Showing posts with label Jennifer Creadick. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Jennifer Creadick. Show all posts

Sunday, July 17, 2022

Varnish 2022

After a couple of years of pandemic shut down, the varnish workshop run by Joe Robson (the Varnish Guy) was up and running again this year! It was the last week of April, held once more in the Chicago School of Violin Making in Skokie (which is newly renovated and quite lovely).

I wasn’t sure at first if I would be able to attend due to conflicts at either end of the week, but Joe was able to accommodate my truncated work schedule. I missed the first day, and most of the last two, but it was still worth it.

The main things I get out of the workshop at this point (since I’m rather comfortable in my varnishing skills, even if it’s an area where one can always improve) are the camaraderie, and the time to focus.

The camaraderie is hard to overstate. It’s wonderful to spend full days with people in your field when normally we are rather isolated from one another. I got to catch up with old friends and make new ones (none of whom ever ask, “What kinds of wood are violins made from?”)

I even got to share my commute this time with the incomparable Jennifer Creadick of Lutherie Lab in MN. She made my trip in March to Atlanta for the Celebration of Women in Lutherie exhibit possible by sharing her hotel room, so I offered her a place to stay in my home during varnish week, and she took me up on it. She made the drive to Chicago and back delightful every day and I miss her. 

(This is us on a whirlwind and chilly tour of Milwaukee making a stop at Bradford Beach on Lake Michigan.)


This workshop also had the highest number of women in attendance yet! Six out of fourteen, and we even found a seventh to come out to dinner one night for a Women In Lutherie evening of fun and sushi. (That evening was really good for the soul and one of the highlights of the week.)


In terms of focus, I have so much competing for my attention at home that to take a few days to concentrate on nothing but varnish work is both efficient and satisfying. In addition, it never hurts to have knowledgeable people to problem solve with right in the same room.

One other thing to mention before I get to any actual varnishing, is that we always see extraordinary antique instruments from around Chicago during varnish week. The most amusing part of that this time was the day an Omobono and a Bergonzi arrived. The Bergonzi is on the bench, and the Omobono is in the case.

If you're not a violin history nerd, let me explain: Carlo Bergonzi worked in Antonio Stradivari's shop, and his exquisite instruments are greatly admired among luthiers. He's sort of a violin maker's violin maker. Omobono was one of Stradivari's sons who also worked in the shop, but he was famously maligned by his father, and his name is industry slang for a screw up. It's hard to know how fair that characterization of Omobono is since his father seemed like a harsh and unforgiving man to work for, and the instrument of his we got to see was lovely. But it was hard not to feel for Omobono to watch centuries later, when placed in direct comparison with Bergonzi, he's still left to the side. (Poor Omobono!)

On to actual varnishing!

The projects I took down to Chicago this year were ambitious in number. Typically people bring two instruments: One in the white, and one already grounded. I brought six instruments (all of them at least grounded, a couple with some varnish already started), and a couple of days in I brought a seventh on which to learn antiquing methods. That was. . . a lot.


I made excellent progress, so I don't regret it, but that much work left less time for socializing. One of the nice things about the varnishing stage of building an instrument is that it comes with built in time constraints. At some point you can't do anything until whatever you've put on the instrument has completely dried, which forces you to take a break and turn your attention to something else. I had enough instruments on my bench that there was always a new one to pick up and work on. Good for accomplishing work goals, less good in terms of enjoying other things in life.

So here's what I worked on:

I brought three really beautiful commercial instruments in the white that I purchased back in 2020 to put under a store label for sale at Korinthian Violins. I prepared each with a balsam ground, but a different choice of aged wood color. That made for a good show-and-tell for the people new to those materials at the beginning of the week, to see (as pictured here from left to right) the gold, red-brown, and grey-green all side by side.


These instruments were straightforward, and an exercise in efficiency. They didn't all quite go to plan in terms of finished color, but I think they all came out nice, and I hope customers like them. Two are already set up and on the shelf, so I'm looking forward to people trying them out.



The other three instruments were all things I built.


