Greetings again, ladies and gentlemen, Unicorns and children of all ages, my name is Brent and I have a problem. I mean, besides my rather obnoxious all-ego, all-the-time blogging habit. And my need to Stalk Jawaballs Since 2009. I’m talking about little metal and plastic miniatures.
But not Finecast, because I don’t want to get that little file or make a mess with liquid Greenstuff.
You know what I’m talking about; chances are, you’re on the same road yourself. Perhaps your case isn’t as bad as mine, but I’ve been doing this since 1991. Perhaps your plastic crack addiction is even more advanced, which means you’re probably not in social services.
|Gotta love Google Images; this one is ‘Plastic Crack.’|
Yeah, yeah – this isn’t exactly a new subject. Still, I’ve had cause to examine the direction of the hobby recently, such as in my recent article about the cost of a new army, and last week I had something of an epiphany.
(Note: for those with a tendency to type TL:DR or just, in general, don’t have much time, skip ahead to the point. Conveniently formatted in bold for your reading pleasure.)
It started one fateful Friday night when a buddy of mine, the Card Pimp in Question, brought his big-box-o’-Daemons to the store with the intention of unloading them on me. I won’t bore you with how scary this all was; suffice it to say the dude has a serious ability to dicker for models. After the Zombie Apocalypse, he’ll put all this bartering experience to good use by trading with all you poor survivors.
Nope – won’t be there! You’ll have to get along without me. I’m reasonably tough… but not jail tough and definitely not Zombie Apocalypse tough. Since I have no intention of being eaten alive, I’ll have to hope God has made allowances for the easy way out.
But I digress. Being a well-known Daemon player, and a plastic crack addict to boot, did the only seasonable thing and said, “Nope, I’ll pass.”
Naturally I went home with the box. Part of the deal involved painting the Card Pimp’s Grey Knight Terminators (also acquired in trade; the victim is now homeless), and since I seem to be crawling slowly to the point…
…suffice it to say I started painting Grey Knights. Since it was commission work for a fixed price, I timed how long I worked on each model. Let’s take a look.
|Batch paint: four hours.|
So I’ve invested thirteen hours over about a week. I have twenty-five more models, which should go quickly since the base layer of silver is done and washed. Call it ten hours, then another hour for the banner. At that point, I have to decide if I’ve done enough to earn the commission or if I should go through the Terminators and pick out details.
That’s time in hours – but consider the time in days, too; thirteen hours over a week isn’t easy to find.
There you have it! I estimate a literal day.
To paint an army.
An elite army. The smallest army in the game.
So I’ve been thinking…
…how the hell am I going to paint all the crap I own?
40K: Chaos Space Marines
40K: Sisters of Battle
40K: Grey Knight Inquisitors
Warhammer Fantasy: Breastmen
Warhammer Fantasy: Tomb Kings
It’s not that bad, really (which is something all addicts say), except that I own a lot of each army.
|Ah, a blast from the past! My Eldar versus Jawa’s Blood Angels… a Stalking success! His friends (and I) call him Chris. He calls the cops.|