Bogenbauer

Amidst the mysterious forests of the 19th century, craftsmen from the Massachusetts Bay Colony crafted violins and bows. They used old mahogany, burl maple shavings, amber-colored pine resin, aged walnut, and unique, secret varnishes.

Something magical lurks in the woods of New England. For centuries, they have been the stomping grounds of natives, Vikings, poets, hermits, and dreamers. The woodlands represent that which is just outside our door, yet secret and hidden, both frightening and inviting. Many of our great dramas revolve around the forest. For Thoreau and Emerson, it was the Massachusetts woodlands. They stretch from the outskirts of Boston to the wilds of western Massachusetts. All things civilized pales when you step beyond the colorless college life. The great thinkers of our early nation had their muse right beside them. Emerson's musings are peppered with the Massachusetts woods, and Thoreau conducted his great experiment right in them.

New England is characterized by a combination of the picturesque and the sublime. Like the lands of New England's founding fathers (English, Irish, Scottish), the mountains are not gigantic, but they are majestic. There are no Himalayas, no Rockies, no great lakes, no deep trenches. Yet entire folk tales populate the land's cracks and crevices. Caves are gateways to the lairs of wizards. Valleys are guarded by protective gods. The scale may be cozy, but the land beyond is infinite.

Emerson has everything he needs in the land that surrounds him. Magic isn't something that takes place in a distant realm. The seemingly mundane space between the trees offers ample possibilities if you look around. This magic permeates everything he writes. The artist jumps into the flow of creation. He or she imitates the Creator and freely follows inspiration. All around us are fleeting impressions. Small patches of land—farmyards, thickets, gardens, rooftops—where we are reminded of the larger world beyond the everyday. We don't have to travel to the wilderness to feel the endless space in our minds.

The magic of the Massachusetts forest in the Valley of the Pioneers also gave America something tangible—wood for musical instruments, among other things. Until the early 19th century, our young nation naturally relied on imports for many items, including instruments. Even the music we made was influenced by Europe. All of that began to change in the violin workshops of the Pioneer Valley. Our first American instruments were crafted there. Were they the tools we needed to create our own lexicon of music? Of course, they were only a part of it. But I like to think that the distilled magic of our maple, oak, pine, and rosin instruments opened the minds of American musicians. Over the next few hundred years, Americans made world-class music. Perhaps our greatest gift: jazz, blues, country, folk, rock 'n' roll, hip hop, and some of the most progressive classical music of the 20th century.

Bowmakers is meant to evoke the sensation of opening a violin case. There's the warm shellac of rosin and the opulence of mahogany and burl maple. It's a woody scent. The cold breeze of birch in the whistling winter wind hovers over the heart. The forest floor, slightly damp and blackened, dampens the bass (ha!) of the scent. Some will find it masculine. It's lush and bold, but could be worn by anyone.

- DS

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