Unexpected journey

Porcelain BJD « Ian McKellen » by Alenka Amicus

 

I never thought a porcelain doll would lead me to an unexpected meeting on a quiet London street — with Sir Ian McKellen himself.

In the summer of 2024, I began sculpting a figure that had been quietly growing in my heart for a long time. I wanted to create a porcelain doll that broke every rule of what people usually expect from the medium — not smooth perfection, but something real. Something with age in its posture, history in its face, and weight in its presence. A doll with a soul, not a smile.

Sir Ian became the natural choice. His face carries life — not just character, but presence. I didn’t want to sculpt “an actor.” I wanted to sculpt a person. And this person, this man, carries something remarkable in how he looks at the world. Creating his portrait in porcelain was my way of quietly saying thank you — not to Gandalf, but to Ian McKellen.

The project stretched across many months: from sculpting the original model, to casting, firing, sanding, painting, assembling, and finally sewing his outfit — a task I found far more difficult than shaping porcelain! I pored over reference photos: not only of Sir Ian, but of elderly men whose bodies echoed his build, and I obsessed over every detail. I even sculpted his hands by carving them out of cast blocks because they couldn’t be molded properly. It was laborious. It was beautiful.

When the doll was finally complete, I wanted to celebrate it somehow — not through a competition, but through a moment of quiet meaning. My photographer friend Polina Plotnikova suggested we take the doll to The Grapes — the historic pub co-owned by Sir Ian — and take a few photos just for ourselves. That night, my husband and I went for a walk to locate the pub. The street was quiet, the river glimmered under the streetlamps, and the pub — almost hidden — was behind us before we noticed.

And then, as we turned, I saw him.

There was no doubt. I had studied that face for months. I could recognize Sir Ian from meters away. He was walking alongside another man — I assume his assistant. As he neared, I heard his voice. That unmistakable voice. My heart flipped. My husband didn’t believe me at first. “That’s him,” I whispered, “It’s really him.”

I hesitated. I panicked. But then I turned and gently called out to him. I told Sir Ian that I had made a doll — a porcelain portrait of him — and had hoped to take photos of it in his pub. At the word “portrait” he turned and looked at me curiously.

We showed him a photo. He looked. Then he asked, “What time will you be at the pub tomorrow?”
“Twelve,” I replied.
He turned to walk away, then paused.
“I’ll come,” said Sir Ian McKellen over his shoulder.

And he did.

The next day, Sir Ian walked into the pub and sat down with us. He held the doll in his hands — and I, holding my breath, watched him look at this tiny mirror of himself. He asked questions. He listened. He wanted to know how I made it — and I showed him. My phone was full of work-in-progress shots, and I walked him through it, step by step, from sculpt to kiln to silk waistcoat. I even found myself leaning close to his real hand, comparing it to the sculpted one — I had never found good reference photos for his hands, and I wanted to see if I had guessed right. Sir Ian laughed. I think I did.

At the end, he asked me what would happen next with the doll. I told him I’d try to submit it to exhibitions, and he warmly wished me good luck.

This doll means a great deal to me, and I don’t want to sell it. It holds one of the dearest memories of my life — a meeting with one of the kindest and most extraordinary people on this planet. I’ll do my best to keep the promise I made to Sir Ian McKellen, and I hope this isn’t the end of our little story.

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