Another part of harpsichord making that requires the greatest precision is the process of marking out the positions of the bridge and nut pins, and the positions of the hitch pins and wrest pins. All must correlate with one another - the bridge and nut pins must locate the strings in an exact place relative to the registers and the keyboard, and the hitch pins must draw the strings off the bridge at just the right angle, and so must the wrest pins. I use a sliding guide to carefully mark off the bridge and nut pins. It's painstaking work. I keep thinking there must be a better, less back-breaking way to do this. Perhaps there is, but I haven't stumbled across it yet. I know some makers use Mylar templates, perhaps a convenience left over from having made a kit instrument or two; this may be a good idea, or not. I don't really know.

One of the fascinating things about being a harpsichord maker is the discovery that other harpsichord makers use much the same processes, even though we work independently and don't share a lot of information. It seems there are just some logical way of doing things, and sooner or later we often arrive at about the same conclusion. The careful observer will notice that the Flemish instrument being marked out already has its papers lining the case walls. It might seem like a good idea to do the papers last, to avoid marking them up. But once the strings go in, the area behind the tuning pins becomes more or less inaccessable, so it's a lot easier to do the papers first.

At right is a picture of a harpsichord that I made for the Royal Conservatory of Music in Toronto. It's nearly completed save the gold lid banding. The person playing it is Colin Tilney, who kept the instrument at his home while he played it in prior to delivery to the RCM. Colin was of tremendous help to me in getting the maximum potential out of the instrument. It was something of a squeeze getting the harpsichord into his living room - it had to share space with several other keyboard instruments. This instrument is a French model, patterned loosely after a 1733 Francois Etienne Blanchet instrument. With a European spruce soundboard, it has developed a huge sound. I don't know if the sound "hugeness" is related to the soundboard material or not, but it is a very pretty bit of wood. I can't help thinking it must have some effect, but that may be psychological because the wood was extremely expensive. My usual material of choice for soundboards is Englemann spruce, of which I am very fond and with which I have had great success.

This harpsichord is black outside, and red inside. Actually, the outside is a General Motors metalic black lacquer with a clear coat, and the interior is an alkyd enamel named "Warhol Red", surfaced with a clear lacquer. Despite the metalic designation of the black lacquer, it is the most un-obvious effect, making itself known only under certain light conditions. Like stage lighting. Quite stunning, really.

Being an institutional instrument, its construction is very slightly different from that of a privately owned harpsichord - slightly more robust at the corners, heavier hardware, etc. The musical parts are pretty much the same, but the instrument must be able to stand up to mis-use and neglect.

Sometimes I just stand around and look at an instrument I have finished. Occasionally I take a picture. This is one of those occasions. It's a small clavichord, destined for a customer in Georgia. It has four octaves, and is fretted. Also, it's double strung with brass. I very much like these small clavichords. Their sound is I feel more interesting than the bigger unfretted instrument's sound. The individual who purchased this instrument intended to use it for new music, and it was going to be amplified.