As I lift open the case, I realize how damaged the hinges are, only fabric protects the valuable contents. One drop and they are worthless. But I am careful, so it doesn’t matter.
My hands are clean. My Sleeves are rolled up.
I line up my tools-
The feet snap into perpendicular, and I struggle to fit them over the purfling of the backplate. Too tight, so I adjust the screws and try again. Too loose. When I obtain a good fit, I stand straight and try to remember how right feels.
The set screws of the tool holder are clogged with chips. I find the straightened paperclip in the can-almost coated with oil- and scrape them away until the hex key slides in and I can tighten the tool into place.
The varnish is coated with corrosive dust, which I wipe away with a linen cloth that I should have washed a few weeks ago. That looks a bit better now, and better yet, my fingers don’t stick.
Apply oil and slide the tool rest onto the compound. Loosen the compound and spin it to face backward.
Tighten the bow hair and rub on the rosin.
Way off!
Tighten the wheel to raise the tool holder up a bit. That looks about right. No, it’s a bit too high.
The weather’s been strange lately. I have to press the pegs in to get them to hold and the E string is completely loose.
My thumb and forefinger grasp the knurling of the wheel.
It just doesn’t look quite right.
It just doesn’t sound quite right.
There must be a better way!
At last, the fifths align.
The point is just below the center.
I have the papers laid out, easy to see. I put the bow to the string. The tool begins to cut. I feel the vibrations run up into my hands, reacting automatically before I know what is really happening.
The metal sings aloud, ringing in the air. I need to adjust the speed-lets try slower, make deeper cuts.
Now it rumbles.
I have it pretty close-
I need shallower passes, at higher speed. The lines on the guide run straight, but the plan is not always clear. That’s the beauty of it they always say.
Until it’s for a grade and then it merely frustrates, God forbid it’s for pay.
Improvise! Be an artist-play the instrument!
It would be much easier to find a recorded part and let the device control me.
I do not exactly control it this way-it is me.
I train these new limbs, interlocking geared neurons.
Brining me closer to the world-to find what I would not have with only a voice and hands:
the harmony, the essential object that is inside that brick of metal. What could I do if I weren’t drawn away by all the other things.
No need to worry about that because right now, they don’t.
Even if I cannot make everything that surrounds me.
I know where it came from-I have some idea of how long it took to make.
As soon as I’m making progress, I check the clock only to see that I’ve run out of time.
Unscrew the tool from the compound. Loosen the hair of the bow. Brush down and wipe every surface clean.
Cleaner than I found it? Definitely not; dirtier unless the previous user had a particularly egregious attitude towards cleanliness.
Or was in a hurry to get home and eat dinner.
To consume and be entertained by things they don’t understand.
Who am I to judge, sometimes that’s me.