"This is my art and it is dangerous!" Part 2 The Potato Sculpture.

Joshua Hudson - Beetlejuice sculpture

Welcome back to the second installment of my journey through the world of Beetlejuice sculpture recreations—specifically, the wild and wonderful works of Delia Deetz. If you’re familiar with Tim Burton’s 1988 cult classic, you’ll remember Delia as the eccentric, self-absorbed stepmother and avant-garde artist who fills the Deetz home with bizarre modern sculptures that teeter somewhere between genius and chaos. This week, I’ve made some serious progress on one of her most memorable pieces—affectionately dubbed by fans as “The Potato Sculpture.”

Why the nickname? Well, if you’ve seen it, you know. This particular sculpture stands out for its curious organic shape, vaguely resembling a distorted potato that’s been subjected to Delia’s signature brand of angular torment. It's bulbous, twisted, and somehow unsettling—all the things that make it perfect in the Deetz household.

Tackling the Second Sculpture: The Infamous “Potato”

Creating this piece has been both a joy and a test of patience. As with all things related to Delia's work, it's not simply about copying what I see—it's about capturing the essence of absurdist elegance and faux-intellectual flair that she brought to her art (and her dinner parties).

The "Potato Sculpture" is one of the more prominently featured pieces in the film. It’s seen in several key shots throughout the Deetz family’s first arrival in Winter River, often looming in the background like some alien artifact from a forgotten modernist museum. The form is abstract and intentionally obtuse—a perfect representation of how Delia sees herself: bold, misunderstood, and unconcerned with traditional standards of taste.

As I sculpted, I found myself really diving into her character psychology. This isn't just an object. It's a narrative device. It's the physical manifestation of Delia's struggle to be seen as relevant, edgy, and cultured. In a house haunted by ghosts, her art ironically becomes one of the eeriest elements. And as a sculptor trying to replicate her vision, I feel like I’m walking a tightrope between parody and homage—just like Delia probably intended.

The Bigger Picture: Five Sculptures, Five Personalities

Through screen captures, fan forums, and lots of pausing and zooming in on the film, I’ve identified what seems to be five distinct sculptures in the house. That’s five Delia Deetz originals, each with its own unique shape, texture, and attitude.

The "Potato Sculpture" is number two in my journey, following the first piece I completed earlier this year. And while each sculpture is a standalone piece, together they form a bizarre yet cohesive collection—an installation that speaks volumes about her character and Burton’s broader satire on art, status, and ego.

The road ahead looks long, and I won’t lie—it’s intimidating. As I dig deeper into the sculptural lineup, I’m finding that not all of Delia’s creations are easy to see in the film. Some pieces are only visible from a single angle, obscured by furniture, shadows, or Lydia’s eye rolls. Others are background elements that don’t even make it into focus, leaving me to interpret their forms through vague silhouettes or behind-the-scenes stills.

The Challenge of Reference Hunting

One of the biggest obstacles so far has been simply gathering enough visual reference. The clearer sculptures, like the Potato, give me enough detail to confidently work off screen grabs. But others? Let’s just say I’m becoming an expert in guesswork.

There are very few high-resolution stills available of the full sculpture collection. The Beetlejuice art department likely designed them with just enough detail for the brief moments they appear onscreen, never intending for people like me to obsess over every curve, crease, and clashing element three decades later. Yet here I am, squinting at VHS-quality screenshots trying to decipher whether a shadow is a part of the sculpture or just an unfortunate lighting trick.

In these moments, creative liberty becomes not just acceptable—but necessary.

What’s Next?

I’m excited to move on to the third sculpture soon, though I haven’t quite decided which one that will be. Some are more complex and intimidating than others, and I’m trying to pace myself so I don’t burn out on the more frustrating forms.

Along the way, I’ll continue to document the process—the materials I’m using, the tweaks I make from the original, and the behind-the-scenes challenges that come with sculpting from a movie set in the late '80s with minimal documentation. There’s a joy in this kind of reverse engineering, in decoding the visual language of a fictional artist and translating it into something tangible and real.

Eventually, I’d love to do a full installation or gallery-style showcase of all five pieces. Maybe even include a few Easter eggs from the film—shrimp hands anyone?

Final Thoughts

The journey of recreating Delia Deetz’s Beetlejuice sculptures is one that’s stretching me as an artist. It’s forcing me to think like a fictional character, to blend homage with originality, and to navigate the blurry line between fan art and fine art.

With two sculptures down and three to go, I know the road will continue to be long, weird, and wonderfully warped—just like Delia would want it.

Stay tuned for updates on the third piece.