This started as a quick contest entry. Just one little diorama for the LEGO Ideas “Picture Perfect Memories” challenge. I thought I’d build a single model—frame it up like a Polaroid, submit it, and move on with my life.

Instead, I made six.

And who among us hasn’t gotten carried away and spent the whole night building? For me, there was something satisfying about having small ideas in my head that I could actually finish. Each one took a couple of hours. Nothing sprawling. Just compact moments, built quickly and intentionally.

I like building small. It forces you to be economical, which I think can be more impressive than going big. It also lets you focus on what really matters—telling a story.

Each of these builds is based on something that happened in my life, or something close to it. They’re impressions. Memories, simplified and captured in plastic. And in sharing them, I hoped to set a kind of template—something other people might follow to build their own.

The first one I built is a mother elephant and her calf. I set it at dusk, because of course I did (legal requirement). Golden hour is LEGO’s most flattering light.

I’ve never been on safari, but I have stood at a zoo fence and decided that I understood elephants. They’re huge, yes—but also expressive. It’s amazing how just a few curved slopes and a carefully placed tile can capture that.

There’s something funny about turning the largest land animal on Earth into a handful of LEGO pieces. But that’s what I love about microscale—it doesn’t take much to suggest something big.

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The sailing scene was built next. I live in a harbor city, so I wanted to recreate that feeling of watching boats glide across the water in late afternoon. Everything is a little too orange. The harbour. The sun. The boat that should’ve been back by now.

I made the waves big and rounded, sitting quite far out from the frame, which gives the whole thing a kind of playful rhythm.

A minifig hand and rubber band complete the first boat, while the sloop in the background is made from a minifigure shoulder pad (Minifigure Armor Shoulder Pads with Spikes on Top (88295). I kind of love a leisure craft made from battle gear. That’s the beauty of LEGO: if a piece gets you there, it’s the right piece.

Also, curved slopes will do 80% of the emotional labour in any ocean scene. Just let them.

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Then there’s the Vespa. Everyone takes photos of Vespas. I’ve done it, you’ve done it – Somewhere in the back of every holiday album is a slightly blurry shot of a scooter parked under a window box. The uneven paving and tight alley gave the build some energy, and I extended it by building a little alleyway out into the back with some forced perspective. I used an ancient 1978-era shutter (Brick 3856), which came preloaded with scratches, mystery residue, and the kind of sun-faded charm you just can’t fake. A true veteran of the toybox wars.

I could have used the official LEGO Vespa. Instead, I built one from scratch, and it took me two hours. It breaks if you look at it too hard. Which is, honestly, pretty on-brand.

“Fragility is essential to beauty” – Me

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“When you have given everything, then you have everything to gain” – Well Inscription

The well was an accident.

I had built a little hill and a tree for something else. I had also made a background that didn’t yet have a home. While testing how they fit into the Polaroid frame, I noticed something: they clicked… it was done.

The well is just a single upside-down tile. Sometimes simplicity is the most confident choice.

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When planning out build ideas for this series, one place that is always strangely synonymous with taking pictures to me, is the aquarium. I don’t know why, but aquariums always make people pull out their phones.

There’s something meditative about them. People lean in. Light flickers. Time slows down.

In this build, I really wanted to capture the calm of looking into an underwater world. I reused a turtle I had built for another project (I am not above recycling). I gave it a rock to rest on and surrounded it with seaweed and coral. One piece of coral, I should note, is a bright pink minifig afro (Part 87995) that cost five actual dollars on BrickLink. That is both a confession and a warning: sometimes the funniest parts are the most expensive ones.

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The last one I built is based on Kiyomizudera Temple in Kyoto. I visited a few years ago It’s a stunning place, full of strong lines and soft light. The flowing waterfall and red sun are both nods to the temple’s name: 清水寺, or “Pure Water Temple.”

The roof here is made from a minifig briefcase and a hotdog. They aren’t clipped or pinned—just wedged in, they’re just… there. Kind of gently wedged in and holding themselves together through sheer will, which, honestly, might be the most accurate metaphor for how I operate on any given day.

I added a waterfall, a few trees, and a bold red sun. It doesn’t recreate the temple perfectly. It just remembers it, the way I do.

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These weren’t meant to be a series. But once I started, the format made it easy to keep going. Each Polaroid frame was a chance to tell another story, capture another feeling.

Could I have built these bigger? Sure.

Would they have been better?

No.

Because the frame is the magic. The constraint creates the story.

So, if you’re ever feeling stuck, try building a memory. Not a masterpiece, not a display model—just a moment. A quiet little diorama that only makes sense to you.

A scooter you saw on holiday. A trip to the zoo. A walk past a temple at dusk.

And if it ends up a bit wonky or overly sentimental or slightly broken, that’s fine. So are most memories.

You can find more of my builds (and more tiny misadventures) at @clicklever.