A Creature of Promise
For Bob Harvey, violinmaking “grew from the desire to learn
to play the violin and the equally strong desire not to buy one.” It all began in 2001, when contractions in
the muscles in the palms of his hands restricted finger movement sufficiently
that it was impossible to play classical guitar any longer and he thought he
might be able to manage the smaller neck of a violin. Now four years and twenty-six attempts later,
he is satisfied that his violinmaking skills are improving although he still
can’t play worth a hoot. “You just do it
and do it and do it, until you get to the fifth plateau. Everyone needs to go through the first four
plateaus. If you have an affinity,
you’ll just go through them faster. It’s
not the goal that’s important. What
matters, “ he says, “is the pleasure you receive getting to the goal.”
Bob derives great pleasure from “teaching a piece of wood
how to sing. The purpose is to keep me
entertained and to spend my remaining years as pleasantly as possible, instead
of just sitting and drooling down my uniform.”
At seventy-six years of age, he feels like he has found his “life’s
work” since “the possibility of perfection is not there.” This being the case, he can keep improving
forever and never contrive the ultimate instrument.
The wood is the variable.
He buys mostly pre-sawn European wood – dense maple for the back and
neck and light-weight spruce for the front – and from these rough-cut pieces,
using a battalion of curved chisels, he carves the forty parts for a violin: 2
fronts, 2 backs, 6 sides, 12 linings, 4 corner blocks, 2 end blocks, 4 pegs, 1
fingerboard, 1 saddle, 1 tail piece, 1 bridge, 1sound post, 1 base bar, 1 neck
and scroll, and 1 nut - that doesn’t count the thirty-six pieces of purfling
(inlays) that are used to strengthen the edges and keep the top from splitting.
The sidepieces are bent on a hot iron and clamped onto the
sides of the chosen mold where they remain until they remember the desired
shape. Bob is “very picky about curves”
and although the violin has a classic shape, there is some flexibility in
design and he has experimented with a variety of molds. The “rest is pure carving” and he “plays it
by ear,” pun intended. The front and
side pieces are carved so thin you can see light through them and with practice
he is learning what works and what doesn’t.
“Being self-taught, it takes about fifteen to get it right.” “The first one was a disaster,” he confides.
“That was tough. I had to make
another.” #2 fell apart, too, but at
least it was salvageable.
Now, numbers 3 thru 26 (four of them violas) hang in the
central living space of Bob and his partner, woodcarver Meg Nalle’s,
workshop/home, where they bear silent witness to a man who practices what he
preaches and just keeps on trying. “The
clue to a boat builder’s skill,” he confides, “is not how well he built the
boat, but how well he hid the mistakes.”
Bob doesn’t mind making mistakes.
“Problem solving is what humans do best,” he says, “screwing up and
learning how to save it.”
The carved pieces are then put together with “hide glue,” a
purpose-made concoction of “ground up critter’s hides” and the instrument is
ready for finishing. The beautiful wood
grain is given depth with twelve coats of varnish beginning with light yellow
through successively darker shades to dark brown to give it depth. Then several coats of clear varnish are
applied and finally it is polished with a compound similar to that used to
finish fine automobiles.
Bob tells me that it takes between 200-250 hours for an
experienced violinmaker to produce one instrument and although he doesn’t keep
track of the time he invests, he knows he’s getting faster and he finds his
interest growing, not lessening. This
creative activity has become his driving force; it not only gets him up in the
morning, it gets him up on the right side of the bed. Rather than succumbing to his life-long
enemy, depression, he overcomes it. First,
he “accommodates” it; he admits it’s there; he recognizes the problem and
acknowledges it by saying “I’m off color.”
Then “I pull my foot out” by thinking only positive, constructive
thoughts. “Don’t waste time on a mental
sewer,” he advises. “There’s nothing
nice down there.” The final coping
mechanism is pursuing a pleasurable activity, such as making violins, which
“has a soul to it that makes it doubly delicious.”
He calls Violin #26 “a creature of promise” and demonstrates
its resonance by plucking a string and asking me to place my hand lightly on
the body of the instrument. I can feel
the instrument vibrating with life while I’m getting some life lessons from its
philosopher-creator. “You can overcome
lethargy by doing something that pleases you,” he counsels. “You have a duty to be happy. Depression can affect you physically, you
know. Smiling can actually make you feel
better. So can singing.” He’s got a “bushel” of quotable quotes in his
“brain,” a little notebook he keeps handy for the purpose of jotting these
jewels down and having them handy when he needs to remind himself “Don’t Worry,
Be Happy.”
For Bob Harvey, happiness is making violins. Both he and Meg demonstrate the practical
wisdom in the advice of clergyman Howard Thurman who said, if you would be
happy, “follow the grain in your own wood.” When I asked Bob if he would sell any of his
instruments, he said, “Sure, but I would pay to do this.” “No, he wouldn’t,” is Meg’s cheerful
rejoinder. If you need a violin, I
suggest you call Bob at 546-3072. He can
give you a great deal because he’ll make one for you while he’s in
therapy.
Note: This article appeared in the Downeast Coastal Press week of September 6-12, 2005
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