A guitar is never built by one person alone. Long before the first shaving of wood curls onto the floor, it already belongs to two people — the hands that shape it and the hands that will one day play it. That meeting, between luthier and musician, is where I believe an instrument truly begins. My workshop exists for that exchange: a place to trade ideas, needs, and small acts of innovation around the instrument we both serve — the classical guitar.

Everything here follows from that belief. Spruce and cedar, rosewood and cypress travel in from Switzerland, Italy, Austria, and Spain, and rest in the workshop until they're ready — seasoned, quieted, listened to. I never choose a set of tonewoods alone; that decision is made together with the guitarist standing in front of me, matching grain and voice to the sound they already carry in their head. From there, the old ways take over — a fan-braced top carved and tapped by hand, sides bent slowly over heat, a neck fitted by feel — each guitar shaped as much by that first conversation as by the wood itself.

Just beyond the bench, the Salon carries that same spirit further. It's where finished guitars are tried and talked about over a coffee or a glass of wine, and where, in time, I hope to open the door to small events — evenings where fellow artists can share their own craft with the guitarists and guitar lovers who gather there. The workshop builds the instrument; the Salon builds the community around it.