An original idea is formed, a design is envisaged and that design is then brought to life. This is the process of how most things come into being. Some suggest that great ideas already exist and that all we have to do is get out of the way and allow them to fill that empty space. If this is in fact so, then I can only thank my dear friend Andre Spier for his insight many years ago when he came up with the idea of making a String Quartet of Peace long before most South Africans realised that South Africa had four noble peace prize winners!
So from a rather simple and relatively calm existence I started on my quest to see this quartet come to fruition. Many disappointments later, after trying unsuccessfully to gain funding, I put the idea aside. It was then a chance meeting in February this year with Lainey Trequesser that brought it back to life again. Her vision and passion to make things happen is remarkable and the ember of hope that has lingered ever so faintly has now been rekindled, not only in me, but within two remarkable musicians Maestro Jean Pierre Wallez and Eugene Skeef. Both of whom have undertaken to help organise the concerts that will be held in Geneva, Paris and London. I am indebted to them for the passion and enthusiasm they have shown.
So this was how the idea came to be a reality. Now on to the designs. Fortunately, living so far from the mainstream of violin makers I have managed to avoid the pressure to conform, so I do not make copies of Stradivari or Guarneri instruments. Not because I strive to be different and not because I don’t adore those two famous Italian luthiers, I simply feel more comfortable doing things from scratch, so to speak.
Tending to steer away from anything that is too scientific e.g. by analysing instrument structures using sophisticated software, I prefer my designs and archings to emerge from numerous drawings done on a piece of paper and to visually alter the curves for my templates.
Science certainly has its place and it is wonderful for those instrument makers who can embrace its logic. For me, however, the voice of a violin is measured on how many goose bumps you get when listening to the hauntingly beautiful melodies resonating in concert halls around the world. The highlight of my listening experience occurred at a guard post in the Namib desert as a 17 year old conscripted soldier. Graced by a trillion visible stars paying homage to each note that resounded softly in the primitive headphones in my ears. Listening to David and Igor Oistrakh playing Bach and Vivaldi double violin concertos it was a night where I felt caressed by music which transported me away from the harsh desert wind and the lifeless rifle beside me. And above all in those moments I felt saved from having to bear the mask of brashness where anything remotely sublime was considered taboo. It was on that night that I felt I wanted to in some way become involved with string instruments.
So from a rather simple and relatively calm existence I started on my quest to see this quartet come to fruition. Many disappointments later, after trying unsuccessfully to gain funding, I put the idea aside. It was then a chance meeting in February this year with Lainey Trequesser that brought it back to life again. Her vision and passion to make things happen is remarkable and the ember of hope that has lingered ever so faintly has now been rekindled, not only in me, but within two remarkable musicians Maestro Jean Pierre Wallez and Eugene Skeef. Both of whom have undertaken to help organise the concerts that will be held in Geneva, Paris and London. I am indebted to them for the passion and enthusiasm they have shown.
So this was how the idea came to be a reality. Now on to the designs. Fortunately, living so far from the mainstream of violin makers I have managed to avoid the pressure to conform, so I do not make copies of Stradivari or Guarneri instruments. Not because I strive to be different and not because I don’t adore those two famous Italian luthiers, I simply feel more comfortable doing things from scratch, so to speak.
Tending to steer away from anything that is too scientific e.g. by analysing instrument structures using sophisticated software, I prefer my designs and archings to emerge from numerous drawings done on a piece of paper and to visually alter the curves for my templates.
Science certainly has its place and it is wonderful for those instrument makers who can embrace its logic. For me, however, the voice of a violin is measured on how many goose bumps you get when listening to the hauntingly beautiful melodies resonating in concert halls around the world. The highlight of my listening experience occurred at a guard post in the Namib desert as a 17 year old conscripted soldier. Graced by a trillion visible stars paying homage to each note that resounded softly in the primitive headphones in my ears. Listening to David and Igor Oistrakh playing Bach and Vivaldi double violin concertos it was a night where I felt caressed by music which transported me away from the harsh desert wind and the lifeless rifle beside me. And above all in those moments I felt saved from having to bear the mask of brashness where anything remotely sublime was considered taboo. It was on that night that I felt I wanted to in some way become involved with string instruments.
Okay, now back to designing the shapes and outlines of this quartet. These were inspired by a great teacher of mine, Heinrich Woldering, who as a more advanced student at the Newark School of Violin Making gracefully took me under his wing. I vividly recall him saying that what’s more important than the actual shape is the tension that holds any object together. He then demonstrated this by bending a perfectly uniform piece of string and then a twig from the garden. Of course the string looked limp without form or direction and the uneven twig was beautiful as its tension and grace held itself together. So that’s the way I have always aspired to make my violins, copying master instruments not in form but more in presence, pretending to be living in a casa in Cremona in 1715, limiting myself to materials that were available then and keeping all the curves flowing with tension, rather than precisely making everything identical and symmetrical as with the corners or sound holes.
Above is a photograph of the first violin’s mould and template for the quartet with the spruce blocks in place, shaped ready to receive the sides (ribs) and create the beautiful inner architectural structure reserved for the luthier’s eyes only!
Above is a photograph of the first violin’s mould and template for the quartet with the spruce blocks in place, shaped ready to receive the sides (ribs) and create the beautiful inner architectural structure reserved for the luthier’s eyes only!
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