Hey, remember back in Part 5 when I introduced the SKXMod Casio AE1200 replacement faceplate? And then again in Part 7 when I showed you the completed Darth Royale project and promised I’d tell you more about these faceplates later? Well, this is the faceplate article. Grab a cup of coffee and settle in, because, as usual, I managed to make what should have been a quick and easy swap into something far more complicated. A mechanic once told me that every 20-minute job is just a broken bolt away from becoming a 4-hour ordeal. On this project, I broke a couple of metaphorical bolts, but my bronze Casio AE1200 patina project worked out in the end.
It started when I ordered three metal faceplates from SKXMod.com, my one-stop shop for AE1200 aftermarket parts. Their quality is great, their prices are fair, and they are incredibly responsive to my sometimes stupid questions. They offer black and white resin faceplates for $20, and matte white, sunburst silver, or black metal faceplates for $25. All can be had with text (sans Casio logo) or sterile. They have also recently added a $30 custom option that allows you to order your color of choice by Pantone code, which sounds wild, but I haven’t tried it yet.
I ordered one sterile black, one text sunburst, and one sterile sunburst. As I have come to expect from SKXMod, the parts are well-made and fit perfectly. I was pleased to see the text printing was clean, straight, and to my eyes, identical to the factory lettering. The beveled frames were all neatly executed, as was the faux instrument mounting around the top left clock.
I put the black one for Darth Royale, and I’m still planning a project for the sunburst with text, but I had very definite ideas for the sterile sunburst, involving a pair of pliers and a blowtorch. That’s right. I was going to go medieval on its ass.
My plan was to heat-treat that one and mount it in a bronze Kranio Design case. I’ve used this technique to match stainless steel buckles to bronze cases. A little toasting turns it a gold color. A little more imparts blues and purples. Keep going, and it blackens. I wanted to get to it right to that middle stage, blasting certain parts longer to get some uneven bluing. I got a pair of needle-nosed pliers to hold it, fired up the burner on the gas range, and held the faceplate just over the tip of the flame.
Roast … turn … roast … turn. After a few minutes in and out of the flame, it had turned a beautiful deep gold with strong areas of red. I wasn’t sure why it was getting that mottling on the right side, but I was digging that too.
Now, if you are trying this at home, and your SKXMod bezel has just turned that color, stop, because you have reached the peak. It does not get any better. I did not know this at the time. Assuming I was just a turn or two away from some bluing, I put it back in the flame and …
It was all gone! Poof. No bluing. No gold. No color at all except for some dark grey where I scorched it. What the hell had just happened? Stainless steel doesn’t do this. But wait, did they ever actually say it was stainless steel? I pulled up the site, and sure enough, it just says “metal.” An email to SKXMod confirmed it. They use brass, the same thing the vast majority of dials are made from, which makes perfect sense. I just assumed it was what it wasn’t. Lesson learned: know for sure what something is made from before you toss it into a fire.
Whelp. So much for plan A. Onward to plan B. Brass is reactive like bronze; it oxidizes and responds to acids in the same way. Clearly, this would be my new patina project. It’s not as if I hadn’t already thought of it. I had been noodling on the idea of a time-worn AE1200 and had started distressing a plastic faceplate with sharp tools and paint washes, but was not happy with the results. Chemically aging a brass plate sounded much more promising.
I’ve published some basic patina science here before and also warned about the risks of irreparable damage that can result from forcing a patina on bronze. Undaunted, I took my patina game to new levels with my Shipwreck Tuna project and applied those lessons here. The SKXMod faceplate is not like the brass and bronze cases I had worked with before. It was not raw metal. After my fire fiasco, I knew the faceplate had at least one coating on it. I really had no idea how it would take to the treatment. I prepped the piece by polishing out the scorch marks with a Cape Cod cloth, which also removed what was left of the sunray finish. Then I hit it with some steel wool to rough up the surface. Finally, I doused it with distilled white vinegar, set it in its box atop a vinegar-soaked scrap of paper towel, and sprinkled it all with sea salt. Recipe complete, I closed it up for an overnight fuming.
Round one resulted in a bit of dark spotting, a good deal of pitting, and, most interesting, the lifting of some of that silver surface to reveal pink metal beneath. I cleaned it up, hit it with steel wool again to knock down the roughness, and gave it another “Thrasher’s Boardwalk Fries” treatment.
Round two produced more of the same pitting and pinkness, just as I had hoped. This project was finally taking off.
After the second bath, I whipped out my liver of sulfur gel, mixed up a solution in hot water, and experimented, carefully dabbing with a 000 brush. The faceplate reacted quickly to the sulfur, so I worked fast, getting it in the pits, around the edges, and all through the recesses around the simulated instrument mounting plate. I noticed that the solution made the pink spots very dark, so I mostly left those alone. On the bare surface, it got brownish yellow. Unlike the Tuna project, where I wanted an inky effect, this one required a light touch and more dilution. In the areas where it got too dark, I brushed it with straight white vinegar, wiped it with a cloth, and rubbed it down with the steel wool again. The idea was to create a weathered effect of new damage over old.
Round three was another overnight salt and vinegar treatment. When it came out this time, I did nothing but wash it with water. At this stage, the faceplate looked like a prop from The Mandalorian. It was good.
It was time to disassemble my Kranio bronze. It was already quite handsome in its relatively clean case with the factory faceplate and a dark red Vario strap.
Nevertheless, that wasn’t my vision. Once I popped the distressed faceplate in, I knew I needed to patina that case too.
Yet again, I reached for (you guessed it) the vinegar, making sure I left droplets all over the case before I salted it. I hoped they would stay put to create a localized reaction. Darkness and color were unknown. Not all bronze acts the same way, and Kranio’s matte blasted surface was another wild card. Time would tell.
Not much time, as it turned out. Just a few hours later, it looked like this.
Once I rinsed it off, I saw that the treatment has exceeded my expectations. The case was covered with large dark brown spots and green specks. There was also a lovely bloom of lighter green in the recesses around the bezel and crystal, even spreading right under— uh oh. It leaked. Somehow, I must have bungled reassembly.
The display was still functioning, so the intrusion hadn’t ruined the module yet. I pulled it all apart and started cleaning, taking care to get that contaminated vinegar out of the inside of the case, especially the seal channel and screw holes.
After all the bits dried overnight, I cleaned the inside again with alcohol wipes and Rodico putty, then reassembled it, installing a fresh seal. I made extra sure that it was seated properly, and the screws were nice and tight. All in all, no harm done, but it was a good reminder to take my time and check everything twice.
And that was that. I put this fabulously grizzled beast on a dark green leather Vario strap, and it was ready to wear.
I could not be happier with the result. It isn’t what I initially set out to achieve, but damn, it looks cool! The jarring contrast between the high-tech LCD display and the battle-scarred metal has a real dystopian vibe. Could I take it even further? Maybe. I could always add a color filter. I’d be a little curious to see how that bezel would look in a hydro-modded case (see Part 7) and sealing it in oil would freeze the patina (no oxygen, no reaction), but I believe one of the lessons of this project was learning when to quit.
The Casio AE1200 patina project is complete.
