Rosebud is a sassy one-of-a-kind girl sculpted in Cernit. She stands 13-1/2".

If you want to stay on Beth Cameron's good side, don't refer to the detailed and sometimes fantastical figures she sculpts as "dolls." Call them sculptures, call them figures, call them human forms, but don't call them dolls.

"I don't consider myself a dollmaker," said the Pennsylvania resident who has been sculpting professionally for about 10 years. "I consider myself an artist. If the word "doll" is used when approaching people, they think it's a child's toy. I say what I do is figurative sculpture. It really explains it and doesn't have that doll connotation."

Cameron decided her exquisite, one-of-a-kind creations weren't dolls when she pulled out a dictionary and looked the word up. "Doll" was defined as a child's puppet, a toy baby for a child.

"I said, well that leaves me out," Cameron recalled. Then she went around her home drawing a red circle with a slash through it on anything she owned that contained the word "doll." "I'm really toying with using that as my new logo," Cameron said with a wicked laugh. "Collectors will see dolls are different now, that they have progressed this far."

A Beth Cameron sculpture is a mixture of fantasy, imagination and precise detail combined in a human form that may take the shape of a Santa, a little girl, a grandfather or an elf.

She is best recognized for her Santas and elf characters, but her work extends far beyond that. Her sculptures radiate life: The sleepy, pajama-clad grandchild depicted with her grandfather doesn't just sit as he reads her a bedtime story, she slouches against his arm, cuddling a pillow, one sock off.

"I want my work to be real, to be genuine. But that doesn't mean it has to be sentimental, ridiculous or a simple-minded view of people. I am an active feminist and it shows in some of my work. I don't like to do these insipid little girls who look so silly. I don't want them to be empty-headed," she said. She also insists that her work not perpetuate racial stereotypes. All of her figures are sensitive and tasteful.

Her sculpture of the grandfather reading to his grandchild reflect this determination and sensitivity. "I wanted to make a black family situation where it was just incidental that the skin was dark," she said.

Cameron painstakingly sculpts the figures from Fimo or Cernit. She likes these polyresin compounds for their translucent, wax-like finish. Her work is done in a private studio in Oakmont, population 8,000, just outside of Pittsburgh. The studio, built especially for her doll sculpting, overlooks her stone house, garden and the valley. Because it is just yards away from her home, her two daughters, Kate and Rachel,... can visit her anytime....

There, listening to classical music or Scottish ballads, her creating takes place. Cameron revels in her privacy, and refuses to hire help to move her work along. "I want total control over the entire piece and I need my privacy. I need my space. At the work "employee" I balk. I am really emotionally involved in what I am doing. I don't want anyone to come in and make me feel like I have to regiment myself."

The theme of her work vary according to her mood, and have included everything from the conventional little girl to the ornate and fantastical creatures of the fairy world. But Cameron's more recent work is headed toward realism, something she prides herself on and a direction she has found exceptionally rewarding.

Cameron doesn't do portrait dolls, but she may refer to photographs to set a feeling. Detail is her trademark. "I love the detail and I always was fascinated by costuming," she said. "When I was little, we went to a lot of ethnic things. My background is Scottish and Irish…and in Pittsburgh there were folk festivals and a lot of them involved elaborate costuming...."

Her rich heritage combined with her art education from Carnegie Mellon University came together with the sculptures. She made her first sculpture when she was senior in college. The figure was a Santa Claus, inspired by a German import she had seen at a department store. "Over Christmas vacation I made a figure I was very happy with and I guess I got the bug," she recalled. The bug turned into a career.

Beth Cameron pieces are one-of-a-kind and no molds are ever made. "I don't like making dolls I have already made. That is really the kiss of death," she said.

The hair, beards and eyebrows are made from the natural furs and skins of goats, llama or sheep. Clothing is often made from antique fabrics or vintage garments found in antique stores and flea markets. Boots, belts and other accessories are made from distressed leather to create a worn appearance.

Cameron conceptualizes each piece and works on it, on and off, until it is finished, often with several different sculptures in the making at any one time. Some figures may take as long as six months to complete... Prices range from $4,500 to $7,000, but have gone as high as $15,000.

Cameron says the steep prices are a double-edged sword: the money her work commands enables her to support her family, but also prevents most people from owning and enjoying it. Ultimately, Cameron says she would like to find a way to use her sculptures to raise money to benefit children.