It's Alive and Well!

So here we are in February of 2011. This is the restored Washburn. It has a lovely voice and I am delighted every time I play it as it changes.
When you first string something up, or when it hasn't been played for a long time -- like this one -- it takes almost a year for it to find its voice again. This one probably hadn't been played since 1950 or so, and it was likely made around 1890.
One of my friends who is a luthier of some 40 years experience, and whose advice I have *sometimes* taken while restoring this one, got really excited when he played it a couple weeks ago. He wants me to make a blueprint of the bracing pattern and post it with the Portland Luthier's Guild.

I first strung it up the day before Christmas. It was quieter then, and it's getting louder and richer and more resonant as the days go by.

The thing that delights me most of all, is that I listened to my intuition, and for all the conflicting expert advice I got, and all the sleepless nights where I agonized over whether to do this or that -- the thing that I am most proud of, is that I listened to myself first. I spent many hours just sitting and holding the guitar, looking at it and considering. And small things would come to me. I should not take the whole bridge plate off, just past the part that was damaged. I should cut it on the diagonal for a stronger splice.

Another thing that got me through -- taking the back off (and cracking it in the process) and shaving the braces and patching the top -- was something I learned in CPR class. It's what you say to yourself while you're attempting to revive someone, because regardless of what you do or don't do right, most of the time it doesn't work. You say: "He's already dead." So as I attempted to revive this unplayable broken 120 year old guitar, I would tell myself "It's already dead."

I didn't sleep much the night I braced and clamped the neck, and then wrapped it in an drugstore heating pad and left it on medium high for 24 hours. It could scorch the neck or the finger board, it could make it crack and split, it could set something in my studio on fire; the dangers I thought of, lying there at 3 a.m. with the covers over my head, were endless.

No one had approved this technique that I knew. I read about it in a Luthier's forum online. And the guy who came up with it was doubtful that it worked. But it did. At the end of the 24 hours I had a neck that was unbowed. And so far, it's stayed that way.

Restoring a guitar is kind of like rebuilding an engine. EVERYONE has lots of advice and opinions as to what you should do. Strong opinions. Now that it's together again, the biggest hot topic is how to string it. Never mind that I HAVE strung it and I'm quite happy to let it cook along with these strings for a good long while.
Mostly people want me to put steel strings on it. And the action. I like it. But it's high for steel string players, and the guitar, which was made for gut strings, isn't configured quite right for modern classical players -- the neck is too thin, and it's triangular, and the strings are held to the bridge with pins, not wrapped like a classical guitar. So, boy do folks have opinions. And I listen, and I learn a lot, but I don't change much on the guitar.

Oh, and another part of the creative process is that you do the things as the spirit moves you, like posting to this blog.

Breaking things

When I'm not working on the guitar, or sewing, or designing this year's fantastical creatures for the Portland Revels Christmas show (www.portlandrevels.org/) I carve things. This is a recent addition to things I make; I got into it when I decided to make the Bridgetown Morris Men's Hobby horse out of wood. (that would be a 'Ooded 'Oss for those of you in the know).
I've been making my way through the basic beginners projects as taught or displayed by the Salem Capitol Carvers Club. You know, team mascots, grumbly little cowboy/clown/old man characters, santas, fish, and so on. I've been trying to select for the ones that light me up, as in, I would actually want to have them in the house after I've made them.
I decided, back the end of August, when I was sitting in the carver's booth at the state fair, to make an endless chain. I wanted to see if I could make up the pattern and figure out how to carve it in a loop (that's the endless part, not how long it takes).
I got out my graph paper and I mapped it out, drew it on an 18"x3"x3/4" piece of basswood, and set about roughing it out. Knowing nothing of course.
The first thing I learned from most of the other carvers is this: If you break it, you have to start over.
Bullshit.
Someday, I will carve a chain with no broken links, but that's not how to learn to carve a chain. That will only teach you how [not] to carve one link.
I broke all but one of the first five.
Then I broke about one in four.
I got really handy at gluing them, and I learned to use wood glue, not super glue, even tho most of the carvers go for the latter. Just like I'm learning from the guitar. If you break it, you fix it. Carefully.

Think about it, look at it while you're getting past the oops moment, the trauma of -- oh dang, I screwed that up. Get out the repair kit, and put it back together.
Then, when I was half way through, one of the carvers told me something really simple about how to keep from breaking the links, and after that, I only broke one. He said, rather than carving out each link sequentially, go down the plank and cut just the inside joint, the one most likely to break. See, the reason that joint breaks is because when you're cutting it, you push against the side of link with the back of the knife -- and it pops off. So if you cut it before you've carved the rest of the loop, the wood is still whole and much stronger. Is that clear?
Shazam.
And then there's the guitar.
There are things that when you break them, that's it. Goodbye.
It took me two tries to get the bridge right for the guitar. The first time, IN my attempts to file the ebony down into a 4 sided pyramid, about an inch square and 3/16" tall, I got it too thin. So I set aside most of a day's work, and started another one. Fortunately for me, the person who gave me the ebony gave me enough for three tries, so I still have a blank left.

