The item
The stand comes in two parts — a body that holds the camera, and a base that unscrews and comes off. Both configurations are intentional.
On a desk or shelf — leave it as it comes. Weight balance and silicone pads underneath keep it where you set it.
On a high shelf or cabinet — take the base off and put the stand right on the corner. The footprint is narrow enough to perch on the edge, and the lens then looks down without anything in its way. Secure it with the two wood screws, or the adhesive pad if the surface won't take screws.
A channel down the back of the stand keeps the cable flush against the wall. Once it's set, the stand stops asking for your attention.
The design
What works in CAD rarely works on the shelf. The first three versions were elegant on screen and useless in the room — too tall, too eager to lean, too convinced the camera would forgive the geometry.
The work turned into a loop: model, slice, print, fail, take notes. Version 4 narrowed the neck. Version 5 lowered the centre of mass. Version 6 looked perfect and held the angle for about a week, until the seam I'd skipped reinforcing gave out.
Version 7 is what you have. A narrow footprint that perches even on a thin corner edge, an internal channel that lets the cable sit flush against the wall, and just enough mass at the base to argue with the camera's own weight.
The print
Each stand prints flat-side-down in about three hours. PETG with strong walls and enough infill to carry the camera's weight, light enough that you forget the stand is there. I only print with original Bambu Lab filament — the cheaper rolls warp or shift colour between batches, and I'd rather not gamble with something that's going on someone's shelf.
The first layer is the one that decides everything. If it goes down clean, the rest is patience; if not, the print is wasted before it's an hour old. After a few hundred of these, the extruder makes a sound you start to recognise when something is about to go wrong.
The package
The packaging is its own small craft. The card you received is printed on a laser printer at home, scored, folded, trimmed, and signed in ink — every step done by hand. The plotter, meanwhile, cuts the cardboard inserts that hold the stand inside the box, sized to the millimetre for this exact model.
Every stand gets its own package. The outer box is picked, not designed — chosen from a small stack of stock sizes based on how the shape fits without rattling. The inserts are then drawn and cut to cradle that specific stand. Different model, different cuts, different box.
The workshop
The print bed isn't only for stands. A wall of filament — PETG, PLA, TPU, in colours I tend to forget the names of — sits next to a printer that runs most days. Most of what comes out of it doesn't end up in the shop, because most ideas don't survive the prototype.
If you have an idea that should exist but doesn't — a mount for an odd gadget, an organiser for an unusual setup, a fix for something that's been bothering you — write to me. If it's interesting, and might help someone else too, I'll design and print it for you, no charge, and add the finished thing to the shop afterwards. You get an object made for you. The shop gets a new piece. I get a puzzle to chew on.
If something in this doesn't sit right when you set it up, write to me. I'm new to making things for other people, so I try to do the work the way I'd want it done for me — intuitively, carefully, and open to hearing when I get something wrong.
If it all worked out, a few words on Etsy go a long way. That's how the next person finds their way to a card like the one you got.
— Oleksii