The Return of the Betterizer

 Hi. I recently experienced a tiny brainwave in my workshop, and I'd like to share it with you.

I've got a couple of lute backs here, and both are for a 5 course late medieval plectrum lute. The one nearest is made of curly ash; the one behind is of curly sycamore.

In the foreground is a contraption that I have described in a previous post, a locking turntable and block that are screwed up to the underside of the lute mold, and then held in a large ratchet clamp in my bench vise. The setup looks a little ungainly but it works great, since it allows me to hold the mold in practically any orientation. It's very useful when I'm building the back, fitting and gluing ribs, and working side-to-side (that is, working alternately on bass- and treble-side ribs), since I can simply loosen the knurled nuts under the turntable to spin the mold around. It's even more useful when I'm carving a lute mold, because that's an operation where it's helpful to see and carve the developing shape from as many angles and perspectives as possible.

So here's my brainwave. I decided to try attaching this universal-joint contraption to the lute back after it's been taken off the mold, to see if I could use it for scraping the back, resolving the rib lines, and giving the back a beautiful shape.

Now, I always do some initial filing of rib joints and scraping of ribs while the back is still on the mold; it's necessary, for instance, to get a shape that's pretty close to perfect at least on the bottom end of the body, in preparation for fitting and gluing the capping strip. 

But once the capping strip is glued on, I'm usually happy to get the back off the mold and reinforce it from the inside: glue paper strips on all the rib joints (and sometimes across the ribs too), glue in the counter cap, fit the false belly, and so on. Generally I don't work with the shape of the back again until later in the construction process, when I'm finishing out the whole lute in preparation for varnish.

The trouble with leaving rib/ body work till that late stage is that by then I'm working with an almost fully assembled lute, and there's no way to hold it completely steadily. The best way to hold it securely is in my lap, against the padded edge of my workbench. And as you can see, that puts me in the middle of a lot of wood dust (which I'm becoming more and more sensitive to every day.)

So, in an effort to separate me a bit from that cloud of dust, I thought I might try doing some of this work earlier in the process, by holding the back steadily in the vise.

Here's what I came up with. The false belly--the closely-fitted piece of panel board that temporarily maintains the shape of the body during the construction process--has been spot-glued into the completed back. I then pre-drilled four screw holes.

I screwed the block/ turntable assembly to the false belly, with a coupe of #10-2" screws. 

I then mounted the thing in the clamp in my bench vise. My only question at this point was whether the whole thing would be tight and sturdy enough to withstand the pressures of being worked on with files and scrapers (or whether, for instance, the spot-glues on the false belly might not hold.) The answer is: yes, it is strong and steady. I feel I need to be a little careful in handling the back when re-positioning it, but otherwise the assembly is very stable. 

That's my brainwave. It doesn't seem like a big deal, does it? And yet in a way, it is. It gives me a little more flexibility in assembling lutes, because it allows me to change up the sequence of construction. So, instead of waiting to the very end of the building process to resolve and tighten up all the rib lines, I can do it earlier on, and with more control. Or, I can do it later. It doesn't matter. The important thing is, I now have the choice. And the best part is, it didn't cost me a dime!

As some of you may know, I love betterizing: taking a contraption and adding to it or modifying it to extend its life or usefulness. I encourage you to betterize in your own workshop, and share the news with the world.

Here's a short video I made of the contraption in action. Enjoy.

Here's a Thing I Made, or, How to Hold A Lute Mold, or, The Return of the Betterizer

I have a question for all the lute makers out there: how do you hold a lute mold?

