The shaping of the violin

Dear Readers,
this essay came this morning folded inside the newspapers!!! What a shock i got. Do read it!
The Straight Times Editor

The violin is, in essence, a work of art – beginning at the head, an elaborate scroll, rounded pegs, delicate and pale neck, curvaceous back, intricate bridge-carvings and f-holes, and the delightful bee-sting edges that seem to fulfill mystical trigonometric proportions; topped off with the different hues of deep wood stain and the deep blackness of the ebony fingerboard seem to bask in the light afternoon sunshine and radiate fragrance even without music. This artistic perfection reflects also the noble purpose of the craft of musical virtuosity – leading Shakespeare to proclaim of the Baroque violin, which used gut strings instead of modern metal: “Is it not strange that sheep’s guts should hale souls out of men’s bodies?” (Much ado about nothing, III, 3)

However, as the passage of time and practice goes by, the power of bow and fingers wreak havoc upon the gracious instrument, carving cuts and bruises into its varnish. As emotion throws the violinist onwards, the violin, too, is shaped and scratched by the uncontrollable force that snaps strings, cracks sound-posts, and pours sweat over the chin-rest. It is a paradox of sorts – the very flow of energy that pours from the beautiful instrument destroys its maker as it is spent in the ecstasy of every crescendo and climax.

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Yesterday, our school celebrated National Day, and after our short ceremony, a number of us proceeded back to our Primary Schools to visit our old teachers and catch up about times past. Since our graduation we have grown and matured much, morphing from adorable, innocuous kids into rough-and-tumble boys who have seen the animosity of a rugby match, the heat of rehearsals ahead of competitions, and the ferocity of school authority.

We have seen discrimination, bullying, scolding, strife, and vulgarity – the ugly terms and conditions that are rolled into one with the package deal of Secondary School life.

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As I reflected upon these two observations, I came to compare the new, perfect violin to a newborn child. Through time and space, both grow, under wielding influences of environment, parents, teachers and friends, or in other words rosin, bow, new strings and the heat of day. In the violent cataclysms that erupt when all changes occur, a dramatic power is unleashed both in the child and in the violin.

The child is emboldened and empowered as adolescence takes him through the shades of life, a vibrant and colorful journey that bears crimson anger, grey sadness, golden exhilaration and dark hatred. Experience gives him also new strength, with which he goes forth each day, to the classroom, to the canteen, to the playing-field, to forge the life that is earmarked with his unique identity.

The violin, too, sees the fervent enlightenment of each player that plants his fingers on its fingerboard – each who conducts the symphony of feeling, each who performs the concerto of livelihood, each who dances the waltz of life. All have their different outlooks, different interpretations, different characters, that shape, with every single nick of the paint, knock of the bow and twang of a string, the beauty of the violin.

I have come to believe, that the purest and truest beauty of each instrument is not in its untried and untouched form, but is constantly molded, like every earthenware pot on the potters wheel, by the music that touch its strings and resound off its body. There is never a complete instrument – one may think that after its making the construction of the instrument is ended – in fact, that is only the beginning.