Perhaps no area of violinmaking has attracted as much speculation, study, and wild quackery as the question of varnish.    For many years, there was a pervasive idea that the secret of the great Cremonese makers was the varnish.  If only we could discover Stradivari’s secret recipe, our instruments would suddenly be transformed!  As if the model, the maker, the wood, and all the variables that make a fine instrument could be completely superseded by a few layers of varnish.

Fortunately, I begin my career as a violinmaker at a time when researchers, scientists, and makers begin a more systematic study of old varnishes.   As an apprentice at Alf Studios, along with my fellow apprentice Feng Jiang, we read the available literature on the subject and began our own experiments at cooking and applying varnish.

It is now generally agreed that the Cremonese varnishes were in fact quite simple in their ingredients.  By and large they were comprised of a drying oil such as linseed oil which was combined with natural tree resins.  The instruments would have been treated with a ground which probably darkened the surface and enhanced the grain of the wood, after which the pores of the wood would have been sealed by a protein layer, like albumen or casein.  On top of this there often appears a clear layer, which is followed by layers of varnish which are colored to one degree or another.

My own belief about varnish is that its thickness and hardness should not inhibit the sound of the instrument, but instead be, as Goldilocks said, “just right.”   A successful varnish should enhance the beauty of the wood by being optically lively and clear.  Good varnishes also have a good deal of texture and visual complexity.  This could be true of an antiqued or pristine finish. These textures are formed as the surface of the wood, the traces of tool marks, and the characteristics of the varnish layers themselves convey a three-dimensional surface to the viewer.   In fact, one of the reasons that pristinely-varnished instruments developed a negative reputation for being unattractive, I believe, originates in the fact that many makers in the course of laying on the new varnish obscured and lost all the interesting texture of the wood and workmanship beneath it.

I still cook all of my varnishes myself in the yard behind my studio.  The process begins with my thickening linseed oil in shallow trays over months, grinding and running the resins at high temperatures, and finally preparing my own pigments derived from Madder root and Cochineal.  Being in control of this process allows me to achieve a very attractive and consistent finish on my new instruments.