I've looked around at a lot of makers' websites and visited a few of their workshops, and I've seen a few different contraptions. Some are simple, elegant and useful, while others seem awkward and difficult. Here's a selection:

A plain stick of wood fitted in the underside of the mold, and held in a bench vice. This is the method used by Robert Lundberg, illustrated in his book Historical Lute Construction. Here is a photo of his protegé, Prof. Günter Mark, using the same method:

(Courtesy Liuto Forte)

I once used this method, for the second lute mold I ever made, and found it pretty inadequate. The mold can be tilted forward and back in the bench vice, but that's it. (I guess in a pinch you could turn it 90° in the vice, and tilt it side to side, if you really wanted to.) Not very convenient when you're carving a mold, and want to tilt it a little to scrape a rib facet, or slightly change the angle of light from your shop window or bench lamp. I'm sure this way of holding the mold worked fine for Lundberg (and does so for Prof. Mark), but my eye needs more angles, more ways of seeing. I want a way of holding a mold that allows a full range of motion, so I can set the mold in any position.

Here's a good example of a jig that I imagine works really well: two locking hinges. I've seen quite a few makers using this type of holder; here's a shot of Malcolm Prior with his. (Malcolm thinks this method might have originated with the renowned English maker Stephen Gottlieb.)

(Courtesy malcolmprior.co.uk)

I once tried to make one of these jigs out of stacked layers of plywood (again, early on in my lute making career), but lacked the skill or resources to do a good job. Malcolm's version looks very well made and useful--note the tightening levers on the bolts through both hinges. The mold (and lute back in progress) is held very securely, but is fully adjustable, tilting forward and back, as well as side to side, and rotating 360° where it sits in the bench vice (you can't see that part in this photo). I can't comment on its ease of use, never having used one, but it does allow a full range of motion and orientation in any position.

Here's the slickest of all the lute mold holders that I've seen. It belongs to Grant Tomlinson, and he tells me he bought it years ago from a supplier in Vancouver who's no longer in business; it was called a "universal carver's vice."

There's a big steel ball (like a trailer hitch) that bolts into a plate screwed to the underside of the mold. The ball is sandwiched between two half-inch steel plates, one of which is sunk into a big block of hardwood, which is held in the bench vice. A couple of heavy bolts cinch the plates around the ball; one of the bolts may be loosened (note the nut with lever attached in the view below), and the mold may be moved freely, and then secured in any position.

There's the owner of the mold (and mold holder) himself, Grant Tomlinson. As you can see, he's just getting ready to fit up and carve a new top block for this mold. In fact, he's getting ready to make top blocks (and bodies) for a new group of lutes. Here are the other three molds in the group:

Each is fitted with its own steel plate, so it's a fairly small matter to remove the current mold from the holder, and set up another. In this way, Grant can fit and glue a rib on one back, and while that's drying, set up the next mold, and fit and glue another. I doubt that Grant will be working on all four backs at once, but he might work on two at a time--most probably they'll be made of the same material (for instance, yew wood), so that he can set up his planes and other tools a certain way, and not have to change for a harder or softer material.

I got a chance to use this mold holder, and Grant's molds, when I worked with him in 2008-2009 (once again, my thanks to the Canada Council for the Arts for the grant that financed this residency.) One of Grant's instructions about using this piece of equipment is that it's essential to hold onto the work securely when loosening the nut and releasing the vice--if you don't, the mold will just fall over, and the consequences to it, and the back in-progress, could be devastating. (And no, in case you're wondering, I never let the mold slip!) If you've got a good hold of it, everything's fine: just re-position it, tighten the nut, and you're ready to go. 

(By the way, I've looked online for a mold holder like Grant's, and while I have found carving vices that kind of look like it, I've never found one that looked heavy-duty enough to withstand the weight of a mold and the wear and tear of using it pretty constantly for years, as Grant has done with his. If anyone has found a good version, please leave a comment and link at the end of the post--I'd love to have a look.)

What I used for years was a setup that Grant showed me a long time ago--the rig he used before finding that space-age carver's vice that he has now. A block of hardwood is screwed to the underside of the mold, and a large ratchet clamp grips the ends of that block. The bar of the clamp is encased in a built-up block of plywood, and that plywood block is held in the bench vice. It's low-tech, but effective--just the kind of thing I like. Have a look.

Everything's very secure. You can see that I've drilled through the hardwood handle of the clamp and inserted a 3/8" bolt, which gives plenty of leverage when tightening up against the hardwood block. 