There is this violin that I made for my daughter, Mona. She doesn't play, but I built a violin for her sister who can, and I think it's a good idea for each of my children to own an example of what I do even if they don't appreciate it now. 

I associate Mona with the color yellow, and wanted this instrument to look like pale amber. I used a Strad Varnish (from Violin Varnish Ltd) base coat for most of it, with a bit of cochineal tapped directly into some of the stronger flame lines, and a touch mixed into an all over coat.

A personalized feature of this instrument is the bird on the back of the scroll that was sketched there by Mona's older sister, Aden.

People often admire how pretty instruments look when they are still in the white--and they are--but I'm always enthralled by the transformation of a piece of maple during the varnish process that brings that piece of wood to life. I find this particular piece of wood dazzling.





 

I was able to do most of the varnishing on this instrument in the workshop, with one additional coat at home before polishing it all out. I recently set it up and was able to play it, and I'm pleased with how it sounds (which is always a relief!).

Part of what keeps varnishing interesting is all the variation possible. Mona's violin I wanted rather light, which is an interesting contrast the other one I worked on.

The next violin is a commission for a client in the Milwaukee area who wanted something to honor her grandparents. It has their names inside, and a Star of David on the back of the scroll.

The varnishing challenge on this violin was she wanted it very dark. Much darker than I usually go with my varnish, and I ended up combining bone black, lamp black, and cosmic black, along with some deep reds and browns to reach the color she wanted. It's not what I would have done on my own, but it's quite striking. I just strung it up the other day, and it needs to settle and be adjusted before I pass it on to the client, but I think she's going to love it.







I can't wait for her to be able to play this instrument for her grandmother.

The final thing I brought that I built is this viola. It's for a client who wanted it to match a violin I built for his daughter a few years ago. That instrument I also varnished in the Chicago workshop, and I still had all my notes about how I achieved that particular color. 

 


It was interesting to chart out step by step what I did before and see if I could replicate it. I think I did it, but I can't wait to see the two instruments side by side one day and see how close I got. I love how this viola came out, but I still have a few tiny things to do here and there before I can finally set it up and hear how it sounds. I can't wait!

The final project is still hanging in my shop waiting for some free time to magically show up so I can complete it. I experimented with a quicker approach to varnishing at a workshop a few years ago, and was never happy with the results I got on this viola. I also wasn't completely happy with the construction on this instrument when it arrived from the supplier in the white, so I figured it was a perfect candidate for antiquing.


Antiquing is a process of artificially aging the varnish wear on an instrument to make it look older, which is what a lot of players want, even in a new instrument. I normally don't do it, since I figure my instruments will get worn enough just out in the world on their own without me hastening the process. But when the talented Itzel Avila, antiquing master, gave a demonstration at the workshop and mentioned how much easier it is emotionally to antique something she didn't make herself, I was inspired! Why not pull out that viola that I was planning to strip and do over anyway and try some of these techniques? That was really enjoyable, and I'm looking forward to finishing it someday.

I also managed to leave the workshop with more things than I brought, since I purchased a viola that Joe varnished for my inventory. That one needed a couple more coats of varnish on just the top and the ribs, and I was flattered that Joe trusted me to finish that work on my own. But this was the lineup of things to complete after a week in Chicago:

It's a happy sight.

And it was a wonderful week! I hope everyone this year gets to do something as fulfilling as I got to do in my varnish workshop.





Sunday, November 14, 2021

Women In Lutherie


 

(Messy desk, clean desk.... the cycle of it is fun and exciting, a lot like life in general.)

 

For me, the best thing to come out of the pandemic was the Women In Lutherie group.

The result of the efforts two women in the luthier community (Jeemin Kim and Jennifer Creadick), Women In Lutherie began as a private Facebook group back in February of this year, and has grown into something remarkable and necessary. I believe when I accepted the invitation to join there were only eight other people there. As of this writing, membership has topped 500.

That's astonishing to me. If we had collected 50 women in the field into one place, I would have been impressed. 500? When I consider how many more women doing this work exist who are probably (quite understandably) nowhere near Facebook, I'm overwhelmed.

I had no idea. And apparently no one else did, either.