Clamps and communication

Now that I can see what I have to do, I'm working on getting the tools for it. I drove 100 miles yesterday to buy two bridge clamps, and allowed the store person to convince me that the bigger of the two cam clamps was "more versatile" which, while it may be true in general, was not true in particular: an 8" clamp takes up too much of my sound hole to reach the bridge. I needed the 6" ones.

I have been working at the state fair, at the Capitol Woodcarver's booth. I am trying to carve a chain in a loop, another one of those things that I have been doing in my mind instead of sleeping. I have learned that chains are fragile things, much given to breaking as you work on them, and you are wise to keep the super glue close to hand.

When I learn how to add pictures to my posts, you will have views of the things I am working on.

I also bought a grinder, and asked the spouse if I could mount it on his workbench in the shop. "Why does it have to be mounted?" he asked. A protracted discussion followed as to whether its weight would hold it in place. He would like to have the option of moving it if he needs the space. Okay, I get that. So how about if I put wing nuts on the bolts for easy removal? Him: "Why do you need to fasten it at all?" Well, I don't like my work moving on me. I think, maybe he doesn't want me making holes in the bench. So, I say, I'll make it a platform and C-clamp it to the bench, if that's acceptable. And he says, "Why not just drive a couple 16 penny nails in to hold it?

I am baffled. I don't believe we could possibly be talking about the same thing. But I will make it a platform and clamp it to the bench, since that seems to be the one part of the solution that we agreed on. I did notice when he built himself a rack for the pickup that he used 16 penny nails rather than screws or bolts, so maybe he has something against threaded fasteners.

Next I will drive into McMinnville to pick up a piece of mahogany I traded for; I gave the guy a swan I carved, and he's giving me a piece of mahogany left from a carpentry project. And I'll decide if I want to continue on to Tigard to swap the cam clamps. What I should be doing is making a dress for my daughter's birthday. That, however, means putting down the things I am focused on (some might say 'obsessed with') and picking up another creative project. And then, of course there are the Revels dragon and giant's head that need drawings done; scale models made.

This is my sixth or seventh year (I forget which) making dragons and/or magical beings for the Portland Christmas Revels, and I have learned a few things from experience. I am giving the director another three weeks or so to change his mind about what he wants, since most years he does. September seems to be the critical month. If we make it through September, I'll believe that I have heard his final decision. Though it has just occurred to me that maybe he changes his mind until he runs out of time, so perhaps it's my job to call 'time'.

Creaks, croaks and cracks

I evicted that silly frog once already. But when it’s hot I leave the door to the studio open so it will cool off at night, and today I had my magnifying glasses on and was looking at how the splint sat in the slot when the plant six inches from my ear said, “Grreeeaaakkkkk!” He’s in there someplace.

For the last three days I have been coaxing the back off the sides. I heard a number of suggestions as to how best to do it, and ended up using a hot water/vinegar solution [10% vinegar if you’re taking notes]. It was intense, nerve wracking, time consuming work. I’ve done very little else but eat and sleep. Early on in my efforts I cracked the back – about an inch – as I was working around the bottom bout. There is the sharp crack that the glue makes when it releases, and there is the sharp crack the back makes when the edge splits. They sound the same. Heart in your mouth and you have to look. Hundred year old Brazilian rosewood about 2 mm thick is very brittle. Now I know that. And the crack is clamped and glued.

Learning to repair a guitar is about learning how to fix my mistakes as well as the original problems

Ain’t life like that?

I would guess I put in about 15 to 20 hours of painstaking labor, all generated by one simple sentence from a repair guy at Elderly Instruments. I described the problems to him, and he said, “Why not just pop the back off?” Simple country motion. *pop*. Does not bring to mind the picture of sitting cramped in one position hour after hour, the guitar across my knee, alternately woggling a pallet knife, and then squirting syringfuls of hot vinegar-water in a teeny crack.

When the back finally came loose, it was wonderful. I could see what I was working on; how to fix the top, and I was holding in my hand this amazingly light, stiff piece of hundred year old wood. I’ve got it apart. I can’t believe I did this. What have I done? Can I put it back together again? I sure hope so.