Here's a look at the plywood block that holds the clamp, and sits in the vice--it's an essential part of the rig. It's built up of layers of ply, and as you can see, some thicknesses of card to ensure the clamp's held tightly. 

The setup has some drawbacks, but a few things work really well. Once you've clamped up the block a few times, there gets to be a kind of recess pressed into both ends, where the jaws almost automatically fit whenever you clamp up. Also, the clamping pressure is so good that you can tilt the mold by simply pulling it toward you or pushing it away (as shown in the photo above), without having to loosen the clamp. I've found it very handy to have this small amount of flexibility available, when carving the mold or fitting a rib. It allows a quick glimpse at the work from a slightly different angle, which can be a great help in the middle of the process.

Now the drawbacks. The mold tilts away or toward you, or forward and back in the bench vice, but it doesn't rotate, which means it's always facing in the same direction--unless you release it from the clamp or the vice, lift it up, turn it about in your hands, and then clamp or vice it again. (That's what you have to do if, for instance, you've fitted and glued a rib on one side of the body, and want to do the same on the other.) It's a royal pain--I did it for years, and while it's a good workout for your biceps, it's also pretty awkward, and potentially hazardous to the ongoing back assembly.

The main problem, though, is that like the Lundberg/ Mark setup, there's no way to alter the orientation if you want a slightly different view when carving a mold--to see how light and shadow fall upon the complex shape, or to follow a rib facet as it comes up in a long, graceful curve from the neck joint toward the abrupt transition at bottom end. I find mold carving to be a very demanding and difficult process, and as I said above, I need as many different angles and ways of seeing as possible in order to do a decent job of it.

So, a little while ago, I put the betterizer part of my brain to work, and came up with a solution that performs very well. I've talked about "betterizing" before in this workshop diary--I define it as a specific kind of improvement one makes to a tool or a jig in response to a displeasure one has felt building up, almost unconsciously, over many years, toward a certain shortcoming in the tool. It's like a burr under the saddle or a stone in your shoe, an irritation that can be ignored or withstood for a long time, but once decisive action is taken... there is only the freedom and sheer joy of having a tool that performs exactly as you want it to.

Here's what I came up with--a turntable that allows the mold to rotate 360°, and can be locked firmly in any position. As you see, it fits in between the mold and the hardwood block.

Here's a look at it separate from the mold.

There are two knurled nuts, on two bolts, one on each side of the hardwood block. Remove those nuts, and the top plate (along with the hardwood block) can be lifted off, to show the inner workings.  

The turntable base is made up of two thicknesses of 1/2" birch plywood, with one extra thickness of 1/8" ply on the bottom. The upper layer of 1/2" material, as you see here, is cut in two pieces in the bandsaw--an inner circle and an outer ring--to leave a channel about 1/2" wide, wide enough for the shanks of a couple of carriage bolts to travel freely around it. The lower 1/2" layer is cut in two pieces in the same way, but the space between the outer ring and the inner circle is a little more than 1" wide--wide enough to allow the head of the carriage bolt to travel freely. If you flip the base over, this is what you see: the outer 1/8" plywood layer. All of these wood screws are what hold the layers and pieces of the base plate together.

One other crucial feature of the turntable is the length of 1/2" maple dowel which centres all the layers, connecting the top plate and base plate together. It's the axis upon which the turntable turns. This is the underside of the top plate, showing the centre hole into which the dowel fits; the #12 screws that attach the top plate to the hardwood block; and the two holes through which the carriage bolts will fit up when the two plates are put together.

Here are the carriage bolt, spacer disc (made of 3/8" ply), and knurled nut.

Just a word about the knurled nut: it's simply a hexagonal-head nut which I embed within a couple of layers of ply (you can see the threads of the nut winking in the photo below.) I "knurl" the outer edge of the disc in the band saw, and then relieve the rough corners with a file. I could use wing nuts for this purpose, I suppose, but I prefer these shop made nuts because they are secure and easy to twist, which you end up doing a lot with this rig. I think wing nuts would be harder on the fingers, after a long day at the workbench carving a mold.

