Darren Molnar Violin Studio Renaissance


	"We shall not cease from exploration And the end of all our exploring Will be to arrive where we started And know the place for the first time." - T.S. Eliot (Four Quartets) Few designs or styles-of any art or craft-survive even for a generation. In every artistic discipline, the need for constant change and improvement is both what feeds artistic practice and also what ensures the art's relevance and longevity. For example, while most painters agree that the works of the great artists of the past are used as inspiration and looked upon with deep admiration, one would be hard pressed to find any serious artist still working in the style of Leonardo da Vinci or Michelangelo. Rembrandt gives way to Vermeer, who gives way to Cézanne, who cedes to van Gogh, and so it goes through the ages. There are countless examples of this in all pursuits, from architecture to furniture design. The only exceptions to this endless succession of change are the instruments of the violin family. To make that statement is to say something that is both very obvious and very remarkable. Imagine an object so perfectly conceived and constructed as to remain essentially unchanged and instantly recognized for the last 400 odd years. How is that possible? Is this our finest work? The Cremonese, however, never had anything that resembles a guild, which is constantly regretted, because once these iconic builders died, and their shops closed for good, all of their methods, materials, and ideas died with them. Considering, for example, that the Amati workshop was open for a couple hundred years and engaged about five generations of the Amati family in the craft, we see how vast indeed was the amount of knowledge that was lost. Out of the chasm of knowledge in the history of the craft, a "cult of secrets" was born. The violin makers who followed did the only thing we could do. We looked to the instruments themselves for guidance. We traced their outlines, measured their thicknesses, and weighed their parts. We smelled and tasted, poked and prodded them in hopes of discovering what was behind their magnificence. In essence, any part that could be measured and quantified from these instruments was done so and is still being done today, and we are beginning to bear the fruit of these labours.

"We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time."
- T.S. Eliot (Four Quartets)

Few designs or styles-of any art or craft-survive even for a generation. In every artistic discipline, the need for constant change and improvement is both what feeds artistic practice and also what ensures the art's relevance and longevity. For example, while most painters agree that the works of the great artists of the past are used as inspiration and looked upon with deep admiration, one would be hard pressed to find any serious artist still working in the style of Leonardo da Vinci or Michelangelo. Rembrandt gives way to Vermeer, who gives way to Cézanne, who cedes to van Gogh, and so it goes through the ages. There are countless examples of this in all pursuits, from architecture to furniture design.
The only exceptions to this endless succession of change are the instruments of the violin family. To make that statement is to say something that is both very obvious and very remarkable. Imagine an object so perfectly conceived and constructed as to remain essentially unchanged and instantly recognized for the last 400 odd years. How is that possible? Is this our finest work?
The Cremonese, however, never had anything that resembles a guild, which is constantly regretted, because once these iconic builders died, and their shops closed for good, all of their methods, materials, and ideas died with them. Considering, for example, that the Amati workshop was open for a couple hundred years and engaged about five generations of the Amati family in the craft, we see how vast indeed was the amount of knowledge that was lost. Out of the chasm of knowledge in the history of the craft, a "cult of secrets" was born.
The violin makers who followed did the only thing we could do. We looked to the instruments themselves for guidance. We traced their outlines, measured their thicknesses, and weighed their parts. We smelled and tasted, poked and prodded them in hopes of discovering what was behind their magnificence. In essence, any part that could be measured and quantified from these instruments was done so and is still being done today, and we are beginning to bear the fruit of these labours.