I feel like I have to enunciate what worked -- and what didn't -- about Tetto'Eko. Organized reflection is the best way to make sense of an experience, so I think it's important to review what I learned while making him.
The bad:
1) Organization. This is a broad topic, so I'm going to break it down a little bit.
First: I had no precise vision of what I wanted. In the future, I'm going to create a sketch of what I'll be sculpting. While the final composition worked for Tetto'Eko, having a reference -- even if I end up deviating from it -- will reduce some of the experimenting I ended up discarding. (There were going to be vines on the palanquin, for example, but modeling showed it was just too busy.) I typically do things somewhat fast and loose, so I don't want to bind myself too tightly to a predetermined design, but Tetto'Eko was a little
too loose. A perfect example: Tetto'Eko's staff. Not only is the staff itself really rough -- partly a result of not having a solid direction for it -- but neither the palanquin nor Tetto'Eko were designed to carry it. Oops!
Second: For organic shapes, having a physical frame to build from will be invaluable. I mentioned this earlier, but connecting blobs of Milliput for Tetto'Eko's core was a major pain in the rear. I pinned them -- that is, I connected them with small pieces of metal -- but building on an existing frame would be much better. I'm going to try building on small blobs over a wire frame next time. (At this rate, I may actually finish off my box of paper clips that I use to pin and frame things!)
2) Craftsmanship. Again, a broad topic.
First: Part of the success of this piece came from the fact that I didn't have to sculpt small, intricate pieces very often. When I did, I could usually cheat a little bit and do them in two dimensions. (See the plaques on the palanquin's back.) However, where I had to do actual, three-dimensional sculpting, I typically failed. Examples: the base's cornices, which I had to rebuild; the knotted rope around the base of the horns, which I had to repair; Tetto'Eko's staff. Part of the solution is just being more patient and aware; that will go a long way toward not damaging soft green stuff and in ensuring that it's properly shaped the first time. Another is in the use of my materials; the staff would have come out a lot nicer if I cut thin strips of mostly cured green stuff and glued them into place, rather than trying to craft concentric rings. I've got shaky hands, so trying to go the more delicate and intense route was just a silly idea -- better to fake the piece a little than try something beyond my current skills.
Second: Better tools will go a long way toward helping, too. I was constantly wishing I had good files (mine are all clogged and disgusting, and weren't that amazing to begin with) and real sandpaper (I was using this stuff called glass paper, which is supposed to be reusable. Maybe it would be if I didn't take the grain off it with one go!). I'm also going to keep my eyes out for a squared-off bit of metal on a handle. Having something to square corners will be much-welcomed (I had been using the back edge of my hobby knife, which wasn't terrible, I guess). In terms of work area, I'm going to see if I can't find wax paper that's a little nicer than the kitchen variety; I had a consistent problem of the wax sticking to my green stuff bits, making them lose their tackiness. This wasn't normally a problem -- we have super glue for a reason -- but when I needed the green stuff to stay sticky, it was a huge pain in the rear. Also, I'll probably get a small jar of mineral oil to lubricate some pieces; green stuff doesn't stick to water, but water beads up, making it less than ideal for working on the wax paper or on small pieces. On Milliput, water's a no go for lubrication -- the stuff reacts to water a lot like clay while it's uncured.
The good:
1) Detail wasn't as scary as I thought it would be. Building up the detail, bit by bit, worked out well. When I tried cutting to create definition, it usually failed, but it was all easily repaired by just building up again. When building, underestimating something's size is better than overestimating it; it's easier to build up than to pare down.
And the neutral:
1) The composition of a miniature affects painting in ways I never really considered before. While Tetto'Eko himself works on his palanquin, he would have been a failure as a stand-alone model -- he's just too bare! Painting him by himself would have required some creative use of color to make him interesting. When I make my terradon riders, I'll keep that in mind -- a little bling will go a long way to breaking up the miniature, especially on those long wings and crests the terradons will sport.
What's next?
Terradon riders are my next big project. I'll be building three of them. The major differences won't be in sculpting, but what I'll be doing afterward: Once they're built, I'm going to saw them into pieces and cast the parts with resin. This way I'll be able to have several riders. Eventually I'll purchase the real ones so I can play in tournaments (though I'll probably keep using the ones I made whenever possible), but this will let me play the game at a not-insane monetary cost in the meantime. (And let's be honest, I've sunk a lot of money into the hobby over the years anyway.) Additionally, I'll be sculpting extra legs for the terradons -- they start the battle carrying rocks, which they can drop on enemies; once they've dropped 'em, that's it for the aerial attacks. The resin casts will be half with rocks, half without; I'll have a handy visual guide to who has rocks still.
After that, I'm going to make a kroxigor. I have old ones, and those will do for now, but I want a really big one. The ones I have are 2 1/2, maybe 3 inches tall; the new ones are a little bigger still. I want to make one that's 6 inches or taller, in a nice action pose -- mouth open, fangs bared, charging forward and preparing to swing a massive club into a line of enemy troops. Essentially, I want the brute to be as big as possible for its base size!