And here's what it's like, with the plates fitted together, waiting to be fixed to the underside of the mold--

Which I do with a couple of stout #12 wood screws on each side of the turntable (so there are four screws altogether holding it to the mold.)

Once it's fixed to the underside of the mold, just clamp the hardwood block into the big orange ratchet clamp and get to work. To turn the mold around, just back off the nuts about a half-turn, rotate the mold to the desired position, and tighten the nuts back up again. It really is that simple.

I remember the day I first made one of these things and tried it out: I was so thrilled, I must have spent an hour just loosening the nuts, repositioning the mold, tightening the nuts again. The turntable, and the mold, could be spun effortlessly, but there was no danger of anything falling over or falling apart; and when I tightened up the nuts, with only moderate finger pressure, the mold would stay very securely in its position. I could tell I had made a good jig, one that worked and would be safe and durable to use, whether I was carving a mold, or fitting and gluing a rib, or as I'm doing here, carving a top block for a new lute back.

It's like a miracle--I can position this mold in any direction I want, except, perhaps, upside down (but I will work on that.)

So there it is, another troublesome operation in the shop all betterized. It really is not an exaggeration to say that this invention has made my work with molds and backs much easier and more satisfying in so many ways. It's like a toothache is suddenly gone. I can't believe I made lutes before I started using this rig.

If anyone reading wants to make one of these things for him or herself, please be my guest. If you need any further hints on how it's done, just leave a comment here. And if you make any improvements to this rig, please let me know.

Go forth and betterize!

Calling All Lute Makers, 2017, or: Building a Lute at the Kitchen Table

Hey everybody--what are you up to this coming August? If you're itching to do some lute making, I've got just the thing for you....

I will again be teaching the lute building class at the LSA Festival West (AKA WestFest), this year in its new location, the campus of the University of Victoria in Victoria, British Columbia, Canada, August 6-11 2017. I'm really excited about the move--Victoria is a beautiful and very musical city, and the UVic campus will be a lovely location for our classes and concerts. Full details of faculty, courses, accommodations, etc, may be found at the website of the Lute Society of America. Today, I want to tell you a little about what I have in mind for the lute building class.

As in years past, I'll be bringing tools and materials to a classroom on campus, where I will set up a fully operational lute making workshop. The difference, this time around, is that I'll be a little bit farther away from the comforts of my home workshop than I've been before. When the LSA Festival was held in Vancouver at the University of British Columbia (just down the street from my workshop), I could basically toss every tool, jig, and piece of wood I owned into a moving van and haul it out there, but now that it's in Victoria--a two-hour ferry ride away--I will have to be much more selective about what I bring. The new rule is that whatever comes with me must fit into the trunk of my car. So there, I guess, will be the first lesson of this lute building class: how little do you need, in terms of tools, equipment, and materials, to get a workshop working, and put together a lute? It's an important question for folks just starting out in instrument making, or who otherwise have limited space and resources to do so. Hence the subtitle for today's post, which has been the experience of many first time lute makers I've known: Building a Lute at the Kitchen Table.

As in years past, I want to touch on all the main lute building techniques:
--looking at historical evidence, and designing a lute;
--building a workable mold;
--choosing and thicknessing materials;
--bending and fitting ribs;
--joining and thicknessing the belly, and carving the rose;
--barring the belly;
--making the bridge;
--controlling the action (i.e., neck angle and string height) throughout the building process;
--and (as we say in the used-car business) much much more!!!

So, the course will be a mix of theoretical stuff and hands-on work, both for me and for class participants. I want this to be a hands-on course, so depending on your experience, skill level and comfort, I want you to try out the techniques of lute making.

There will also be a special emphasis this time out on how to do a final setup on a just-finished lute. For the last couple of years, the very talented emerging lute maker Wilma Van Berkel of London, Ontario, has been making regular visits to my Vancouver workshop to study with me.

