A quality instrument improves the musician, a good musician improves quality instrument.

This is the most intimate and fascinating link which prompted me to understand more. Not as a musician (I play the cello to enjoy it, have fun and entertain, trying to snatch the secret that let you shake), but as a luthier. The best job in the world: this is what people who chose it use to say, and it seems like many think that way.

To produce what will actually translate gestures in music it costs patience, a constant patience that grows as time goes by, when you find yourself with a soundboard ready to be painted and you realize that everything has started off from a tree trunk.

Wood, only wood and time, but a lot of time. Dedication, blisters, calluses and splinters. Tools stolen from sculptors and dentists, goldsmiths and painters. There are perfumes, the “alpine” one of the fir, the burned maple reminiscent of chocolate, balms and essences of natural paints, the pitch. And what is not fragrant, and perhaps doesn’t have a good smell, becomes almost pleasant throughout the years: animal glue dissolved in bain-marie, the metal of sharp tools on the wet stones, linseed oil in cooking.
More than a month to build a violin, almost three for a cello. It is a creative process halfway between craft and art, in a dimension based on tenths of a millimeter that still leaves space for instinct and involves eye and ear, hand and thought.

Quality before everything. In the selection of raw materials, in the care of the working tools, in the continuous learning of clear and precise gestures, that are sometimes primitive such as removing the bark from a fir, and sometimes elegant, as a paint brush on the cambers of a viola.

And together with the quality research, they come the study and understanding of acoustic phenomena, everything led by the idea, maybe the utopia, to approach the maximum satisfaction of discerning eyes and expert ears.

To fulfill the dream of fully exploiting the alchemy between a musician and his instrument.