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Curtains for Cremona
The
Strad, November, 1995
Stewart Pollens talks with Joseph
Curtin and Gregg Alf, violinmakers famed for their uncannily convincing
copies of classic Cremonese instruments.
Though artistic endeavours are most often undertaken independently, collaboration
is not a rare phenomenon in the world of violin making. Violins have
been made with the assistance of apprentices, journeymen and family members
since the earliest times; and the multitudes of so-called 'factory-made'
instruments have been for the most part hand-made, the products of a
division of labour.
What is rare is for two fully-skilled artisans of strong character, both
imbued with the entrepreneurial knack, to band together to produce fine
violins. Joseph Curtin and Gregg Alf met in Cremona, Italy, in 1982 and
decided to set up a workshop together - a decision that led to the establishment
in 1985 of the firm of Curtin & Alf in Ann Arbor, Michigan.
Today, Curtin and Alf each produce about 15 instruments a year and maintain
a staff of two shop assistants, an apprentice, and two administrative
personnel. They have been commissioned to make instruments by such renowned
musicians as Yehudi Menuhin, Ruggiero Ricci, Elmar Oliveira, and Zvi
Zeitlin, and their instruments are used by players in nearly two dozen
major orchestras around the world.
Joseph Curtin using a machinist's surface gauge to measure an instrument
to be copied
Joseph Curtin was born in Toronto on 6 April 1953, the son of a Viennese
photographer and a British painter. He began violin lessons in England
at the age of eleven, continuing his instrumental training while studying
music and philosophy at the University of Western Ontario and the University
of Toronto. After his college years, he studied the viola with Rivka
Golani, who at the time was married to the violin maker Otto Erdesz.
Disillusioned with his musical progress, Curtin began an apprenticeship
with Erdesz. 'He set up a bench for me at his house for a year, and I
finished my first instrument there - a viola based on his asymmetrical “virtuoso” model.
After that, I set up on my own and brought in work for criticism. Erdesz
is an amazingly talented man and was a wonderful and encouraging teacher.
He gave me beautiful wood for my first 20 or so instruments, and never
charged a penny either for wood or instruction. Rivka was also a great
inspiration. She gave me free lessons for a year when I had little money.
I will be thankful to them both my whole life long.
Closeup of scroll from violin made by Gregg Alf, modelled after the ‘Haddock’ Guarneri ‘del
Gesu’ of 1734
Gregg Alf was born in Los Angeles on 30 January 1957. He credits his
family for providing the encouragement and support to enter violin making.
'There was always music at home and a special regard for creativity and
for working with one's hands. While still in kindergarten I found a “Stradivarius” violin
in my family's barn. Some investigation with my father's help led to
the conclusion that it was a German factory instrument. But the seed
was planted. As a kid, I loved to take things apart to see how they worked.
I also liked to invent, fix or build, not just wooden objects, but anything
mechanical. I began playing the violin at age twelve, continuing my studies
through high school. Before going to college I spent a year in an English
independent school studying violin and music on an exchange scholarship.
‘While attending the University of the District of Columbia [studying
music and science] my father introduced me to a violin maker named Willis Gault.
He had a small, one-room shop in downtown Washington D.C. where he taught people
how to make violins. There I made my first violin in 1975, working on my knee
with a thumb plane, one scraper, a knife and two chisels. I was 18 at the time,
and although Willis was not known for his precision of cut, he taught me perhaps
the greatest lesson of all: to work with passion; to truly love the role of
helping each instrument to emerge. As I became more interested in making, I
gathered tools, books, and wood. Both of my grandfathers and several family
friends donated their violins for me to take apart, study and put back together.
In Iowa I got a job doing minor violin repair at a store called Miller Music.
Repair work was easy for me, but it hardly provided the same satisfaction as
making did. In the fall of 1976 I moved to Cremona and was accepted at the
International Violin Making School. With the support of my father and a small
grant from the region of Lombardy, I studied with Scarpini, Bulfari, Scolari
and Conia. In 1980, I graduated with the traditional Italian title of ‘maestro’.
I remained in Cremona for another four years, working in the shops of Conia
and Scolari. I also studied bow making with Giovanni Lucchi, augmented by a
summer course with Bill Salchow and some violin restoration with Gil Soloman.’
Closeup of scroll from violin made by Joseph Curtin, modelled after
the 'Prince Doria' Guarneri 'del Gesu' of 1734
After working for Erdesz, Curtin did some travelling in America and Europe,
meeting and exchanging ideas with instrument makers along the way. He
met Alf in Cremona and the two decided to collaborate in making a copy. ‘We
did it more or less for fun,’ Curtin recalls, ‘though I am
sure we both sensed we had a good combination of talents. I was handy
with varnish and Gregg could make an instrument sound as well as anyone
I'd met. The instrument we copied was a “Testore”, though
we later learned it was probably a fake. The next summer, a Guadagnini
came along, and we had a go at it. At that point, Gregg was about done
with Cremona and I was at a loose end, so we decided to set up a business
together. We are very different people with a common love for violin
making. At first, we divided the work according to our individual strengths.