Wilma, hard at work gluing on the belly

During those visits, she has worked on a single project: a 6 course lute, based on the small Frei (C34 in the Vienna KHM). Right now, she is working on the last couple of stages in her own workshop, varnishing the back and installing a peg box. If everything goes according to plan, she'll bring this lute with her to the WestFest, and there we'll work on the final-final steps in the class:
--fitting pegs;
--fitting a nut;
--filing string grooves and adjusting string heights;
--tying a set of gut frets;
--stringing up.

I think it'll be an exciting finish to Wilma's project--playing the first notes on a brand new instrument, in front of some of the best and brightest lute makers, players and teachers in the world. Not much pressure at all!

For the main part of the class, I want to work again with one particular model of lute: the 1592 Venere. You might remember that we worked with a 7 course, 13 rib version of this instrument in the 2015 building class in Vancouver. I think it makes a good model for two reasons: one, because it makes an excellent lute for beginning players, and two, because it makes an excellent lute for beginning makers (though of course it's great for more experienced makers and players too.) As in the 2015 class, I will offer a technical drawing of the lute, and a packet of other information, free to all class participants.

Here are a few pics of the lute that began life during that class, that I and some of my lute making colleagues here in Vancouver gradually put together over the months following the course.

The back, of 13 ribs of dark yew with sycamore spacers, was built by me and Wilma van Berkel.

This lovely bridge was made by Grant Tomlinson (Grant also kindly supplied the soundboard.)

Grant also made a set of pegs for the lute. Ray Nurse made (and fitted, and glued) the peg box, and made and fitted the nut.

I did most of the rest of the work on this lute--the neck, the fingerboard, thicknessing and barring the belly, finishing and varnishing, stringing, etc. Since it was already the product of a number of hands, I decided to include work by another emerging lute maker--Travis Carey. This is a rose that I carved for a lute that never quite got made, circa 2003. I'd kept it around for years as a demonstration piece, but Grant Tomlinson suggested that I inlay it in the new belly of this lute. I think it looks good--it adds a patina of instant age and respectability to a freshly-made lute, and it was certainly less work to inlay the old one than to cut a new rose! (By the way, recycling like this was commonly done in the workshops of the old master makers.)

Before I glued the belly in, I had all the makers involved write their initials on the maker's label that's glued on the inside of the lute's back, visible through the rose. (My darling wife Julia hand-lettered the label for us.)

So there we are: Grant Tomlinson, Ray Nurse, Wilma van Berkel, and me, Travis Carey: the Commonwealth of Vancouver Lute Makers. I would again like to thank everybody who participated in making the lute--many hands made lighter work for all, and I do appreciate the efforts. (I would also like to thank the Lute Society of America for covering the cost of a hardshell Kingham case.) The instrument was always intended to be used as a loaner or rental lute for a deserving student within Canada, and so it is: it's on loan to a student of music at the University of Victoria. (Perhaps it will make an appearance at the upcoming Lute Fest...)

Just as we did in the 2015 class, I want to start building another one of these lutes in August, again as (eventually) a loaner or rental for a deserving student or player here in Canada. We may not be able to build an entire lute in one week, but I want to make a good start--and I want the participants of the lute making class to lend a hand. I invite you to come to the class ready to give things a try--to bend a rib, fit a rib, glue a rib, help to carve the rose, carve a bridge, shape the neck, or make the peg-box--any of the thousand and one tasks involved building a lute. And, as is the custom for those who've worked on the lute, be ready to sign your initials on the maker's label.

I hope to see you there!

Because You Asked: Making a Lute Mold (6)

Hi again.  Today's the last installment in the series of how to make a solid lute mold.  We've built a big block of wood, carved it down into a shape, drawn rib lines and carved rib facets--all we have to do now is refine these lines and surfaces until we're satisfied. 

