My New Minimalist Web Site

This is the third major redesign of my shop's web-page, and it is the first one that I have been mainly hands-off in the actual coding.  My son, Roger, took care of that part this time. 

You can see the new web-page here.

It should look something like this on a computer screen.

And something like this on a smart phone.

My previous web-site looked exactly the same on a smart phone as it did on a computer screen, only smaller. This one is scalable, so that it should fit, should adjust, to various screen sizes.

And that's just part of the reason I've decided to take a more hands-off approach to maintaining my web-site.  When I first learned computer coding, we were taught Fortran.  Our screens were dark green with bright green letters, and they were terminals, not individual computers.  Terminals hooked to a big computer in a different building, and as students we had the lowest priority, which meant it took a long time to type something in.  Then personal computers came out, such as my first, a Commodore 64, and I learned Basic.  Then Pascal as I got into grad school.  Then C.  A brief dabbling in Object-Oriented programming.  Then I graduated and got to working on fiddles.  I have no idea what's going on in programming today, and I don't care to learn.  I want to spend my time on fiddles.  And music.  And reading.  Cat videos.  Nearly anything else, except yard work.  

The other idea I had was to be minimal on my shop's web page.  It's something I've been thinking about for some time now.  In previous incarnations of my shop's web page, I had multiple pages, stacked with what I thought of as useful information.  The problem is, as time has gone on, fewer and fewer folks read much of it.  They wanted contact information, to contact me, and then ask me exactly what they wanted to know rather than searching in hope that it might be somewhere on my web-page.  And it probably wasn't, truthfully.

So the new web-page in really basically a high-tech business card.  Roger and I designed it as single page.  I do have links to this blog and to the shop's Facebook page.  That's where I'll add recent information, which will be highly relevant for a brief period of time, then can fade into the memory bank of some computer somewhere and folks won't have to wade through it to find out what my hours are.  (By appointment, as with most single-person violin shops.)

If you want to see Roger's web-site, it's at atalkingfish.com.

As with all things like this, my new web-site is an experiment. Even if it works, something different will replace it before too many years have gone by. 

Yard work will remain.

Hardanger bass bar

Got a couple bows rehaired this morning, glued in a bass bar for a viola I'm making, and then took some time to shape the bass bar in my first Hardanger.  The instructions from "Vi Byggejer Hardingfele" by Sverre Sandvik, translation by Eldon Ellingson, are not very detailed.  Shorter and smaller than a regular violin.  Longer tall section between the f-holes.  There is a sketch of a bass-bar on the plans, but it is unclear whether that is the good one, or one that had to be reshaped later.

Other sources talk of the Hardanger bass-bar being like a Baroque bass-bar, which I haven't made, either.  So, taking minimal direction as a high-level of permission, I plunged in and came up with this.

And that will have to do for now.  I put a light layer of shellac around the glue-surface, so if I need to take the top back off, say, to reshape the bass-bar, it's a little easier.

Will glue it on the ribs tomorrow, probably.

The Label, a possible source of information, part 2

Here's another label, that appears handwritten....

 ... but isn't.  It's a print.  Still nice looking, in any event.

It reads: François Guillmont, Aix la Chapelle.

What do we know about François Guillmont?  Certainly there were men by that name, but this violin was not made by such a person, nor was it made in France.  Françios Guillmont appears to be a 'trade name' (aka, made up) for the Ernst Reinhold Schmidt violin shop (aka, factory) in Germany.  Late 1800s, early 1900s. 

Not that this makes it a bad violin at all.  Fairly decent, upper middle-class, as was the one in my last post. 

Why would folks put in fake labels?  It evokes a story.  Exotic locations, craftsmen toiling away in some idyllic setting.  People like stories.  Probably folks making fiddles in France put in German names and locations as well. 

So labels are fun.  Don't take them too seriously.

The Label, a possible source of information...

... and sometimes not.

I had hoped to have more to say about this label, and the fiddle it was attached to. 

 

I liked the neat handwriting.  It appears to me to read: Matthias Kofler, Salzburg 1910.

A little research on the internet, and I found, well, nothing of use.  Apparently there was a Kofler, or Kofler family, making violins in the mid- to late-1800s.  But I couldn't find any Kofler.  So I don't know.  It could be a completely fake label.

The violin itself appeared to be a decent, upper-middle-class violin.  I had it on the bench at the Wallowa Fiddle Tunes Camp last month.  Some glueing and a new bridge.  Grabbed a couple snapshots.

The body, with a couple clamps, next to my fancy gluepot.

The scroll was tidy, though with a couple pegbox breaks that had been previously repaired.

It had been a wallhanger for a few years, the cord around the scroll's neck was part of its hanging.  Now, with a new bridge, new tailpiece, and new strings, it's being played again.  From what I've heard from the owner, she's happy with it.

But I still don't know who Matthias Kofler was.

Your Crack is Showing

Had a fellow in the shop yesterday, and we got talking about antiquing.  Many musicians want old instruments, and if they can't find an old instrument they get along with, they want a new one that looks old.  Something about 'the stories it could tell' or that.  And I suffer from it as well.  I like looking at old, well-used instruments.

