Violin player makes his instrument, then his music

JEFFERSON CITY, Mo. -- Jerry Field had repaired the seam of his own $40 pawnshop violin so he could finally learn how to play the fiddle, a childhood aspiration.

But it was the "gift" from his private instructor of a late 1800s German-made violin, fractured in pieces and tossed in the garbage, that sparked a lifelong pursuit.

"He wanted to see if I could put it together," Field said. "I was instantly fired up by the challenge: Can I do this? Can I put this back together?"

As he was mentored as a luthier -- one who makes stringed instruments -- Field continued to seek advanced understanding of the instrument.

"I learn all I can from other people," Field said. He's involved with Internet forums, reads trade magazines and journals, and has even traveled to Europe to observe a Romanian workshop.

"But the best way to learn is making one ... [and] making mistakes and learning from them," Field said.

He began his first work from scratch in 1995.

It's tedious business, using hand tools to shave a 1 1/2-inch maple or spruce board to only a few millimeters thick, not to mention applying the right curvature and exact connection points.

In the days before electricity, luthiers would hold the thinned wood to candlelight to determine thickness.

"It's a little bit intuitive, a little bit eyeballing," Field said. "You want to take as much wood out as you possibly can so the ribs are unencumbered for vibration."

And it takes patience, often waiting hours for glue to dry after only a 10-minute modification.

"It's helpful to have a better instrument to compare to," Field said.

That's why he searches antique stores, junk shops and auction houses for violins he can restore. So besides putting another instrument back into playing condition, he has learned nuances of the design.

The oldest instrument he has repaired was one he found in a northwest Missouri junk store. He estimated it was made in Austria in the mid-1700s and had repairs at least 100 years old.

"It's an old warrior; it's got its battle scars," Field said.

But he chose to resurrect it from a quiet fate in the violin graveyard.

"Now it's a very playable instrument -- if I can turn loose of it," Field said.

His newest joy is a late 1700s violin in "primo" condition, which he acquired through an auction house. With inlaid mother of pearl and ebony, Field suspects it to be Bohemian.

"It's absolutely the finest-sounding instrument I've ever had my hands on," Field said. So he is searching for the maker, whom he suspects could be the famous Fernando Alberti, because of the initials F.A. etched on the instrument.

"I appreciate the workmanship," Field said. "There's no way I could ever do that."

Field's work may be as simple as a repairing a broken string to treating mouse damage.

"It's meticulous and slow," Field said.

Replacing a part or section means he has to shave a piece to fit, while minding the direction of the grain and then settling the new piece to be undetectable.

"Some I've been extremely pleased with, the owners forgot where the damage was," Field said. "But it can be frustrating and sometimes you have to let it go when it doesn't get any better."

Small changes can make a big difference.

By lifting the neck angle on an instrument by one millimeter, he "revolutionized an OK instrument to almost the best one" he has, Field said.

Or he might put a lot of work into one and then when it's played, "you think, 'Oh, now that stinks,"' he said.

To measure an instrument's health, Field plays "Ashoken Farewell" by Jay Unger from the theme for Public Broadcasting System's Civil War series.

"I can get a sense of the tonal quality of all four strings," Field said.

Interestingly, he said the fanciest-looking instruments often have the worst sound.

An 11-pound bundle of Mongolian stallion horse hair hangs beside his workbench to repair bows. And his late 1700s authentic violin repair bench has cubbies filled with woodworking tools.

But most often, he has in his hands his own tools, fashioned from modified bits of putty knives or straight razors. He even makes his own handles to fit the shape of his hands.

"The most important rule -- sharp tools," Field said.

The second is to stay focused.

"You can make a bad mistake or hurt yourself when you're in a hurry," he said.

He once needed six stitches across his left thumb after nicking an artery and causing minor damage to a nerve.

"I've been sewn up several times," Field said.

Despite the meticulous nature of carving, planing and rounding delicate and precise pieces of wood, Field hopes to spend more time with this beloved craft after retirement from full-time ministry.

"I genuinely love doing it," Field said. "It's always an exciting adventure." "You get a hold of one and take the top off to see what's underneath," he said.

His repairs have traveled as far as El Salvador's National Symphony.

He only has made six violins of his own in 11 years. Number seven has been taking shape for a year.

Surprisingly, he found an impressive supplier of tonal woods in mid-Missouri. And he continues the centuries-old tradition -- even stretching back to Stradivarius -- of using ground-up animal hide for glue.

"There's never been an improvement; it's the perfect glue for instruments," he said.

He also taps into his talents as a painter when he mixes his own dyes and varnishes.

"But touch-up varnish work, trying to match an instrument's varnish, can be a real challenge," Field said.

About a year ago, Field resumed private lessons. And now he plays at weekly chapel services.

But he has joked that he hopes to take care of the orchestra's instruments.

"I've enjoyed playing with a group," Field said. "But I really like the making and repairing."

"If I could only do one, I'd do the making," he said.