December 16, 2008


I spent several hours tonight with your guitar.  I know every nook and cranny (how trite is that!).  I have wired my workshop for sound, and as I sat diligently sanding with 600 grit, bringing everything down to baby butt smooth, I had Django Rheinhart on the CD player and it was about as good as it gets.  Good because the music was excellent and the results were equal.  Your neck (not your neck) and your body (not your body) have become the smoothest most glorious objects which leave me wanting only to stroke and stroke.  There’s nothing more lovely.

I examined and became familiar with every curve and surface as I sanded, and I know your guitar like no one ever will.  There are gaps and blemishes and ripples which are so small and indiscernible that only I will know them.  I say this only because, if you or I were to examine our own present guitars, these things would be there, but we wouldn’t see them.   Only the one who spent hours sanding and checking and cleaning and sanding, would recognize these small communities.

It’s really a nice collection of excellent wood.  It’s not a guitar yet, but it’s going to be a great guitar.  I’ve been doing the tap tap tap thing trying to imagine the sound it will make when finally the strings are on.  It’s soon.  I know your patience has been tried, and as new age as this may sound, and as many apologies as I can make in advance for saying it, this guitar has determined its’ own pace as to when it decided to be completed.  It currently has given me the directive to get my shit together and wrap it up.  It’s hours away from being played.