words correctly. In fact, I can in no way say a single bad word about my customer. He is a very wonderful person, I was very lucky to meet him. I can easily tell him about real events without hiding some moments that I don't like. Even on the contrary, he is the one who stops me. I tell him that I want to redo something, and he tries to talk me out of it, writing that he likes everything as it is. For example, I left the problem with the structure of the “ears” (I do not know how to call these details correctly) out of the chat. The place where columns with arches will appear in the future. On this ship these are large vases. When I designed the cornice structure, I lost sight of some of the nuances. It was only later that I saw that it was not going to be a very pretty design. We had a long discussion about what we can do now that a lot has already been done. And a lot will have to be removed, torn off and redone. The customer wanted to leave it as it was already done. But in the end I didn't listen to him and redid it. In the future I will continue the remodeling, remove the cornice completely and redo it. The way I would do it for myself. I believe that hiding problems is not the best option. He trusts me, and I have to honor that trust. It would be a lot worse if he suddenly saw problems I wouldn't tell him about. I value my reputation. I try to do the project to the best of my ability. I realize that a lot of things can be left out. There are a lot of things in any job that are problems with the normal workflow. There's no point in telling everyone about it. If you knew how many of these problems go quietly. But I thought the most interesting ones should be shown. For me, this project has a lot of new things in it, things that I have never encountered before. And it may be useful to those who dare to take on similar tasks. More detailed stories are useful to me myself. Sometimes I reread my own posts. Some time will pass and I will forget what exactly I did, what methods I used. I'll flip through these pages and I'll remember. And I will thank myself. It is interesting to look at photos alone, but I like not the result itself, but the path, the stories, the emotions that arise during the work.

Thank you for your kind words. I too think this type of material has its own characteristics in the form of oil content inside. And that affects the adhesion. In the stories with paint and with glue, the same peculiarity is at the core. I hope that I will find reliable options so that the walnut decor will not reject the chemical formulations. I don't know for sure if the glue gel is a relative for plumbing sealants.It's a small tube that promised me versatility on different surfaces. It may be the same sealant, just in a smaller package and with different marketing promises. Once dry, it remains elastic and soft, and it's very reminiscent of the plumbing options. Of course, to say that the adhesive can be very easily and repeatedly peeled off without fear would be very bold. Tagua is a very brittle material and likes to break at the most unexpected moments. So far I've been able to get the parts safely out of place. And the glue is easy to remove. I have already thought about where there is no gold plating immediately glue on organic glue. I really hope it will give a good result. But that's just speculation for now. And it too needs to be tested with time. The next elements of the decor will definitely become a place of experimentation. Here, too, there are peculiarities that need to be taken into account. For example, organic glue cannot be stored for a long time. And since small parts require quite a drop of glue, it's hard to brew it in such microscopic doses. The only option for convenient work with such glue is to make a large volume of parts, accumulate them separately in boxes. And then glue them all in place at once. This is what I plan to do with the decor on the balcony. But first you need to do an experiment and see if this glue will be a good option or not. This whole project is one big experiment. I guess that's the advantage of it.

Thank you.

Chapter 13 In which there are few interesting events, so the author makes a joke about toenails. What else is he supposed to do? Finally something to show! Lately I have been working on small details to complement the transom decorations. These works were unremarkable, so there are no photos of the process, only final shots. But there is still a lot to tell. Life sometimes makes adjustments: because of health problems I had to take a break. When I came back, I found that some glued parts had moved away from the body. The reason was the material itself - the thin elements of the tagua walnut had deformed like chips and had come off, despite the strength of the glue. This is what some of the slises look like in the billet box. And this is what some of these problems look like already on the ship model If you work with this material, be aware of its tendency to warp. I tested different glues before I started, primarily for bone. For tagua walnut, I then quickly chose the second glue - it showed strength on large surfaces. But later it turned out that for small parts and complex carvings it is not suitable, especially if it is not possible to use clamps or weights. Secondary glue is only good for temporary fixing. I use it to secure the workpiece to the slipway. Once the carving is complete, the piece can be easily removed. But to glue the elements to the hull of the ship, you need a more versatile glue. Given my previous problems with paint, I started looking for a glue that: 1. Would be suitable for different materials - wood and tagua walnut. 2. Will allow future removal of the decor without damage if repairs or repainting is needed. 3. Will account for possible warping of the walnut due to changes in humidity or time. In the end, I chose a soft silicone glue. But, as practice has shown, it cannot withstand the stresses that occur in the thin thread elements. I am now thinking again about changing glue. Perhaps I will return to organic glue, for example, from rabbit's feet - it perfectly holds the bone. But for now, for the sake of easy disassembly, I left the decor on silicone glue. If you work with tagua nut, be prepared for its unpredictability. And of course, I am open to advice and would appreciate any recommendations. There is another topic that I wanted to discuss. I have talked about it in the past. It concerns the white color of walnut. Tagua walnut is so light that it optically “steals” volume from the figures. Even shadows on it look too soft and details are lost. On photos it is especially noticeable - instead of a clear carved ornament you get either a shapeless white mass or something ghostly-glowing, which makes you want to cover your eyes with the palm of your hand from this glow. I decided to change it. But how? With a brush and paint. I decided to try and do a patina. I know that sounds obviously not what the idea looks like in my head. And when I tried telling the customer about this idea, he expectedly said he didn't like the idea. White carving and patina is not the most obvious combination. Admittedly, I myself would have been wary of the idea if I had heard it from someone else. But then chance intervened. In fact, a lot of time passed between my question and answer. I don't remember exactly what the pause was. Maybe it was days, maybe even a week. And for me, every second of waiting seemed like a century. You can even imagine such a picture: I am sitting in front of the monitor and waiting for an answer. I have already grown a beard, I continue to sit in anticipation, biting my nails with impatience, looking at the clock and seeing that already from the moment of sending the letter has passed Terrible .... FIVE MINUTES!!! And still no reply. I sit again, staring at the screen. My beard is already wrapped around my chest. I'm biting my nails again, already on my toes. And there is still no answer. Now make this wait into days. I've already seen some stars explode around me and others born. Can you imagine exactly how I felt? And all the while I was thinking that the customer wouldn't understand what I was trying to say. And at one point, I couldn't take it anymore. I jumped up, rushed to get my brushes and started to make the right tone for the patina. In fact, you could almost call it a transparent composition. The paint came out with a slight yellow tint, nothing more. I understood that for a white color, you don't need more than that. In the end, I carefully used a thin tip of the brush only in the deepest hollows. For the experiment, I chose a faun's head that I had recently been working on. It was interesting, but it was lost against the background of the rest of the carving. And this is what I ended up with. I think it's gotten better now. Although it's still not so obvious in the photos the difference between before and after. But I'm happy with what I can see for myself. Finally, I will mention that I went to the hospital right after the patination was finished. By that time I had not heard back from the customer. All this time I was thinking that he may have already written that he was against the idea. And I, without waiting for his opinion, redesigned the whole thing. So now I'm waiting for his reaction and preparing for any outcome. Maybe he'll get angry, or maybe he'll come to me, give me a hard time for being AWOL, and take Fulminant away. Then the last thing I'll have time to say in this thread will be a joke about biting my toenails. And who knows, maybe that's what everyone will remember better than all the previous stories about this project! That would be a scandal.