WORDS OF WISDOM
Best advice I was given
When she was dying my
mum said: “Ain’t nothing
wrong with dying. It’s not
fully living that’s a sin”Advice I’d give
Be determined, be creative
and never allow anyone to
tell you you can’tWhat I wish I’d known
I wish I’d known when I was
younger that I had autism.
My teachers might have
treated me betterW
igan was born in
Wolverhampton,
the son of Jamaican
immigrants. His
sculptures, which are
best viewed through
a microscope, fit comfortably
within the eye of a needle.
Unable to read or write as a
child, he was diagnosed with
autism and dyslexia in his
fifties. He was appointed an
MBE for services to art in
2007, and his work is owned
by the Queen, Elton John and
Simon Cowell. He lives in
Birmingham with his fiancée,
Janice, and dog, Stanley.Sometimes I work through the
night when it’s quiet outside.
I’ve fallen asleep with my head
on my microscope and woken
up with black circles round my
eyes. At around 6am I do some
stretching and take the dog for
a walk. Then I’ll whizz up two
pomegranates, an apple, a pear,
spinach, kale, garlic and ginger
and drink it with honey.
Everything I see ends up in my
work. I never use photographs,
I work from memory: Einstein,
the Commonwealth Games,
Tyson Fury or people having a
picnic — whatever pops into my
head. I carve particles of nylon
ties, wood or ceramics with a
fragment of diamond pushed
into a hypodermic needle.
I don’t feel any pleasure doing it,
it drives me mad. It’s like trying
to put a pin through a bubble
without bursting it. I have to
slow my heart rate until I’m like
a dead man working. I hold my
breath and squeeze my finger
on the tool until I can feel the
pulse jumping, then I work in
between beats.
I work for seven hours like
that, on five pieces at a time,then another seven hours. I’ve
trained my attention span but
it still feels like torture. I’ve
inhaled work or blown it away
just by breathing at the wrong
time. Almost every day I think
I can’t do this any more. But
I get so much love and praise
that I can’t stop. I made a
crown smaller than a full stop
for the Queen and I went to
Buckingham Palace to give it
to her. She couldn’t believe it.
That was my proudest moment,
the pinnacle of everything.
I often think of all the things
that were said to me at school.
I was paraded in front of the
other children so they could see
what failure looks like. I was so
ashamed I stopped speaking,
my eyes were always on thefloor. I believed in pixies and
fairies and sprites and I’d make
them tiny plates from silver foil.
I made houses for insects. My
dad was no good but my mum
believed in me. She said the
smaller I made things, the more
people would like them. And
she was right. When someone
praises me for my work, it feels
like being in a shower with each
droplet washing away the
negative things that have been
said. And that’s how my work
became my voice.
My fiancée helps me because
sometimes I forget to eat. She
makes fish with vegetables
and pasta. And I drink a lot of
lemon water. Then I’ll sleep
for an hour, but it’s hard to relax.
I find myself going over the top,
wanting the next piece to be
better. My autism gives me
hyperfocus, it’s like rocket fuel.
I carved a church from a grain
of sand using my pulse as a
jackhammer and a motorbike
inside a speck of my own
stubble. I made Mount
Rushmore from a micro-sliver
of dinner plate. I paint with
an eyelash, crushing the oil
molecules first with a ball
bearing because everything
behaves differently at a
microscopic level.
I often don’t feel like eating
but Janice makes me take a
break. I love watching David
Attenborough programmes and
flying remote-controlled planes.
Once, when I was making a tiny
house for someone, I stood in
WH Smith looking at a copy of
House & Garden for three hours
— time just disappeared and
I lost myself. Sitting in the
garden watching insects is the
best entertainment to me. I love
all animals. I feed bumblebees
honey but I feel everything too
intensely — if I see one that’s
hurt, it’ll upset me for days.
I don’t sleep much, maybe
four or five hours a night, but
when I do it’s deep. Last night
I dreamt I was riding round the
lampshade on a tiny bicycle,
dressed in a purple nightgown,
waving to myself. I thought,
shit, Willard, you need help! n
Interview by Caroline Scott.
The Great Big Tiny Design
Challenge is on Sundays at
9pm on More4A LIFE IN THE DAY
Willard Wigan
Sculptor of microscopic art, 64
Wigan’s sculpture of Albert Einstein, 201958 • The Sunday Times Magazine*