Ute Zahn ~ Violin Maker
I'll soon be riding the rails all the way out to Los Angeles, California, where the Metzler Violin Shop will host an exhibition showcasing the work of contemporary American luthiers. I am very pleased a couple of my instruments will be included in the show. A link to the event can be found here.
Having to speed-varnish a viola and a cello is a big task .... especially the cello, most especially because the result of my last varnish experiment is rather like tar. Which is to say, it contains a lot of colour, obliterating the need for added pigment; and also, that it is thick, stringy, sticky beyond belief. Warmed up and padded out on a nicely-figured piece of maple, it does look rather attractive, though ....
No longer in the works:
Some instruments put up a real fight against being born .... but finally, here is my iteration of Obie-1, the instrument designed by committee in Oberlin under the capable leadership/draftsmanship of Australian luthier Hugh Withycombe.
Now all I need is someone to hand it to for the purpose of breaking it in.
At the Violin Makers' Workshop in Oberlin, OH this year, we went through a process of making lake pigments that was relatively simple (if a little messy at times). I particularly liked the accuracy of the recipe we were given -- rather than the customary vague "oh, a handful of this, a pinch of that".
It was with great enthusiasm I embarked on making my own pigment when I got home. I bought fancy lab equipment, and plant substances to draw colour extracts from. I set up shop on my patio. I weighed and measured, steamed and stirred.
So I wasn't prepared for the strange phenomenon that followed: having followed the recipe exactly, instead of the lovely golden/orange/brown pigment we came home with from Oberlin, I ended up with somewhere between rose (looked at with kindly eyes) and brick (on a less happy day). Onwards and upwards, I suppose! By the time I've explored the full range of possibilities, I'll have the full palette, if nothing else.
For a while now, I have been dreaming about moving my workshop out of the house. The idea was to escape the inevitable onslaught of distractions ... watching the baby rabbits devour my garden and weeding what's left, for one ... and spend time around other adults doing interesting things.
When my bowmaker friend Jesse Berndt told me he had signed a lease on a studio and was looking for someone to share it with, I jumped at the chance.
I collected the keys for the space today and am hoping to move in over the weekend. Once we have finished the workbench shuffle and unpacked the tools, this will mean I'll have to keep regular hours -- at least some of the time!
An exciting feature of the studio building is that it features a performance space, which I am planning to make good use of ... watch this space.
This has been a very busy year for me, at the school as well as in my studio, not to mention the ever-present needs of string players around the world LSF is trying to respond to. When my colleague Bill Scott offered me the chance to share a table at the American Viola Society's "Festival of the Viola" in Oberlin, OH, I was therefore quite excited ... about the idea of being able to just sit somewhere quietly for a few days.
I wasn't quite prepared for hordes of excited violists, keyed-up after so many engrossing, inspiring and thought-provoking seminars, master classes and rehearsals, eagerly descending on the violas on show, sometimes en masse.
Of course, there isn't a maker alive who doesn't delight in the opportunity to hear their instrument played by accomplished musicians. I had the chance to hear my viola played in Warner Hall by violist Elias Goldstein, an exciting experience -- it isn't always possible for me to arrange a concert hall for instrument try-outs. To read Laurie Niles' article about the great viola play-off, click here.
While the cast was drying out, I got busy making a new top block -- here it is, complete with the original label from which I painstakingly scraped the old block, fiber by fiber.
This week, I have been working all sorts of hours in order to fit and glue the patch, give everything a thorough final inspection, glue the body together, and re-set the neck before my annual journey to the Holy Land, otherwise known as the Violin Maker's Workshop in Oberlin, Ohio. Every year, I have noble intentions of arriving there with all my prep work intact and all my tools sharpened. This has yet to happen, but hope springs eternal. Meanwhile, I am happy I'll have my cello back to play on within a few days of arriving back here -- the Hungarian interlude, lovely as it was, concludes today.
Now that the cracks in my cello are stabilized, it's time to think about preparing for the patch. To this end, I've made a partial plaster cast of the top of the instrument, which is a messy process involving a bag of rice, a vacuum cleaner, and some play-dough. This is where I found out that childhood has come a long way since I last played with the stuff -- the only goo available at my local Target was scented.
Apple-flavoured cast, anyone? (I opted for the strawberry, thinking I might want to actually play with the apple).
As per usual, I ended up with splotches of plaster in unexpected places, but the actual cast turned out quite nicely. It is, of course, possible to make castings from other, neater, faster-to-use materials, but I've always got more accurate castings and, as a result, better-fitting patches with plaster.
While I'm waiting for it to dry out, I'll make a new top block, and prepare the piece of wood for the patch. With any luck, I'll have a big enough piece of the original spruce left over from when I was making the instrument. (It would be asking too much for me to have marked it with the year and model ... I didn't think that far ahead when I was 20).
If you look closely, you can see the outline of the bridge feet, the cracks, and a few grain lines.
Meanwhile, in my garden a pair of wrens are busy building an entirely different structure, something I could happily spend many hours watching. But there is a violin to be built, so back to the workbench it is.