The Violin
Author’s Note This piece is part of a small series of long-form prose works that use objects as their organizing center. I’m interested in how “making” leaves traces—how pressure, restraint, and care shape what can endure. The violin offered a way to think about change without spectacle, and about continuity that depends not on perfection, but on what remains able to respond. THE VIOLIN TABLE OF CONTENTS The Violin The Wood Nothing Has Been Asked The Cut What Remains Learns the Shape of Absence Heat The Shape Stays Assembly Balance Holds The Soundpost Just Enough Strings Everything Stays Varnish Only Readiness Remains First Sound Repair What Remains The Wood The wood arrives already changed. Years of weather have passed through it. Cold tightened the grain. Heat widened it again. Rings mark time in a language that does not explain itself. The maker lifts each board, tests its weight, taps once with his knuckle. Some pieces answer. Some do not. This is not preference. It is response. ...