Instrument making and repair tends to be an isolating kind of profession. The mentality to do it is rather exacting and introverted. We're happy alone in our space with our tools.

But it's also lovely to be understood. There is pleasure in being able to make remarks about your obscure experience and to have someone else relate without further elaboration. There is a very small subset of people to whom I can say, "The last person glued in the slide" or "The projection is only 15" who will wince along with me. Or who will truly appreciate what it means when I announce, "I finished the corners!" It's a wonderful thing to be able to gather at conventions or workshops and feel like you are with your people.

The Women In Lutherie group takes that one step further, where work experience and life experience converge into something surprisingly meaningful.

Because if you are a minority in a field, your experience is different. Which is why I think it's great that there are now additional groups like the Queer Strings Alliance, and Luthiers of Color. People need spaces where it's safe to be themselves.

There are lots of lutherie groups online. Women In Lutherie is the first one where I feel at home. Which is interesting, because for years I've been under the perception that to identify oneself as a woman luthier was to be associated with a lesser category. One should strive to be the best luthier one can, and gender shouldn't enter into it, right?

Except that "woman" shouldn't automatically be a negative qualifier, which is the impression you get when people steer away from it. However, it's a useful identifier in this industry where we are so few and far between. Maybe one day there will be balance, and the additional information will be irrelevant, much in the same way people don't really say, "woman doctor" or "male nurse" anymore.

I'm a luthier. I'm also a woman. I can put "woman" in front of "luthier" and feel fine about both parts of the label. If someone else wants to sneer at it, that's their problem.

And some do sneer. The number of men who blithely dismiss the idea of a Women In Lutherie group is depressingly high. When I invite a woman in one of the other groups over to WIL, inevitably a man will voice his opinion that any group that discriminates against men is wrong, and women simply need to strive for competence, and there is no reason for us to gather separately.

Whatever.

Let me tell you what is different about our group that makes it necessary.

On the darker side (to get that out of the way), women need a safe space to discuss how they have been mistreated by men. That's simply true. There are some bad, harmful, and oblivious men out there in our industry, and when women share that information among one another, it's a means of protection and healing. We can steer others away from places of danger. We can arm each other with words and knowledge to better confront difficult situations in the future. Our individual experiences with inequitable treatment tend to feel like awkward personal traumas, but collectively, we can see patterns. We realize we're not alone. We can begin to find ways to stand up to it.

Has every woman had such problems with discriminatory behavior at work like that? Of course not. But we all know someone who has, and that's enough for it to be a concern for all. Specific incidents of unequal treatment based on my sex or gender in my work life are minor at best. But I still can't walk alone at night without fear. The way I navigate the world is by necessity simply different from that of my male counterparts, whether they think that is relevant or not.

On the neutral side, some things are just different for women. For instance, until we started discussions online about the tools we prefer, I don't think many of us realized we were trying to adapt to tools not designed for us.

When I was in school, I was one of two female students. Our male teacher wanted us to have the same basic block plane he used. Which makes sense. Good teachers recommend what works for them because they want their students to succeed. But when I got my first nice plane, it was a low angle version. My fellow student did the same. We were just attracted to them and didn't know why. Same when we started purchasing smaller boat-shaped planes. Our teacher was perplexed, and kept saying, "Why do you keep getting these planes?" Until the WIL discussion, it never occurred to me that it was because they fit our smaller hands better. I know why our teacher wanted us to have the high angle planes, but in his hands they felt different. I also had an epiphany about the cabinet scraper he wanted me to use in school. He made using it to scrape ribs look easy. I thought something was wrong with me that I found it so difficult. I thought it was a failing when I left school that I started using a smaller more flexible version. After hearing from dozens of women that they did the same, I don't feel bad anymore. WIL has since begun a list of tools for smaller bodies, that also just includes tools we love, and it's a great resource. 

Childbearing and childcare concerns are also overwhelming female-centric issues. No one ever asks a man when he's about to add children to his family how he will raise them and also work. This is a huge and important topic, and to have other women to discuss this with is sanity saving.

And on the lighter side, the way women discuss things in the group is simply kinder and more productive.

