Gennady Filimonov, a violinist with the Seattle Symphony,
had always wondered whether alternative materials could be used to
make a frog for a bow. "I had read about endangered materials
[such as ivory and tortoiseshell], and I thought amber would be a
really cool substitute," he recalls enthusiastically. "It
looks beautiful, and it lasts; plus, I'm Russian, and my mother has
a lot of amber jewelry." He also likes to own a variety of bows,
choosing which one to play according to the style of music. "With
bows it's like a marriage," he says cheerfully, "but the
good thing about bows is that I can be polygamous!"
Filimonov already had a maker in mind. Washington bow
maker Keith Peck, whose bows are popular with Seattle Symphony members,
had already made three bows for Filimonov since the violinist first
came to Seattle in early 1994. Another orchestra player introduced
them. "When I met him, we clicked," says Filimonov. "He
plays, too, so we've played chamber music together. I have a good
ongoing relationship with him."
Peck started out as a cellist but became interested
in instrument making in the early '70s: his cello needed repair, and
next thing he knew he was learning how to make one himself. Eventually
his focus turned to bows. "I'm more intrigued by bows than by
instruments, partly because of a teacher I had who felt that bows
were perhaps more than half the setup," he explains. "He
had a collection of them, and he really emphasized the importance
of the bow."
Peck, a quiet, thoughtful man, was also a natural choice
for an unusual commission. "In a sense, everything I do is a
commission," he says. "I like to talk to players and see
how they're playing and what they're playing, what kind of material
would work for themÑand what's lacking in their current bow. I try
to aim for what they want, what they need. There's not a set vocabulary
to describe things; it's like trying to understand a different language
each time." Peck also brings a player's perspective to his lutherie.
"To me, [being a player] is a very important part of making,
so I play on everything. I've gotten used to playing violin bows—and
even bass bows—on my cello. I find it's nice to keep in practice,
too, because the better I play, the more I can push the bow and see
what it does."
Filimonov was hoping to push a bow further than Peck
had ever imagined. He showed up at Peck's door one day in the spring
of 1996 with a lump of Baltic amber his mother had bought for him
in her Russian neighborhood in New York. He also brought one of his
Peck bows, a copy of a Vuillaume with a frog of gold-mounted tortoiseshell.
Since tortoiseshell, a banned material, was no longer an option, Peck
had made the copy with an ebony frog. But now Filimonov was asking
for a frog replacement; his idea was that silver-mounted amber would
better hold to the spirit of the original tortoiseshell.
There were advantages to using a completed bow for the
experiment. Most important, Filimonov would have a perfectly good
frog to fall back on if his new idea proved unworkable. And he was
able to keep costs down by providing a finished stick and the rough
piece of amber himself. "When you get amber in the rough it's
cheaper," Filimonov explains. "It's harder to find unrefined
chunks than precut pieces, but they sell a lot of amber in my mother's
neighborhood. It's popular in that community."
Aside from providing the material, though, the violinist
offered Peck no specific instructions. "I just said, 'Go to town
on it!'" he says. He also left the time frame and the price of
the labor up to Peck. "I totally trust and respect him,"
says Filimonov. "And as far as time went, well, he had to work
up the chutzpah to cut into [the amber]—there was no room for
mistakes."
Was there an agreement in case it turned out badly?
"No," says Peck. "We both just blithely charged ahead."
But he did keep reminding Filimonov that the amber might not hold
up. "I told him that, every time I talked to him. When it was
done I called him and said, 'What's very beautiful but has no structural
integrity?' And he said, 'Oh, no! It didn't make it!'"
But it did make it—despite the difficulty of working
with amber, a fossilized resin that varies widely depending on where
it's found. "You try to cut it," says Peck, "and it
just goes 'chip-chip-chip.' You can't carve it like ebony." Not
only that, the piece of amber was barely large enough and very rough.
"It took me a while to get my courage up," Peck admits.
"I certainly would never have done it if he hadn't kept calling
and saying, 'Have you started yet?' The amber would still be sitting
there, an untouched lump."
Peck also used extra measures to try to protect the
fragile material. "I tried to back up the structure; the Vuillaume
style is very thin under the ferrule. I got some old drumhead and
lined the inside of the frog, and that seemed to add enough strength
so that it could be played." Otherwise, even a too-emphatic rehairing
might split the frog in half.
By autumn the bow was finished. Peck invited Filimonov
to come try it. "I had been playing with it very gingerly,"
Peck recalls. "Gennady took it and started wailing away! I held
my breath, but it held up." And his client loved the new frog
immediately, announcing that it suited his hand perfectly and was
much better than its ebony predecessor. Now Peck just worries about
the bow getting dropped, or smacked into something. But so far, so
good.
For his part, Filimonov is well pleased. "Everybody
loves it, and it plays great, feels great," he says happily.
"I also play a Peccatte copy [of Peck's], but I choose the amber
bow for most symphony and studio work because it fits me like a glove.
It's also one gram lighter than it used to be, which is great for
me." He also enjoys just gazing at it. "The amber is very
dense, with a lot of varying patterns on it. It's different every
way you look at it."
Not merely an amber aficionado, Filimonov feels strongly
that buying modern instruments is important. "Today, from what
I see, there's a renaissance in instrument making," he says emphatically.
"As a player, I believe it's a luxury to be able to commission
what you want. Just like in Vuillaume's days: he understood what it
was to be a player. We push the maker to new heights, in a way. Where
would we be if players such as Paganini hadn't pushed Vuillaume to
do more?"
Ever enthusiastic, Filimonov is already plotting his
next bow and reading up on amber. "The Baltic amber is denser
than other types," he says. "It'll be interesting to see
how different kinds work. I'm thinking about a bow with very light,
translucent amber—maybe with a Jurassic insect in it!" He'll
have to wait for Peck to catch up with his enthusiasm, though.
"He's talking about another one," says Peck,
"but I told him I need a little time to forget the problems.
Amber doesn't have any grain to work against, but that doesn't make
up for the difficulties." But neither is he sorry he got involved.
"Now that it's finished, it's fine," Peck admits. His voice
softens. He is, after all, a player too. "It has a nice, alive
feel," he says thoughtfully. "It really is a lovely material."
Filimonov may get that new bow yet.
