Once I had the heads back, I realised I'd forgotten about the bodies. I put the feelers out to see if I could get some made from pre-existing moulds people already had. No luck.
So I got on a flight to Brno with one of the head sculpts, to show my builders — the people who hand-carve the wooden bodies for my puppets. A small, middle-aged couple. The wife speaks broken English. The husband just smiles.
I went over to their apartment. We sat around the table, each with a cream cake and a coffee, to talk it through. I'd say what I wanted, he'd get it from her translation, and I'd get a nod. Then she'd come back with: yes, possible.
It felt like being in a gangster film. I was the one coming in for a service, and he was the head of the family.
Their apartment was like something out of a Brothers Grimm fairy tale. Walk in and you're greeted by forty-plus marionettes, dangling from the ceiling, every shape and style you can imagine. I'd have loved a photo to remember it by. But it didn't feel right, walking into someone's home and taking pictures.
They've always done a great job. A little blocky, but pretty much what I was after. It didn't need to be detailed — it just needed to hold its shape, move well, and not weigh too much.
The wheels were in motion.