Blondie
05/21/07 18:54
A few years ago my daughter began taking violin
lessons. After a year or so of renting an instrument
from a local music store for $25 dollars a month, I
went searching online for an instrument to purchase.
Somehow I stumbled on to a site for violin makers and
wound up ordering a violin kit. Here it is, right out
of the box.
I had never played or built a musical instrument of any kind. I cannot read or otherwise identify a single musical note. Nevertheless, with confidence built solely of 20 years as a woodworking hobbyist and redneck pride (and probably a few beers), I decided I could build a violin. Piece of cake.
When the kit arrived, I pulled it out and looked it over and read through the instructions a couple of times. The illustrations were hand-drawn and annotated in German with metric dimensions. The instructions were very terse, rather obviously written by someone practicing English as a second language, and written for someone who had constructed violins before. Things like
6. Cut off the excess purfling and make a flute in the top with a gauge.
left me baffled. Purfling? Flute? Gauge? Luckily, procrastination is in my genes, so I was able to rely on one of my most ingrained principles: Whenever you find yourself in way over your head...stall. The kit got shelved and I busied myself with other projects more compatible with my skill level.
A couple of months back, I pulled the thing out again. My daughter switched to piano more than two years ago, so there was no pressure to get it done quickly or even correctly (that's the way I like to work). I've been working on it off and on for weeks now, spending a lot of time online looking at violin makers websites like this guy's, learning as much as I can. Learning a little about the difference between pushing planks through a table saw and serious woodworking. The difference between carpentry and craftsmanship. Long story short, I completed it today. The finish came out a good deal lighter in color than I had intended and the neck joint, while functional, is ugly. But it seems to actually be playable. My daughter tuned it sitting at the piano plinking keys and plucking strings and then, once again, our house was filled with the sound of someone pulling rusty nails from an old sheet metal barn to the tune of Mary Had A Little Lamb. I'm pretty proud of myself. Chimpanzee-that-built-a-bicycle proud.
I had never played or built a musical instrument of any kind. I cannot read or otherwise identify a single musical note. Nevertheless, with confidence built solely of 20 years as a woodworking hobbyist and redneck pride (and probably a few beers), I decided I could build a violin. Piece of cake.
When the kit arrived, I pulled it out and looked it over and read through the instructions a couple of times. The illustrations were hand-drawn and annotated in German with metric dimensions. The instructions were very terse, rather obviously written by someone practicing English as a second language, and written for someone who had constructed violins before. Things like
6. Cut off the excess purfling and make a flute in the top with a gauge.
left me baffled. Purfling? Flute? Gauge? Luckily, procrastination is in my genes, so I was able to rely on one of my most ingrained principles: Whenever you find yourself in way over your head...stall. The kit got shelved and I busied myself with other projects more compatible with my skill level.
A couple of months back, I pulled the thing out again. My daughter switched to piano more than two years ago, so there was no pressure to get it done quickly or even correctly (that's the way I like to work). I've been working on it off and on for weeks now, spending a lot of time online looking at violin makers websites like this guy's, learning as much as I can. Learning a little about the difference between pushing planks through a table saw and serious woodworking. The difference between carpentry and craftsmanship. Long story short, I completed it today. The finish came out a good deal lighter in color than I had intended and the neck joint, while functional, is ugly. But it seems to actually be playable. My daughter tuned it sitting at the piano plinking keys and plucking strings and then, once again, our house was filled with the sound of someone pulling rusty nails from an old sheet metal barn to the tune of Mary Had A Little Lamb. I'm pretty proud of myself. Chimpanzee-that-built-a-bicycle proud.
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