In the past two years, I've made a LOT of stuff, learning a ton along the way: a series of wall crosses, a pair of end tables, a number of boxes, some frames, a couple of decorative pieces, and if memory serves 13 guitars.
Guitars are the real obsession. I've been playing since 1987. I'd die on the inside if I weren't able to play again. Playing has become extremely therapeutic for me. It's allowed me to express the depth of every emotion I have. I thank God for it too, because words just can't express what one feels. My fingers press down on and bend the strings, giving voice to my anguish, joy, love, rage, extacy, and depression. When my ex wife forced me out of my house, the rage poured through the guitar and out of the amp in a so clear a way you could feel the hate in the air. When my mother died, the strings cried the tears that I couldn't. When my children were born, the joy fell off the fretboard and through the house. When I'm at church, the chords and solos are my personal love letter to God.
One of my life's ambitions was to build my own instrument. Let me tell you - the satisfaction of pouring out all of the emotion I just described, but with an instrument I made with my bare hands is like nothing I've experienced before.
It's odd, really. I'm sick... diseased... consumed with G.A.S. No, not the typical male gas that will kill clouds of insects. Well.... I am filled with that too, much to the chagrin of my wife, but I'm talking about Guitar Acquisition Syndrome. For years, I had only one guitar: the 1988 Steinberger I was given as a graduation present from High School. I played it until 1999 when I "made" my first guitar: a kit from Carvin. I put quotes on made because I didn't make a damn thing. Everything came in the package done and just needed to be assembled. In the two years I've been messing with this, I've made 13, disassembled a few for parts, and have probably 5-10 more that I know I want to make. It's a disease, but I don't want the cure.
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