If you’ve wondered why things feel different around here… we’d love to tell you the story.
When we first began creating digital models many years ago, what excited us most wasn’t pressing the “Publish” button.
It was wondering… “What will someone make with this?” Every now and then we’d get to see the answer. Not a photograph of our model; a photograph of their project…a dollhouse kitchen they’d lovingly painted, a tiny workshop, a room filled with furniture we’d designed, but brought to life entirely through someone else’s imagination. Those photographs always stopped us in our tracks. Not because they showed our work…
…but because they showed yours.
Those moments reminded us that we were never simply making digital files. We were making little pieces that became part of someone else’s story. That feeling is what started this whole adventure. Long before 3D printing was a thing, we were building digital models for creators in virtual worlds and video games. We loved dreaming up unusual furniture, impossible little machines, and quirky objects that didn’t have to obey the rules of the real world. What mattered wasn’t the technology. It was knowing that someone, somewhere, would take those little pieces and build something entirely their own. Whether it was a virtual world, a dollhouse, or a miniature village, our greatest joy has always been helping other people tell stories.
That hasn’t changed. What has changed is the environment around that work. Over the past few years, we found ourselves spending less time connecting with fellow makers and more time trying to keep up with an increasingly crowded marketplace. There were wonderful customers, of course—many of whom are still with us today, and we are endlessly grateful for that. But there were also copycats, stolen work, endless comparisons, constant price haggling, and the quiet feeling of becoming another shop in an endless catalogue. Over time, it became surprisingly easy to remember the difficult interactions more vividly than the encouraging ones. The messages that stayed with us were rarely the kind ones.
None of those things made us stop loving the work. They simply made it harder to remember why we loved it.
So one evening we asked ourselves a simple question. What part of all of this still makes us genuinely excited? The answer came almost immediately. Not chasing algorithms. Not trying to release more products than we could count. Not worrying about whether the next design would disappear into an endless sea of thumbnails.
What we loved was sitting together dreaming up little environments; a chair that belongs beside a knitting basket, a crooked picture frame that’s been hanging there for twenty years, a funny little invention that somehow makes an ordinary afternoon feel just a little cozier. The tiny stories hiding between the furniture. Once we remembered that… the decisions almost made themselves.
That’s why you’ll notice fewer individual STL releases. It’s why we’ve started creating thoughtfully curated bundles instead of endless single pieces. Bundles allow us to build little worlds instead of isolated objects. We love the quiet conversations that happen between pieces: the chair that belongs beside the knitting basket, the old suitcase tucked beneath a houseplant, the odd little invention that only makes sense in Tilly’s sitting room. Those relationships are where Chuckleberry Town comes to life. As a bonus, the bundles also work out to be a better value than purchasing the pieces individually.
You may also notice that our photography has changed. We no longer feel the need to show every angle or create perfect catalogue images. Instead, we’d much rather tell a story. Rather than asking, “How do we best sell this object?” we’ve started asking, “What was happening in this room just five minutes ago?”
Who lives here? What were they doing? Why is that teacup sitting there? Why is the blanket folded over the arm of the chair? Why is there a little mechanical bird helping Tilly untangle her yarn? Those questions are far more interesting to us than another 360-degree render.
That’s also one of the reasons we wanted our own website. Not because we wanted another place to sell things.
Because we wanted a place to gather. A place where we could share works in progress, tell stories about Chuckleberry Town, show you the strange little inventions we’re dreaming up, and—perhaps most importantly—see what you’ve created with them. We don’t want Dove & Pear to feel like walking into a warehouse full of products. We’d much rather it feel like opening the door to a workshop.
If you’ve painted one of our miniatures…
If you’ve built a room around one of our STL bundles…
If you’ve changed the colours, added flowers, invented your own characters, or turned one little chair into something we never imagined…
Please show us. We honestly mean that. Some of our happiest moments over the years have come from seeing what you’ve created. Those moments remind us why we started doing this in the first place. We may have designed the pieces…
…but the stories have always belonged to you.
Our hope is that this website becomes more than a catalogue. We hope it becomes a workshop. A place where makers can encourage one another, share ideas, swap painting techniques, celebrate finished projects, laugh over happy accidents, and occasionally inspire our next Chuckleberry invention. We’re already dreaming about a Maker’s Gallery where we can celebrate your creations alongside our own, and perhaps even a community space where ideas, techniques, and little discoveries can be shared.
Because, at the end of the day, that’s what Dove & Pear has always been about.
Not simply making things.
But making things together.
Welcome to our workshop.
We’re so glad you’re here.
— Julie & Matt
And on that note… WELCOME 🙂