The first week I was in WIL I wasn't sure what I would post there that would be different from any of the other luthier groups I was a part of. But then I had a bad morning and decided to say that I'd just spent ten minutes crying at my bench but was pulling myself back together to get some work done. I never would have admitted that in a normal violin group. What would be the point? But all these women piped up to say they totally got it, and they had also had a good cry at their benches recently, and they had my back, and it was going to be okay. I don't know if I can describe how much better that made me feel.

There are regular Zoom meet ups on weekends where we discuss mental and physical health, safety, tools, techniques... And the rules include things like not apologizing or minimizing ourselves. Women are socialized to not take up space or attract attention for our accomplishments. We are taught to apologize just for being who we are. "I'm sorry" is not allowed and it's liberating. I think many of us have felt empowered to start erasing those tendencies from our speech outside the group.

And then I started noticing the way the women addressed questions about our work.

This group has some of the very best builders and restorers in the entire world. You want to see mind blowing work? Iris Carr can move f-holes. I still don't know why anyone would do this, but she does it in a way that I can't even wrap my brain around. You want to know who other makers use for restoration work? Check out Stacey Styles. You want to meet my building idol? Marilyn Wallin rocks. The list of talent and credentials on the Women In Lutherie page is very long.

And yet the group also welcomes beginners, amateurs, and anyone who wants to be a part of this field. All are included and treated with respect and care.

How is that significant?

Well, on a typical lutherie site, the emphasis is more about being right than anything else. It's exhausting.

Men are probably socialized to be right the same way women are socialized to apologize, and everyone needs to get past these things. But in the meantime, discussions among groups of mostly men about lutherie work is not particularly welcoming.

I know many many perfectly reasonable and charming men in my field. Men who are kind and knowledgeable and would find it uncouth and embarrassing to treat people badly online or anywhere else. In online discussions I skim until I find their names to specifically read their contributions, and I value their input. None of these men are the ones who question the need for a Women In Lutherie group.

The ones who do, however.... Well, they are more vocal than their more civil counterparts.

Language interests me. And how people phrase things in the different groups says a lot.

In a typical lutherie group, if someone poses a question or shares something, there is often a lot of posturing. People tell you there is one way to do something. Anything that deviates is wrong. They are happy to tell you straight up if they think you are wrong.

Also, it doesn't matter how specific you are in tailoring your question, you will get instructions you didn't ask for. My favorite example of this was when a friend of mine simply wanted to know what colors people had on their retouch boards. That's it. She made it clear that she was not looking for advice about doing retouch work, because she was fine there, but she was curious about the names of the pigments other people had as their day-to-day kit. That did not stop a number of men from telling her at length how to do retouch work.

They can be so quick to want to tell you how to do things, they speak up before they even know the real question. I was in a thread the other day where a man went on at length about how my suggestions to someone about gluing a seam were wrong. After reading his own explanation carefully, I realized he'd misunderstood the original question, and was describing what to do with a crack, which is a different thing entirely. (What I was suggesting would be bad for a crack, but maybe make sure you understand the context before slapping someone down?)

You know how people answer questions on the WIL page?

We tend to say, "I do this." We don't tell other people what to do. We describe what we do, and why.

Then we get to compare how other people do things, ask questions, and learn something new.

There are so many interesting ideas out there! I have learned so much! There is not one way to do this work, and when you shut down a real discussion, you lose out on so much experience and knowledge beyond your own. I eat it up, frankly, the myriad of suggestions and approaches that people from everywhere have to offer.

The best was when I went on the page to ask for either help or sympathy for while I was working with a soundpost inside a very tiny violin. None of my standard tools were helpful with something that size, and that kind of job usually took more than an hour. (To be fair, a chunk of that time included swearing and getting up to walk around the shop repeatedly so as not to go crazy.) Most of the women agreed it was a frustrating job to do. But a few had helpful tips, including a luthier in Spain who showed me a picture of a pin she uses to get a soundpost out of a tiny f-hole. Another in Oklahoma had modified a safety pin into a mini-soundpost setter. What a simple and practical solution! Now that job which I used to set aside an hour to do takes me a matter of minutes. If that's the only thing WIL ever gives me, it was enough.