With the back off, the body relaxed and the end block crack closed up. I wonder why? I think it might be because the neck is out of true and pulling everything else off. Does that mean it will need to be fixed, too?

When I came in for dinner tonight, I told my partner about the cracked block. He immediately suggested I use gorilla glue in it. He even told me how to do it. “Why gorilla glue?” I asked. “It’s really strong.” he said. “You ever used it?’ I asked. “Uh, no.” So I changed the subject. One of the things I am learning as I work on this guitar is who to talk to. And who not to.

Care for the guitar; care for the maker

I am waiting for the glue pot to heat up. Hide glue -- made from horse bits, don't ask, is what the maker used on this old Washburn, so it is what I am using to patch it, and in the process learning how to work with it. It takes a half hour plus to heat, and seems to go from liquid to gel state in about half a minute. Perhaps I haven't thinned it enough.

Working on the top, I appreciate its fine-grained iridescence, and consider the history of the many marks left from its travels. Someone set a cigarette down here. Another person had a belt buckle that scratched there. The neck and soundboard have hit tables and chairs and once the guitar was dropped on its end pin, cracking the tail block. Some people have loved it and cared for well, others were more casual. There is a hollow worn in the top from a pick. The most visible damage was done by whoever hacked the first bridge off and shoddily glued on the wrong replacement.

I can't imagine what tool the bridge remover used that would scratch parallel lines in the top a quarter inch out on all sides. I can see why they could have chewed up the top under the old bridge if they didn't know how release the glue joint, but not outside its attachment point.

Each time as I work on this I admire the guitar. I heft it gently, stroke it and tap around the top to hear its tone. When I have cut a slit through to splint, the tone is less, and once I have the splice in place, the resonance returns. See. I am doing something right. The guitar tells me that each time.

Running my fingers over the soundboard (top) tells me different things than my eyes. I learn where my finish touch-up is rough, where the crack is still there, where the leveling is uneven.

The bridge. I will shape it an ebony bridge. I have been cutting the ebony block over and over in my mind. Probably by the time I line it up with the guide on the band saw, I will have cut it 20 or 30 times in my mind's eye. This is how I do most things I create -- build them in my mind -- consider the process until I can see each step clearly. Call someone, research something where it's vague.

Asking others to help me is way far down on the list. I am wary of someone coming into my work space and saying, "Oh, that's wrong." "You can't do it that way" , "THAT won't work". Words like that are hard to get around. They block me. Confidence is a smoldering fire that needs constant feeding, careful coaxing, and breath. Oh, and breath. Breathe life into this venture.

If it isn't going together right, sit back and breathe. Become the materials, and the air around them, know them, know yourself and breathe. Allow it all to be what it is.

Beginnings

I decided to start this blog to share my creative process with anyone interested. I am currently working on restoring a 1900ish parlor Washburn guitar, making a stuffed animal dragon, building a Turascon dragon and a giant knight's head for the Portland Revels, and several wood carving and sewing projects.

Every time I make up a design or begin a project, I am filled with both joy and terror -- delight in the creation (which takes up many of my waking minutes while staring out the window) and terror that I will screw it up past redemption. And then some of these have time deadlines which increases the terror part.

The Washburn is in pieces on my table right now. I want to take the back off so as to replace the bridge plate. Held together with hide glue, this sweet little box will need a combination of moisture and heat to separate. I have not done this before. What if I screw it up? Can I use the iron and steam setting? I don't have to worry about cutting through the bindings because the guitar has none. People do it regularly. I wonder how hard it is? I fired up the iron and damp cloth yesterday and heated the guitar up around the tail block, but, probing with both an exacto knife and a pallet knife did not show me any openings or movement. So it needs more... something.

I have splinted three of the cracks on the top, a process that involves shaving out the cracks with the exacto knife and then shaving down a splint of spruce (from the pieces left over the guitar I made) so that it fits tidily into the slot I cut. So far I have placed them and cut them out two or three times. They seem to shrink after I get them in and glued. I may just fill the cracks with glue. Both the cut and the splint are V shaped.

The top wood is much darker than my splices. I have experimented with staining the splint, and painting it with various water and oil based paints. It still looks like a patch. And it dries below the level of the rest of the top.

Fortunately the little guitar seems tolerant of my learnings. I like to explore the work I am doing using my hands, stroking the top, feeling the edges of my splints inside and out.

Next I will carve it a new pyramid style bridge out of ebony -- another thing I haven't worked in before. I hear it is very powdery and I will need to wear a mask.

I have put off ordering it a case and replica tuning machines till I do the main repairs -- and learn if I can.

Perhaps the only difference between courage and foolhardiness is the outcome.