I, however, have enough trouble getting a clean, new finish on my fiddles, let alone messing it up convincingly, so I gave up on antiquing some time back.  But the conversation yesterday got me thinking.  I'm in the process of varnishing two relatively modest Chinese whites -- instruments made elsewhere that I take apart, clean up a bit, then varnish and set-up.  It tickled me this morning to think about 'gunking' one up a little bit, to see how it would compare to the 'un-gunked' one when they were both done. 

To gunk up a  fiddle, I mix some Ivory Black oil paint with a little mineral spirits, smear it all over the fiddle, then wipe it off.  Some of the black remains in the seams, nicks and what-not on the fiddle.  All that taking it back off takes time, because I really hate seeing a glob of paint somewhere that I've missed.  A glob of paint randomly located on the fiddle doesn't look particularly old, just careless.  And all this antiquing does nothing whatsoever for the sound of the instrument.  One hopes it improves the look of the fiddle in someone's eyes.  In addition to liking the sound and playability, we want to like the way it looks.

In the process of gunking-up my fiddle, I had the even worse idea of adding a fake crack.  Haven't done this before, though I have seen it done on other fiddles.  Soundpost crack?  No, too much right now.  So I made a fake crack at the A-peg hole on the treble side.  A common crack, and when real, somewhat bothersome to repair.  It can devalue an instrument, even convince someone not to buy the fiddle.  So why do it?  Well, to see if I could.

I think it turned out ok.

It actually bothers me, as a repair person, to look at it, even though I know it is fake. I'll take that as a good sign.  It also cautions me to examine such cracks a little closer in the future. 

As a reference, if you are a violin-repairer reading this in the distant future, and the label is intact, this is VN140.

A Bow for Playing the Saw

Tom (not his real name) emailed me yesterday, wondering if I could take a look at a couple bows he had, see if they were worth 'fixing up and restringing'.  I had worked on his violin a few years back.  He said he also played the saw, and was teaching some kids how to do that, needed a bow for them to use.  And if his old ones were no good, maybe I had some suggestions.

Sure, happy to look at them, I told him.  If they're not in decent shape, you can get a fiberglass stick bow with horsehair for the same price as a rehair.  They're durable, a little on the heavy side, may be just the thing for kids and saws.

Tom lives in Oregon, across the Snake River, a drive on the freeway, then city streets, finally the more rural roads where I live.  He asked if I’d be around the next day.  I was planning to be, I said.

He called the next day: you there? 

Yes.  

Take me about an hour. 

Ok. 

He arrived, brought in two sticks.  One had been broken at the tip, glued back in place, no spline.  The other was maybe 1950s-era stick, dyed red, with a frog that was losing its black dye, revealing the white wood it was actually made of.  No grip on either, though I’m not sure that a grip is important in saw-playing.  I’m not sure it isn’t crucial, either.  I don’t know.

So, he bought a fiberglass stick. 

Do you have rosin? 

Yes, but it’s old, maybe 70 years old, and all cracked. Can I melt it and reform it?

Yes, but a new cake of rosin is 4 bucks.

I’ll take that.

We walked outside.  Hot day, not as hot as yesterday.  He had a newer pickup, bigger than an extended-cab, with a set of smaller doors behind the full-sized front doors.  Matching canopy on the back.

He told me a friend of his had just died.  Knew each other since they were kids.  Didn’t live near each other any more, but would meet every so often, and take up to talking like they had been together the day before.

Well, better get back, he said.

Yup, me, too.  If you pull forward, you can go on out the dirt road around the field, come out at the bottom with your nose pointing out.  Easier than backing out of this crooked driveway.

Thanks, I’ll do that.

Tom turned 90 this year.  Born in 1928. 

I like thinking about that.  90 years old.  Questioning through email, driving solo, looking for a bow to teach some kids how to play the saw.

Puts a smile on the inside of my face.

A Couple of Roughnecks

Back in the shop after a week at Weiser, Idaho, the National Oldtime Fiddlers' Contest.  Breathing just a bit before heading off for a week at fiddle camp in Wallowa, Oregon, a really beautiful spot, a low-key workshop with lots of great folk in attendance.

Meanwhile, working on necks.  Getting down to nearly finished dimensions.  First step is to cut away some of the extra wood on the side, chip it out, then plane away the sides of the neck root.

You can see the saw-marks perpendicular to the ebony fingerboard.  Good to stop just a ways back, to avoid chip-out.  I also like to put a little water on the neck-root when I'm planing -- the close, far left bit of maple here -- also to avoid chip-out in this figured maple.  It likes to break out in inconvenient spots.

Next is to start working down the thickness of the neck itself, the portion the musician touches when playing. 

I use a combination of saw-cuts and rough-rasp work.  In the background is a "Dragon" rasp from Stewart-MacDonald.  It is aggressive, which is good at this point in the process.

To work out the neck root and chin area, the curved portions at either end of the neck, I like to use a small Mora Kniv.

Good to keep the pencil handy and restore the center line every so often.  Rotate the neck as you're working it down to keep it smooth and round.  Flat spots are noticeable to the musician, and not in a good way.

I try to get the neck fairly close, but when I come back the next day, I always see more I need to tend to.  Or maybe even taking photos for a blog post.  Either way, more to come off, not much, just pickier work, and smaller chunks.

Did the same for the Hardanger neck.

And one does not live by necks alone, so other things to be made today.