Dead Bugs (Circuit Sculptures)

“Dead bug style” circuit wiring is a visually arresting form of electronic assembly where components are soldered together without a printed circuit board. The term comes from flipping an integrated circuit upside down so its “legs” poke upward like a bug on its back — and from that humble orientation, something intricate, expressive, and startlingly lifelike can emerge.

From Concept to Circuit: Vision

 I spend a lot of time translating functional electronics into expressive forms. Free-form circuit construction — affectionately called “dead bug style” — is a medium I’ve come to love. It’s a language where personality and structure meet, and where even a sensor can feel like it has a soul.

Though inspired by Mohit Bhoite’s iconic brass-framed sculptures, my own process bends in a different direction. My workshop is modest — a home lab, print farm, library, hydroponics array, and shared gaming battlestation all squeezed into 180 square feet — but the ideas that emerge from it are not. I’ve found ways to adapt these techniques with limited tools, using heat sinks of water or oil baths, foil-lined printed jigs, and custom extrusion patterns to allow for iteration and recovery when a fragile structure snaps or fails.

I use a heat- and electrically-insulating dip potting method made from a homemade blend of Gorilla Glue, thinner, and pigment. It gives each piece a unique amorphous finish — almost geological. I’m starting to explore spray glue and fine glitter, high-albedo pigments, and other reflective materials embedded in clear coat resin to experiment with the play of light and texture.

The sculptures breathe. Their lights rise and fall like breath. The goal isn’t to show the seams but to submerge them into something almost alien in its elegance. Each finished piece should feel like a singular object, not a bundle of parts. Artificial, yes. But evocative of nature all the same.

A Biophilic Blueprint

Much of my inspiration comes from nature. I’ve got folders of insect photos saved like prized trading cards — jeweled wasps, folded beetles, antennae like fractals. These aren’t just aesthetic references. They’re engineering marvels. Through biomimicry and biophilic design, I’ve come to believe that our tools and technologies should echo the ecosystems we’re part of.

That shows up in material choices too. I’ve begun printing FDM molds for ceramic casting, exploring resin-bound aggregates and porcelain-cement hybrids that evoke stone, shell, or fungal forms. Sometimes they’re planters. Sometimes they’re housings for circuits. Sometimes they’re both.

What I’m Making

These circuit sculptures are vehicles for experimentation and expression. They’re technical, but also emotional. Some are interactive. Others are talismanic. Current explorations include:

• Wifi wands and communication charms

• Sculptural environmental sensors

• Volumetric LED EM field visualizers

• Pomodoro focus assistants

• Solar-powered charms and monitor jewelry

• Phased array audio forms

• BTLE-based notification beacons

Form ≠ Function. Or Maybe It Does.

There’s a tension I like to lean into — between the rigor of a tool and the ease of something grown. Does one always have to serve the other? I don’t think so. When form leads, new function often follows. When function leads, surprising forms emerge. The point is not to resolve the tension but to explore it.

You’ll see it in the right angles that nest like DNA. In the curved scaffolds and jittering LEDs that glow like a heartbeat. In the ceramic shells cast from 3D-printed molds that look grown, not built.

Process Notes: Heat, Flux, & Iteration

Anyone who’s done dead bug soldering knows how finicky it can be. Heat travels. Mistakes cascade. A sculpture collapses in a moment. That’s why I’ve started integrating thermal control into my process — partial submersion in water or oil to absorb excess heat, printed foil-lined jigs that act as braces, and flux with a pre-tinned iron tip for precise one-handed joints.

Each piece begins as a flat plane. I build outward in layers, extruding upward, soldering at odd angles, then resolving structure into volume. Sometimes I include laser-cut elements or printed scaffolds. Sometimes it’s just brass and patience.

Debugging as Design

To make these sculptures is to fail — often and visibly. They sag. They short. They fall apart. And then they get rebuilt. I think of debugging not just as a technical necessity, but as the soul of the work. It teaches patience. It demands clarity. It rewards attention.

A lot of what I learned here comes from an unlikely place — Halo. Achieving LASO (Legendary All Skulls On) trained me in the kind of iteration, precision, and failure tolerance that’s now deeply embedded in how I work.

Coming Soon to the General Store

A small batch of these sculptures is nearly ready. Some will be available as decorative pieces. Others will serve practical roles — timers, charms, sensors, or light art. Each is built with care and intention, and each one is offered with the hope that it resonates with someone else’s curiosity.

For more inspiration and a true masterclass in freeform electronics, I encourage you to explore Mohit Bhoite’s work. His Particle/Adafruit air quality meter and brass-framed sculptures remain a reference point:

Thanks for reading — and stay tuned.