Dancing on a pinhead, the mini miracles painted with an eyelash
World’s Tiniest Masterpieces HHHHI The Misadventures Of Romesh Ranganathan HHIII
Medieval doctors of divinity liked to argue over how many angels can dance on the head of a pin. Fantasy author Terry Pratchett said the answer was ‘16’ but he was probably guessing . . . and anyway, Sir Terry never met sculptor Willard Wigan.
The wonders Willard can fit on a pinhead defy all logic. World’s Tiniest Masterpieces ( C4) saw him carve a three-masted galleon that fitted comfortably on its minute metal pedestal, and an ornate crown the size of a speck which he presented to the Queen — surely the smallest of the Crown Jewels.
His creations are so minuscule that the camera’s magnifying lens had difficulty capturing them. Statuettes and artworks swam in and out of focus as they shrank.
These shots should have been pin-sharp, and it’s a pity the show didn’t devote more energy to capturing crystal- clear images, and less to jokey trick effects that had Willard running across a watchmaker’s workbench.
The documentary was at its best when we simply watched him work. He made reproduction Picassos and Mona lisas, one millimetre wide, and a replica of the Mad Hatter’s tea party framed by the eye of a needle.
We got some idea of the technical problems involved when Willard hiccupped while painting alice and inhaled her. Naturally reluctant to disclose all his secrets, Willard admitted he worked under a microscope with chisels made from flakes of diamond, and that his paintbrush was an eyelash.
To keep a steady hand, he said, he worked between heartbeats: ‘i use my pulse as a jackhammer.’ it sounded clever, but it was hardly very revealing.
Unlike many artists, he was more articulate about what motivated him. Severely dyslexic, he had a wretched time at school in Wolverhampton during the Sixties. Memories of those days still brought him to the brink of angry tears.
He showed us the touching game he played in his garden as a fiveyear-old, talking to his only friends — the insects. Then he produced another miniature marvel, a wooden house he built for eric the ant half a century ago.
it was a perfect scrap of architecture, the size of a thumbnail. Small surprise Willard’s devoted mother treasured it till she died. it’s rare for a Tv biography of an artist to be so moving. i’d love to see an exhibition of his work, though i’d worry about gasping at some mini miracle . . . and swallowing it.
exquisite art was also on display in The Misadventures Of Romesh Ranganathan (BBC2) but the presenter was so ill-informed, as he inspected a 1,500-yearold church concealed in an ethiopian mountain cave, that we learned nothing about it.
as he stared at the wall paintings making fatuous remarks, the camera revealed what looked like a Celtic knot — the kind that decorates irish headstones. Cultural coincidence or medieval connection between africa and Northern europe? don’t ask Romesh, he hasn’t got a scoobydoo. The only thing on the comedian’s mind was how much the ethiopian landscape reminded him of The lion King. it was embarrassing.
He interviewed almost no one and dodged any experience that made him uncomfortable: he wouldn’t try a faith healer’s treatment for his eyes, let alone take a puff of ganja with the High Priest of the Rastafarians.
This series is visiting extraordinary countries. Both ethiopia and Haiti last week looked fascinating. But Romesh’s idea of research is to do some Googling in his hotel room.
it’s been a while since any presenter irritated me so much.