I don’t build loud guitars.
I build guitars that reward a quiet room.
Honduran mahogany back, glued up this morning with hide glue and left in the go‑bar deck to find its shape. Adirondack top coming later in the week — quarter‑sawn, stiff across the grain, the kind of wood that asks a lot of you and rewards the asking.
This one’s for a fingerpicker in Portland who plays mostly in drop D and doesn’t need it to fill a theater. Good. Neither do I.
Every guitar I build is a quiet argument with the last one. I keep a spruce top too thin and it sings too fast. I keep one too thick and it holds back. Somewhere between them is the instrument the player came looking for — and my only job is to get out of its way.
Each commission begins with a long conversation — usually in the shop, sometimes on the phone if you’re far away. We talk about how you play, what you want to play next, and the instrument you’ve been carrying around in your head. From there the build takes nine to eleven months.
