Growing up with architects, models, and drawings were a familiar sight. My first brush with model-making happened at architecture school; where, till date, models are an inviolable rite of passage. Tutored by recent graduates, we were given the rather ghastly job of making “paper ply” using sheets of cartridge paper, rubber solution, and a steel edge (and our bodies) to scrape down the solution and battle warping. There was no paper press at hand. This fumbling—for making might be too generous—was more than a century and half, a continent, and a post-colony removed from T.A. Richardson’s The Art of Architectural Modelling in Paper (1859),1 wherein such methods are outlined. Shortly after, we progressed to card stock, and by the time of our graduation, our industry-readiness was evidenced by thesis models outsourced to a professional modelmaker. It has taken me, since, two decades, a keen interest in representation, and the books authored by Matthew Wells and David Lund to understand not only my professional entanglement with models and modelmakers, but the colonial “inheritance” within which it was nestled.