Precision vs. Patience

What fascinates me about life is the constant, ongoing, learning opportunity.

I tend to think and move very rapidly in monomaniacal blasts of energy and exclusionary focus. The task at hand is accomplished, but weeds sprout in untended quarters.

But this week I’m watching the master gardener, my father-in-law.

He is growing his final crop. Cancer spread throughout his lungs, spine, lymph nodes and adrenal glands — a fifty year relationship with tobacco finally consummated. His body become fertilizer for his favorite plant.

From him, I’ve learned patience.

You tend the whole. You manage the system. His yearly gardens were lush environments where individual plants found space to thrive. Details, weeds, severed with a flick of his hoe, transformed into nutrients for the others. He worked in the cool of mornings and evenings, escaping the heat of high noon to inside tasks.

And so the bit of him that will live on inside me is to pace myself, and to share myself. He lamented recently: “You live. You accumulate a lifetime of knowledge. You die, and it’s gone.”

Yes.

But aware of that, I am talking to you. Sharing with you what I learn, as we go. Which is why this website is deliberately so much more than a billboard. My musings are an offer to engage in conversation. Hopefully we can learn from each other.

I am segmenting my days in a new way. An even application of energy and focus to a series of tasks. No more marathon shop shifts until I drop from exhaustion.

Cupid is growing in shorter daily spurts. Because my patience remains high, my precision remains high. I’ve discovered the instrument is some of my best work yet, as a result.

In the photos below, I’ve steam bent the sides of the acoustic chamber, then painstakingly fitted them together and to the body structure. Hand planes, scrapers, chisels and files were used — practical application of 18th century techniques.

LEARN MORE: Cupid

Comments

[goran]

Unbelievable precision. The fact that you made that by your hands is amazing. I am speachless again.

***

My dear uncle is dying in cancer. Good man and a good friend of mine. One of the rare people I can call friend.
Few days ago I was thinking about him and the words bellow were born.

please shine for me - i need to feel your light if only once again...
i need your hand to guide me through this night...

my spirit is crying, my lungs need fresh air...
with you everything feels right...

yet you must go soon...
your light slowly fades away...

i am struggling with tears....sometimes i win...
last glimpse of your light i embrace with pain...

fare well my friend