BEHIND THE SCENES: Interlude in Memory

When we first started working on the Nifeliz Church model, there was no grand moment of inspiration. No lightning strike. Just a quiet idea:"What if we could recreate one of those small white churches from the American countryside?”

Not for display in a museum. Not for some dramatic religious symbol. Just because they're beautiful, familiar, and worth remembering.

That idea became our starting point.

 

No Single Designer. Just a Shared Vision.

This project didn't have a single named designer. Instead, it was a team effort—led by people who simply loved architecture and wanted to capture a feeling.

During the early planning phase, we went through dozens of references. Real churches. Real floor plans. We weren't trying to create a fantasy—we wanted something recognizable, something rooted in memory. The team pored over structural details: the color of the walls, the shape of the steeple, the way light moved through old stained-glass windows.

“We weren't chasing perfection,” one of the team members said. “We just wanted to get close to what's in people's memories.”

 

The Trickiest Part: Letting Light In

The biggest technical challenge wasn't the steeple (though it did go through several redesigns). It was the stained glass.

We didn't want to use printed decals. Instead, we used four types of transparent bricks—hoping to let real light do the work. Sounds simple, right?

It wasn't.

One of our flatlay designers, who handled the instruction visuals, explained:

“Light doesn't pass through bricks the same way it does through real glass. Especially when the model's walls are thick. We spent days just figuring out how to make it look right—even had to consult senior designers to get that soft glow effect working.”

The result? A natural stained-glass look that shifts as the light changes. It's not dramatic—but it's quietly beautiful. Morning, noon, or dusk—it plays out a little differently each time.

 

Not Just for Display—Meant to Be Touched

This model was never meant to sit untouched behind glass. It was built in three modular sections, so people could enjoy the process: starting from the altar, building up the bell tower, finishing at the grand front door.

As one assembly tester put it:

“Most of it was really smooth to build. The only challenge was the window section—it's just a complex structure. But once you finish it? It's the best part of the whole thing.”

That's how we know we did something right.

Even the details outside—the old oak tree, the mossy ground, the subtle textures—aren't just decoration. They're part of the experience. You build them slowly, piece by piece. Just like memories.

 

Design That Doesn't Shout

The stained-glass windows look stunning in real life—but capturing that in photos and the manual was trickier than expected. Transparent bricks don't always play nice with light, and showing the complex window build clearly took some trial and error. The team spent days adjusting angles, testing layouts, and simplifying steps. In the end, it wasn't about making things fancy—it was about making things work, so you can just open the booklet and build without overthinking it.

 

A Tribute, Not a Statement

We know “church” is a word that means different things to different people. This model isn't meant to make a statement. It's not about faith, or history, or even tradition.

It's about quiet spaces. Honest design. Light through colored glass. It's a nod to those familiar buildings from childhood road trips or postcards tucked in drawers.

The model doesn't shout for attention. And we like it that way.

It invites you in, softly. One brick at a time.