foreword...

A violin is often compared to a romanticised image of a woman by makers of stringed instruments, artists, amateurs, collectors and sometimes musicians. The contour, the charm and the readiness of a girl under the virtuoso's hand. The sophistication, the aesthetic perfection. The voice, the tone, the image. The secrecy. The image of a string instrument, particularly a violin, causes a romantic reaction of familiar beauty, especially in people who are not involved with music. And there is no need to understand why this is so. 

We rarely meet people of a different kind. People like a man I had a chance to meet a long time ago in the centre of the Styrian capital, Maribor. He put a case on the table in the rehearsing hall, opened it and said something like: "This is this old board of mine." In the case lay a wonderful Guarnieri violin. 

When the instrument sat under the musician's chin and the bow strolled over the strings, I realised that underneath the robust attitude was actually hidden a sheer pride of the owner and a deep respect of a connoisseur. Of the years and the tradition the instrument carries, of the maker's craftsmanship and personality and of the palette of knowledge, talent and intuition needed for the creation of his instrument. 

Only a few minutes later, the final tones of the same melody died away underneath the ceiling of the rehearsing hall, only this time they were played on my first instrument, which I offered for testing to this acclaimed musician in my own visionary arrogance and maybe impudence. In that very moment, this musician’s favourable opinion and his respectful attitude to me as the instrument maker obliged me to devote myself to making string instruments for the rest of my life.

The wish of constantly gaining knowledge and experience in order to win respect and recognition of my work from those who are called most to judge it, has become the basic guiding principle of my efforts aimed at producing high quality instruments, accepted and appreciated by musicians.