Then as we both became more rounded makers, we divided tasks arbitrarily.
With the most recent copy - Zvi Zeitlin's “Prince Doria” Guarneri “del
Gesu” - we each made a copy independently. Although we have worked
on about a dozen instruments together, we ordinarily make them entirely
independently and label them accordingly.’
The
practice of making instrument copies that simulate the appearance of
age and use was well established at a sophisticated level by the mid-19th
century. Well-made copies by such 19th century makers as John Lott, the
Voller Brothers, and Samuel Nemessanyi continue to fool the experts.
And today, a small number of younger makers are involved in making antiqued
copies that are often quite a bit more convincing than those of their
forebears.
Last November, when violinist Elmar Oliveira delivered his ‘Stretton’ violin
to New York's Metropolitan Museum of Art for the Masterpieces of Guarneri ‘del
Gesu’ exhibition, he also brought his ‘Stretton’ copy
by Curtin & Alf. All present were impressed with the success of the
copy. The colour, transparency, and texture of the varnish, the modelling
of the edge work, ff-holes, corners and scroll, the re-creation of ‘del
Gesu's’ tell-tale tool marks, as well as the structure and setting
of the purfling were frighteningly similar to the original. The copy
showed every appearance of age, with the various aspects of wear - natural
discolouration of exposed wood, and the impregnation by dirt, skin oils,
and other materials meticulously recreated.
Violin by Joseph Curtin, modelled after the ‘Prince Doria’ Guarneri ‘del
Gesu’ of 1734
Copying brings the imitator into intimate contact with the work of the
originator, and Curtin & Alf have developed some ingenious techniques
of measurement and information collection. In making their initial analysis
of a violin, the original is placed on a surface plate, and a machinist's
surface gauge is used to assess symmetry, distortions, the true position
of centre lines, the location of ff-holes and so on. While some makers
make tracings of the perimeter of the original as a preliminary step
in generating the outline of the mould used to shape and support the
rib structure of the copy, Curtin & Alf use a semi-rigid acetate
overlay to mark the position of the purfling. Though the purfling was
originally marked and cut with a tool guided by the outer edge of the
instrument (and is thus a generation removed from the original outline),
it has not been subjected to as much wear and distortion as the edge
work. So Curtin & Alf view it as a more reliable starting point.
Both top and back purflings are marked on acetate sheets, which are then
used to mark out the outer layers of their mould (comprising three separable
layers held in alignment by registration pins). After transferring the
purfling outlines to the top and bottom layers, the thicker central section
is carved to blend the disparate outlines. In this way the distortions
of the ribs and the differing outlines of the top and back plates can
be faithfully recreated. RTV (room temperature vulcanising) ‘Silastic’ rubber
is used to make very accurate impressions of the top and back plates
and scroll of the original. Working castings are then made from these ‘moulds’.
Curtin & Alf's meticulous notes, tracings, measurements, and casts
form an indispensable archive that enable them to make copies of instruments
long after the originals have been returned.
Violin by Gregg Alf, modelled after the ‘Haddock’ Guarneri ‘del
Gesu’ of 1734
Surprisingly, Curtin & Alf have few qualms about revealing many of
the 'secrets' of their antiquing process. ‘We treat the wood with
a gentle organic process [which they were not yet ready to divulge],
then we use several days’ exposure to UV [ultra-violet] light to
tan the wood, followed by fuming in ammonia for 15 to 20 minutes. This
gives the lovely golden colour we associate with Italian grounds and
is quite different from the individual effects of UV or ammonia. We don't
use any other chemical treatments. The rest is done with pigments and
varnish.
‘After we have tanned and fumed the wood, we seal it with ‘Liquin’,
a Winsor & Newton product [an oil-modified alkyd resin used by painters
to accelerate drying and control ‘flow’ during glazing and detail
work], adding pigments as needed to adjust the colour. Then we apply a clear
ground of oil varnish, followed by a coat or two of coloured varnish. For varnishes,
we have used Geary Baese's formulations extensively, modified to suit our own
needs. I can recommend a formula of about one part sun-thickened linseed oil
to one part ‘cooked-down’ pine resin, or Venice turpentine, thinned
as necessary.’ The varnishing process proceeds very quickly (the viscous
varnish is pre-polymerised through the action of heat so that it sets very
quickly after application).
Achieving the appearance of age is another matter. ‘What is difficult’,
says Curtin, ‘is seeing what's really there on the old instrument
- a complex combination of original varnish, retouches, old wood and
so on. Daylight, preferably north light, is essential for evaluating
colour. And you have to know when to quit for a while, so that you can
come back with a fresh eye. It's imperative to have the basic palette
under control. Our basic pigments are rose madder, ultramarine blue and
lampblack (for toning down the colour), transparent brown, and quinacridone
yellow and orange [used either in dry form or ground in oil]. We used
to use Indian yellow, even though its transparency was not ideal, but
now we find that the quinacridone colours are much better and very stable.