Nobody bickers or nitpicks or lectures anyone. They simply state what they do, and you can take it or leave it without judgement. If someone is new to a repair or a technique, people will walk them through it, offer help through private messaging, or share links to other resources. No one is ever mean or dismissive. And it's definitely the place to go if you are having a bad day and need people to commiserate.

The closest thing I can think of to an argument on the WIL page so far was a polarized thread about geared pegs. The word "abomination" was used. Did anyone take it personally? No. The thing overall was really amusing. And there was even the (impossible to witness anywhere else on Facebook) occasional person saying, "Well that's an interesting take I hadn't thought of. I will reconsider my opinion."

WIL is the first place I ask industry questions now. I know I will get thoughtful answers, and the best possible advice. Occasionally I still pipe up in other groups, but I'm taken aback by the bluntness that does less to be direct than it does to sound authoritative. I'm over that.

In the early weeks of the group, someone posted a violin bridge they'd carved and asked for a critique. For those not in this field, this was a real act of courage. People get really judgemental about how others carve their bridges, and it puts you in a vulnerable place to simply put one out there. I thought the bridge in question was lovely, and I said so. Others did as well. Then the poster insisted we were being too nice and she wanted a real critique. She was bracing for something brutal.

But the thing is, beyond a certain level of detail that is a necessary part of function, bridge carving is subjective. It's a place where, within narrow parameters, you can use some artistic flair. Her bridge was attractive, balanced, and fine. To pretend my interpretation of those curves and lines was "right" thereby making hers in need of a brutal critique, is wrong in my opinion. That was an interesting discussion, and I think helped several of us reexamine the point of such critiques.

The main thing to come out of that post was that more of us have been empowered to show our work to each other with less fear. We also found it moving to see other bridges stamped with women's names.

This rethinking of how to hold our work to high standards while not using a competitive model to measure what we do is useful. It also feeds into what we've come to realize is a different concept of what success is for women. I've thought for years about how the way I run my small business might not meet the standard of what many consider successful, in that our model is not based around growth. I want my business to be sustainable, and enable me to support my family and contribute good things to my community. Success for me means a life that includes many things in some kind of harmony, rather than a few specific areas of trying to be "the best" by someone else's metric. It's reassuring to be in a group that supports that idea.

Other traditional ways of viewing life as a luthier are also being shifted to fit better how women interact and learn. Jeemin Kim was the architect of the Women In Lutherie Fellowship program earlier this year. She matched women at the tops of their specialties with women who wanted to learn from them. But unlike other mentorship programs, this one involved group discussions and an exchange of information that made it more of a collaboration, and less of a hierarchical setup. It was lovely to hear how much everyone involved got from the program, and I know great things will come from it in the future.

Women In Lutherie had it's first conference last month. Three days of really excellent talks and demonstrations. I got to lead one on the last day with the amazing Laura Wallace about pregnancy and parenting in lutherie. Since Women In Lutherie is international, it was fascinating to discover how being in different parts of the world impacted women's choices and options about doing this work while starting a family. (The United States comes out very badly on this score. People in places like Canada listened in disbelief at how little support new parents are offered here.) It's the kind of talk that I think men could benefit from as well, but would be hard to convince them to attend at a mainstream convention.

The rate at which the Women In Lutherie Instagram account alone has grown is incredible. There are currently over 3400 followers of @womeninlutherie on Instagram. I know that's not up there with makeup influencers, but for a group about women who build stringed instruments? That's way more than I ever would have believed would want to follow such a niche group. (But it's good! Check it out!)

So there has been lots to despair about during the pandemic. It's been sad, and lonely, and heartbreaking. But out of it, there was time to create something many of us didn't know we needed so badly. It's long been my hope to raise the profile of women in our industry enough that girls see it as an option open to them, and not an oddity. I love my job. I think there are many other women who would love it too.

I love Women In Lutherie. It's come a long way in a matter of months. I cannot wait to see where we go from such promising beginnings.