When it comes to the manufacture of modern instruments, most agree that the last few years have shown the field to be making tremendous progress. 

 

On one hand, ever advancing studies in the areas of acoustics, chemistry and physics have helped to put many myths into perspective while at the same time challenging some long held beliefs with interesting facts. They have helped to define sound in ways that allow a better understanding of how we both judge and experience it. Such experiments have also helped to solidify the understanding of violin construction, its shapes, its proportions and the forces involved.

Such deepening of knowledge through experimentation shows no signs of slowing down.

 

On the other hand, my experience has shown a general tendency towards an increased exchange of knowledge and techniques among colleagues. Retaining information or “secrets” for one’s self is in my opinion both arrogant and ineffective, not to mention that it isn’t fun at all.

What I like to call “profitable sharing” leads to a more healthy form of competition, which in turn pushes us in many fields, such as modern making, to take things to a higher level. This is of course also true for the restoration of old instruments, a field deeply related to modern making. Such a way of working is in the interest of makers and musicians alike, but perhaps more importantly it is in the interest of the instruments and their conservation.

 

Honoring tradition does not require leaning towards conservatism!
 

 Working in a workshop such as that of Hieronymus Köstler, has offered me the chance to work on some amazingly beautiful instruments and with fantastic musicians from all over the world.

It is fascinating to experience the wide range of meanings associated with sound and in turn it’s quality.  Working with old instruments has taught me that there are as many different models out there as there are musicians.

 

When I begin building a new instrument, I like the thought that it will be different from the last one. I like knowing that my experience allows me to influence the character it will have, and that I myself am forced to continually adapt to it as a result. This influences everything from the model I choose, the wood I select to shape it from, to ideally, the musician whose hands are destined to play it. I believe that each maker has his own sound. Sometimes this sound is built by the details he intentionally put into place, and sometimes through things outside of his consciousness. I do not believe that there is one ideal sound or one ideal model, but I do believe that there is always a musician for whom an instrument, if made properly, will be a “trustful companion” as Eugene Ysaye said about his Guaneri del Gesú.