I have never been much interested in homemade pigments - I've never seen
one whose effect could not be achieved with the best commercial pigments.
The important thing is to work with mixing colours until it becomes second
nature. Also it must be remembered that violin varnish is three-dimensional.
Its thickness and texture are hugely important to the final effect. If
you can get the texture right early on, so many things fall into place
when you add the antiquing. In doing the antiquing, a common mistake
is using fake dirts that are too black and opaque - the scratches jump
off the instrument in an unconvincing way. We use water-soluble mediums
for applying dirt. That way, they are easier to wash off when they are
not right, without destroying the underlying work.’
In dealing with the acoustical aspects of copying, Curtin & Alf recognise
that replicating plate thicknesses will not necessarily result in an
instrument that sounds or responds like the original. Over the years,
they have enlisted the help of Carleen Hutchins, Professor Gabriel Weinreich,
Xavier Boutillon and Charles Besnainou. In the attic of the Curtin & Alf
workshop, one can find Hutchins' set-up for assessing and altering the
vibrational modes using ‘Chladni’ patterns. At Weinreich's
acoustics laboratory at the University of Michigan, they are attempting
to develop a better means of assessing violin sound by eliminating the
variability imposed by the player. Working with Charles Boutillon at
the Laboratoire d'Acoustique Musicale in Paris, they are experimenting
with carbon-fibre and resin composites (with an outer wood laminate). ‘We
have built a prototype with a carbon-fibre and wood top,’ says
Curtin. ‘You can't tell from the outside that there is anything
unusual going on. It's actually a very successful instrument, though
we are not sure what to do with it next. Composites are already beginning
to play an important part in bow making. I'll be surprised if they do
not show up in violin making before long.’
Creating copies requires that makers develop an intimate understanding
of the originals and the techniques used to construct them. In that sense
the copyist is brought closer to the original maker's conception of the
violin. On the other hand, many of the techniques and materials used
to execute an exact copy are far removed from those originally employed,
and the freedom to develop an individual style - enjoyed by the early
makers - is not shared by the copyist.
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Is
this healthy for the craft of violin making? Alf comments: ‘I feel
that a sensitive and intuitive approach to one's work is founded in the
ability to see one's creation as having a “life” of its own.
I “make” a violin, but the instrument is really an expression
of acoustic and aesthetic principles that are much greater and more enduring
than myself. The replicas I make are really my way of studying with Strad
and Guarneri. It is humbling to have musicians come to me all the time
for copies of someone else's work. I just remember that, at my age, Stradivari
was only just beginning to develop his own lines and he certainly had
a better apprenticeship programme than mine! There is no hurry, because
the longer I copy, the more evolved my own ideas become. I do currently
make “personal” instruments which have all the tonal qualities
of the replicas and are inevitably influenced by the glowing look of
all the fine instruments I have handled.’
‘Besides making replicas as a way of studying the masters, we do it as
an accommodation to the players who are in transition from a time when it was
practical to perform on golden period Cremonese instruments. If more players
would come to today's makers with the same fervour as was the case hundreds
of years ago, I'm sure that better instruments would be developed. Our success
as makers is directly related to the interaction we have had with the concert
artists who use our instruments.’
‘Were Stradivari to be reincarnated as a young maker living and working
in Salt Lake City, he would probably be making Guarneri copies like the rest
of us! But seriously, I think the real challenge today is to work with innovation.
From new materials to new research tools, there is a lot going on now, and
I think that Stradivari would soon be in the middle of it all.’
Casts of instruments allow precise copies to be made long after the
originals have been returned.
Curtin adds: ‘I believe that violin making in the past few decades
has taken off in a way that it hasn't in centuries. What I think is happening
is a kind of looking back and consolidating of traditional techniques
and ideals - hence all the copying. This is providing better and better
new instruments and is clearing the way for whatever will come next.
This will, I hope, include more adventurous aesthetics. I admire Christophe
Landon's spirit in this regard, and I hope to strike out in new directions
when the time is right.’
‘Real innovation is fuelled by two things: the changing needs of performing
musicians; and the violin maker's understanding of how instruments work. A
decade ago, Gabriel Weinreich said that if we were to understand exactly what
a good violin does, and designed an instrument which did only that, he doubted
that the result would look much like a traditional violin. This startled and
angered me at the time, believing as I did in the perfection and immutability
of the violin. But over the years, I've come to see both a truth and a challenge
in the statement. The truth is that a deeper understanding of how instruments
work leads inevitably to changes in how we perceive and construct them. The
challenge is to understand the needs of today's musicians and create instruments
which will meet these needs in years to come.’
1221 Prospect Ave., Ann Arbor, MI 48104
(734) 665-2012 fax: (734) 665-4623
email: violins@alfstudios.com