The college theater was dim last Friday night, and the musicians played Brahms in andante, which means it was soft and low. I would’ve drifted to sleep it hadn’t been so beautiful. The concertmaster from the St. Louis Symphony Orchestra was visiting our little town, and I wasn’t about to miss watching him vibrato each … Continue reading The Concertmaster
A True Story from Home I remember Frank as an old man, always kneeling in some corner to measure or drill, always doing it quietly with trembly hands. I remember staring at the nub where I’d heard he’d lost a finger to a chop saw, and wondering if it was still lying in his shop … Continue reading The Man Who Built the Lord’s House
The newspaper was lying on the breakfast table last week, and while I ate my egg, I read an article about Mr. Krone, the man who (I think) made my violin, or at least restored it. The front-page picture showed him at a worktable, his big hands running raw wood under a chisel. He wore … Continue reading The Violin Maker
"Thank an artist today," someone said on Instagram last week, and I happened to be walking through the booths at the entrance to Silver Dollar City--- little closets of handmade brooms and paintings and pottery and baskets and woven rugs. The makers of each were dressed in their aprons and smocks, watching us and waiting. … Continue reading Thank the Artist
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