The Hidden Novák Puppet-Carving Stage Where the Grainline Drifted from Its Path

A resin-scented quiet pools beneath the rafters. On the central carving board lies a puppet torso—its shoulders shaped in confident contours, its lower body wavering where cuts softened unexpectedly. A gouge rests crooked near a split in the pine.

A brush stiffens in a cup of dried varnish. Nothing catastrophic shadows the room; instead there lingers the slow fatigue of a discipline once steady, now subtly undone.

A Carver Led by Balance, Timber, and Grainline

This puppet-carving stage belonged to Marek Antonín Novák, marionette maker and joint specialist, born 1876 near Plzeň. Raised in a modest family of cooper craftsmen, he apprenticed under a traveling puppeteer who taught him how grainline governs movement, how joint spacing shapes posture, and how silence inside a carved head must feel “alive” before cloth and color add their voice. A faded red string from his sister, Klára Nováková, ties a bundle of pattern stencils above a shuttered cabinet.

Marek held to a quiet sequence: dawn tracing of limbs, midday hollowing of heads, dusk testing joint swing under lantern’s calm. His tools remain arranged with affectionate method—knives wrapped in linen, joints sorted by diameter, pigments sealed under cork. Patrons once admired his marionettes for their expressive nuance and uncanny balance.

When the Figures Lost Their Poise

In fertile seasons, the stage hummed with cotton-soft footsteps of creation. Carved heads dried on narrow racks, limbs pivoted with graceful arcs, and spruce offcuts fell in coils of pale harmony.

Yet small irregularities crept into the wood. A knee joint stiffens at one angle. A mask’s cheek folds against its intended symmetry. A neck mortise leans fractionally off true. Marek’s commission ledger shows a theatre director’s order written, crossed out, rewritten, then smudged by resin dust. A clipped Czech line reads: “Říkají, že jsem zesměšnil jejich scénu”—they say I mocked their stage.

Whispered discontent followed: during rehearsal, a leading marionette’s movements stuttered, its arm raising late, its head tilting as if in mockery. The director accused Marek of sabotage. Others murmured he refused to simplify a character design meant to flatter the patronage board, stirring quiet resentment.

The TURNING POINT Carved into Faltering Timber

One late evening left its subdued mark. A principal marionette—destined for a political pageant—rests on the carving board: its upper limbs balanced and elegant, its lower limbs muddled by softened cuts and uneven pivot holes. A chisel lies snapped near its ferrule. A cup of glue has dried into brittle petals across the rim.

Pinned beneath a crushed stencil is a torn slip: “Žádají náhradu za potupu.” They demand restitution for the disgrace. Another scrap, blurred where varnish smeared it, reads: “Držel jsem linii… oni ji odmítají.” I kept the line… they refuse it. His handwriting trails downward, strokes thinning as though shaved by the same weary blade. Even the puppet heads—once displayed by size—sit toppled, some turned face-down, others leaning as if nudged by a restless gesture.

Across the side bench, a control cross lies dismantled, its strings tangled into sullen knots.

A Hidden Compartment Behind the Pattern Cabinet

Behind the tall pattern cabinet, a warped panel eases inward. Inside rests a small puppet Marek began for Klára: the head carved with tender contour, the torso only lightly shaped, limbs sketched in charcoal on rough pine. A folded note in his trembling script reads: “Pro Kláru—až se ke mně vrátí moje grainline.” For Klára—when my grainline returns. The final word fades into faint dust.

Beside it rests a flawless spruce block, untouched, waiting for cuts he no longer trusted himself to begin.

The Last Unfinished Marionette

In a shallow drawer beneath the finishing stand lies a test limb: its upper carve smooth and measured, its lower carve drifting off contour, the pivot hole mis-aligned by a breath. Beneath it Marek wrote: “Even character breaks when resolve slips its grainline.”

The puppet-carving stage folds back into resin-scented quiet, half-shaped figures resting in stillness.
And the house, holding its abandoned carver’s chamber, remains abandoned.