Pat Spencer's house is filled with personality. That is, the many personalities of the dozens of dolls in cases, on shelves and in corners.

Spencer, an artist by trade, started making dolls in 1986. Her cellar contains three kilns, in which countless ceramic heads, arms and legs have been fired, and hundreds of busts for the parts. The rest of her house looks every bit the dollmaker's dwelling, with little heads scattered on work tables, bits of fabric here and there, and minutely detailed accessories for dolls still in the making.

"I've got to get it all out of here for Thanksgiving," Spencer said, gesturing at the packed dining room that doubles as a classroom for students like Karin Svahn.

Svahn won a prestigious Maggie Award from the Doll Artisan Guild for her doll "The Bishop," decked out in red from head to toe, his tiny robe embroidered with flames. No detail was overlooked in his creation. The Bishop even wears a tiny ring.

The passion for perfection is part of the experience of making dolls, Spencer and Svahn agreed. Magnifying glasses are worn when the details, like eyelashes and eyebrows, are painted. Paint can be wiped from the porcelain at any time prior to firing, but one look reveals the patience necessary to get it right.

Many of the dolls are reproductions of antiques. The Maggie Award is given for a modern doll, and the Millie Award, won by Spencer in 1996, is given for a reproduction. The cabinet housing most of Spencer's creations is also filled with ribbons and a "Cinderella's Page Boy" automaton, complete with glass slipper and scroll bearing the king's decree that any maiden whose foot fits the slipper will marry the prince. When wound up, the page boy moves and music plays. The doll will be featured in the January issue of The Doll Artisan, complete with an article written by Spencer and technique sheets.

Svahn has been embroidering since childhood, so making costumes for her dolls is second nature. From mohair wigs to glass eyes weighted with crystal to give them sparkle and dimension, the dolls are crafted with absolute attention to not only the project at hand, but historical accuracy, which both women study. Svahn and Spencer both created a bride doll, complete with a waxy orange blossom headdress, and Svahn gave hers to her daughter-in-law, Tiffany.

"Thirteen of us could make the same doll and every one of them would have a different personality," Svahn said.

Spencer, who bakes her students' doll parts in her kilns, agreed.

"We mark the heads," Spencer said, "but I can still tell who did which one. They are that distinct."

One doll, Leontine, has her own trunk full of accessories, like a raincoat, "just like the ones they really wore back then," Spencer pointed out, a Persian muff, and a chatelaine, a chain used to hang possessions like keys, scissors, opera glasses, change purses and thimbles in the absence of pockets. Some of the dolls have rochards, necklaces made of crystal cut into the bisque porcelain with tiny pictures behind them.

"The most popular images were of Paris," Spencer said. "We had everyone bring in pictures of their children for ours."

"I have my whole family in mine," Svahn said.

"The appeal of making dolls is that everyone needs to do something creative in their life. It's also a friendship group," she said of the classes that meet bi-weekly, "and it's cheaper than a shrink. Come in a bad mood and we'll jolly you out of it."