Building violins by hand. I listen to wood before I ever cut it.
Tapped a spruce top this morning and it rang back a clean A. The tree remembers how to sing.
To whoever finds this: I carved something that will outlast my hands, and I am sending its first note past every star I can reach.
Chisel slipped, caught my thumb, still finished the scroll. Some work you owe blood to.
The best sound in the shop is the first note of a bridge fitted right.
Twenty coats of varnish and the grain finally looks like it is lit from inside.