Since the final season came out, people have stopped me in grocery stores, messaged me from the other side of the world, and found me after seeing the documentary. The same questions keep coming up, so here are my answers in one place.
For the sets, the numbers and the team, see the Stranger Things 5 sculpture department page.
Getting the job
How does someone end up running the sculpture department on a show like this?
Through people. Jonathan Morgan called me out of nowhere for my first show, Barry Jenkins' The Underground Railroad, on a recommendation from my friend Aly Adduci. Jonathan went on to work as the plasterer on Season 4 and kept putting my name in front of the art department, the supervising art director and the construction coordinator. His credibility opened the door.
When it became clear Season 5 needed several fully sculpted sets, more than a few sculptors tucked inside the paint department could handle, production decided to build a dedicated sculpture department with its own head. Sean Brennan, the supervising art director, called me. The scale of the work, the timing and the project all lined up. Aly ended up on my Season 5 team too.
What pulled you in?
As a viewer, the lighting, the score and the way it's shot. It speaks the same language as the things I grew up on: The X-Files, Tremors, The Thing, Twin Peaks, The Shining. As a crew member, it was walking into a culture that was already fully baked and a volume of sculpture I'd rarely seen on one show. I wanted the challenge of leading a department, not just sculpting in one.
How the sets got made
How does a concept drawing become a set you can walk through?
It depends on the set, but the bones are the same. Michael Maher, our concept artist, built a lot of the visual world, including the Pain Tree, the Abyss and the membrane wall. Sean Brennan breaks the script down into preliminary drawings and runs department-head meetings where we work out approach, risk and questions together. Sean takes that back to the set designers for final drawings, and I use the preliminaries to estimate materials.
Max's Cave shows the process best. I sculpted a scale model by hand so the Duffer Brothers could block camera. Once it was approved, I 3D scanned it and gave the art department a digital model to design the armature inside. Construction built the structure while we prepped the foam cladding. I could slice the digital model without touching the physical one, 3D print each section at scale and hand sections to the team. Everything fit when it came together.
Which set had the most of you in it?
The melted Hawkins Lab rooftop. Nobody knew what a space melted by exotic matter should look like, so we tested a lot: poured plasters, rubbers, fully and partially sculpted samples. We ended up mixing methods. Some walls got urethane expanding foam poured down them for drips. Others were carved below the surface, with foam on the reveal edge for depth. For the rooftop, we took the drawings to a 3D model, printed it, cast it in wax, and then Chris Trujillo, Sean Brennan and I melted it with hot tools until it looked right. Sherrie Penn and Brian Keepers helped me carry that set.
And the Pain Tree?
Pure scale. My foreman, Melissa Van Sandt, kept both hands on that one. We set the process and the look together, and she made sure the team executed it perfectly.
What part of worldbuilding at this size do people miss?
Structure and access. There's a huge amount of steel and welding under the foam, and every overhang and undercut has to be lit and still work as a set. Max's Cave was freestanding so lighting, grip and rigging crews could run condors over it. The Pain Tree had to take techno cranes and a big light rig that simulated the monster moving. Transport matters too. The membrane wall Hopper stabs through had to travel to locations, so we split it along irregular seams we could hide when it was rebuilt.
Was the body-horror look your style?
Not my first instinct. I'm more skin-on than skin-off. Barrie Gower, who did Vecna's makeup, is a true master of that world. But I love anatomy, volume and surface texture, and I love being pushed. Actors explore characters. I explore space. I'd happily do more large-scale anatomical work.
On set
What's it like to stand inside a finished set?
Happy, and already listing what I'd change with more time. My mentor taught me to take those notes and let them go. It's also bittersweet. Once a set is shot, it gets struck: some pieces saved for reshoots, a lot recycled. On Season 5 our department recycled about 75,000 pounds of EPS. But walking through something you can touch, that started as a conversation and a sketch, never gets old.
Favorite day on set?
The first day we shot Vecna floating under the heart of the monster in the Pain Tree. I was there to support camera. Between takes, Jamie Campbell Bower was lounging on one of the columns in full makeup, and I went over to tell him how good he was in person. He's warm, down to earth, and he clearly respects the people who build the world around him. A couple of days later the memory had shifted in my head. I hadn't talked to Jamie, I'd talked to Vecna. That was strange and great.
What surprised you after the show came out?
The reach. Strangers in Savannah want to talk about it when they see my crew hat. Art directors have written from as far away as Iraq. A lot of people found me through One Last Adventure: The Making of Stranger Things 5. Being one compartmentalized role and still hearing from fans is something I never expected.
The craft
How did you start sculpting?
I was working in the gift shop at Mardi Gras World in New Orleans, the public side of Kern Studios. One day I saw the head of the fabrication shop fighting with a huge sculpture, so I jumped in and helped. The next day he offered me an entry-level sculpting job. I stayed ten years, making 40 to 50 sculptures a year, new pieces and rebuilds of props going back to the fifties and sixties. Starting at the bottom gave me room to experiment, reverse-engineer and invent process.
Who shaped you?
Charles F. Bendzans, my mentor and one of my closest friends for more than twelve years. He had an MFA from Cranbrook, and his own color teacher studied under Josef Albers. Most of what I know about being an artist, and a person, came from him. Beyond Charles: Bernini for emotional weight in stone, Claes Oldenburg for scale and humor, Dalí, Magritte, Rauschenberg and de Kooning.
How would you describe your style?
Contrast. Light defines form, so I sculpt for depth and shadow. I sit between minimal and maximal, and I like putting opposing things side by side to create tension. I want places for your eye to move and places for it to rest.
Advice for someone who wants to sculpt at this scale?
Be patient. These jobs are rare, and leading one is rarer. Master the elements of design. Learn scale models and how to break a model into parts you can scale up. I spent most of my first year at Kern on maquettes before I sculpted anything big. Keep drawing. Take the job next to the one you want, or below it, and watch. Be consistent, be kind, work hard, and take risks.
What would you build if there were no limits?
Something monumental that people can climb inside, part sculpture and part architecture, somewhere between Kapoor's Bean, the Statue of Liberty and Oldenburg. In film: Ghostbusters, a live-action Ninja Turtles, or another Honey, I Shrunk the Kids. Anything that plays with scale.
Building something big? Email [email protected]. See the full Stranger Things 5 sculpture department page.