July 29th, 2010
And so it begins. Or rather, has begun. My intention was to take images as I progressed with this, my first attempt at repairing a violin, and then write it up from the images. But it becomes clear that were I to do so, there is much I would forget, and the size of the task would encourage putting it off to another day. With time, still more would be forgotten.
She was a beauty in her day, no doubt. But that day was long ago, and in the time since she has suffered much. If you click on the image to the left, you will find a larger version to better see how low she has fallen -- so many cracks, so bereft of varnish on her face, but for the smallest traces beneath the fingerboard.
Yet she is not entirely unclad, for most of the original varnish remains on her sides and back (I
neglected to take a full image of the back in her initial state. The one to the right is post
cleaning, top and fingerboard removal.)
One wonders how she could have come to such a state. Was she stored for decades in an open violin case in the loft of a barn by an unshuttered window, and danced upon nightly by raccoons? We shall never know, for she was snapped up by buyers at an estate sale and sold away from her former history for a hundred dollars on ebay.
Initially, I thought that perhaps she was born in the earlier decades of the 20th century -- a country lass fond of dance, who fell on hard times. But upon opening her up, and seeing that I was not the first to brave such intimacy, I wondered.
At least two forms of hide glue have been applied most liberally, one dark, one amber. Could this be the work of two different individuals, both subscribing to the theory that there's nothing you can't fix if you just use a lot of glue?
They do not seem to be the same hand which so neatly and carefully cleated the back seam with little square cleats, using the glue so sparingly that there is no sign, and perhaps confirming the belief of the other two, since none of his (or her) cleats adhere anymore. Bald spots mark where once they were.
And I'm not sure if it is hide glue at all which was used to apply the sound post patch. Yet another hand?
Consideration of the neck as well bespeaks potential antiquity. Its angle is lower than on a modern violin. Initially I thought something was wrong with it, and considered resetting it. But I am coming to believe that it is merely as her maker intended. I will leave it alone.
(Note, the inside top image below is slightly overexposed to better bring out detail.)
Gently, I wiped down her parts with a sponge slightly dampened with a homemade cleaner of hot water, dish soap, baking soda, and vinegar (no olive oil as in the link). I had hoped that perhaps under the dirt there was at least some vestigial varnish, but was disappointed. At best it could be said she has a patina, and if that be but a euphemism for dirt, so be it. Whatever is left on her after a second lightly damp sponging with only water will be as a foundation. What would come off easily has come off.
There is much to be done to restore her to functionality. I will not aim beyond my limited ability, novice as I am, at full restoration, but merely at playability, and decent presentation. Her scars hard earned through many a night of tap dancing raccoons in the old barn loft will stand as testament to what she has endured.
As far as possible I will make my changes reversible, mostly through the employment of hide glue. I will remove wood only where absolutely necessary. At some time in the future who knows how long, I hope some luthier will think kindly on me for making his task that much easier, and not have the sort of uncharitable thoughts I had towards the bugger who glued the fingerboard on with who knows what.
That is all for this day. The story continues July 30th, 2010 (page 2, mapping cracks), home, page 3 (bass bar removal), page 4 (crack repair), page 5 (crack repair), page 6 (back repair), page 7 (patching and back repair), page 8 (patching and back repair), page 9 (patching and back repair), page 10 (broken bits)