Some makers chase volume. Others chase trends. I chase tone.

My path to violin making began with a simple search—I wanted to learn guitar building but couldn't find a teacher. That search led me to Indiana University's Jacobs School of Music, one of the most respected violin making programs in the world. What I thought would be a detour became a calling.

I didn't just fall in love with the craft. I fell in love with the puzzle: how does wood become voice? How do grain patterns, density, and centuries-old techniques combine to create an instrument that will outlive us all?

Two Decades of Listening

Over the next twenty years, I immersed myself in the art. I managed violin shop workshops, refined my craft alongside master makers, and built over 100 instruments—violins, violas, and cellos. Each one taught me something new about how wood speaks.

But I wanted more control. More quiet. More focus.

In [YEAR], I left the busy workshops behind and built something rare: a personal atelier in Berea, Kentucky. Surrounded by peaceful hills and away from the noise, I could finally work the way I'd always imagined—one instrument at a time, with nothing but time and the sound in my mind guiding every choice.

The Sound Comes First

Every instrument begins the same way: I close my eyes and listen for what it should become.

Bright and projecting? Dark and rich? Sweet in the upper register? Powerful in the low end?

Only then do I select the wood. Spruce and maple aren't chosen for beauty first—they're chosen for stiffness, density, and growth ring spacing. These invisible details determine everything. The visual impact, the flame in the maple, the varnish color—those come second, chosen to complement the acoustic foundation.

But here's where my process diverges: before I ever carve a plate, I treat and age the wood using techniques I've developed over decades. This isn't about rushing maturity—it's about awakening the wood's potential, coaxing out resonance that might take other instruments years to develop naturally.

What I Love Most

There's a meditation in the long hours of planing and scraping. The whisper of the blade. The slow emergence of the arch. The bending of the ribs, curved and steamed until they remember their new shape.

And then—the varnish. Layer by layer, watching the wood come alive with color and depth.

But nothing compares to the first sound. That moment when I pluck the string, draw the bow, and hear a voice that wasn't there before. A voice that will be played in concert halls, practice rooms, and living rooms long after I'm gone.

That's what I'm really making. Not violins. Voices.

Recognition

In 2022, the Violin Society of America awarded one of my instruments for Tone at their International Violin Making Competition—a validation that what I hear in the workshop translates to what musicians feel under their chin and audiences hear from the stage.

But the real recognition comes from players. From the student who finally feels confident in auditions. From the professional who says, "This is the voice I've been searching for." From the adult who picks up the bow again after decades away and remembers why they fell in love with music in the first place.

Available Now

I work slowly. Intentionally. I typically complete 4-6 instruments per year.

Currently, I have a complete quartet available—two violins, a viola, and a cello—each built to complement the others while maintaining their individual character. They're available for trial in my Berea workshop, where you can play them in the same space where they were born.

If you're searching for an instrument with a voice worth listening to, I'd be honored to share my work with you.