Simple enough to say it, but in practice I've found the refining to be a very long process.  It demands a lot of concentration, decision making, and intentional looking--from different perspectives, in different kinds of light.   It also requires you to mentally step away from the fact that you're sculpting a shape, and think, instead, of how bent wood ribs will actually fit together on the mold.  The fact is, you can stop work on the mold anytime you like, and make your mold any shape you want, but it doesn't necessarily follow that your mold will be easy, or even possible, to build on.  With that in mind, what I want to do today is give some techniques and hints to help you get a good-looking and practical shape for your mold.

The first thing to remember throughout this process is not to try to do everything at once.  Instead, think of working through drafts, or versions, of the mold.  What we have right now is a first draft (and a rather lumpy one at that.)  We'll do some shaping, remove a modest amount of material, then have a careful look at the whole.  We'll make some decisions, then go on to a second draft, where we'll do the same thing.  All the time, we're thinking of moving toward a shape--not just landing there, but moving toward it in careful steps.

In general, it's best to be conservative at this stage.   It's much easier to remove material from the mold a little at a time than it is to add material if you've gone too far.

Refining the Rib Lines
You'll remember that before we put in the rib lines, while we were still working on the overall shape, I suggested that it was natural and desirable to leave the surface of the mold slightly 'humped up' between cross sections.  I also said that eventually we would be bringing down these areas in a very controlled way--and that's what we'll do now.

The best way to see these humps between the cross sections is by looking at each rib line separately, not from the front or the side, but directly across the rib line--from above, with a strong light (your bench lamp) above you, and all other lights shut off.  You can also lay a dark cloth on your bench below the mold, to provide a contrast against which the rib line will stand out.

Sighting across the rib line, you'll see a series of humps between the cross sections.  This is good.  The idea now is to lower those humps gradually and create a smooth, continuous line.  To do this, use a sanding block (with, say, 180 grit paper) to gently take them down.  Be careful not to sand down your cross sections--these should be preserved.  Sand off only material between the cross section lines.

It's best to have a plan of attack when you're doing this work, rather than just randomly sanding away at various rib lines.  Here's how I proceed:  I mentally divide the mold into quadrants--treble and bass sides in front of and behind the largest cross section--and I begin by working with one front quadrant, then the other, and then one back quadrant, then the other.  I might work from the outside rib in toward the middle, then from the middle toward the outside rib.  However, even though I'm working on one rib line at a time, and one quadrant at a time, I'm always keeping an eye on the whole, trying to see how the rib lines are shaping up all over.  

Here's a look at the mold after we've had a go at all the rib lines.

You can see that where the rib lines have been sanded and flattened, the pencil line has been obliterated.  However, the tattooed pin holes are still clearly visible.  With your flexible curve, re-establish the pencil rib line; then as before, use your finger plane and curved scraper to remove material between the rib lines, to establish a good flat surface between them.

That's round one.   How's it looking?  A bit less bumpy, a bit more streamlined?  Good--we're making progress.

Now take some time to really look at how the mold is shaping up.  Look not only at the rib lines you've been working with, but also the facets you've carved between them.  Look at each one separately: does the shape curve gracefully, curling and flattening in an organic way?   Sight across each facet, from one rib line to another: are there bumps on one side that don't match the other?  In other words, will you be able to bend a strip of thin wood to a shape that will fit that facet closely?

Turn on the overhead light, then turn it off again.  Use your bench light to highlight certain spots; then back it off to get a good sense of the whole.  Walk to the far side of the room, then come close again.  Turn the mold around, look at it from above, behind, in front, below.  Take the mold over to the window, and look at it in natural light, both direct and indirect.  Think.  Brood.  Sigh.  Furrow your brow.  Scratch your chin.  With a pencil, and mark some spots where you might want to flatten the rib lines further.  Then take a deep breath, take up your sanding block, and go on to draft number two.

A Couple of Tools
A couple of tools that will make your life easier at this stage are a contour gauge and a sliding bevel.

The contour gauge allows you to take an accurate impression of a curved shape.  It's useful in two ways: first, it allows you to compare contours from one side of the mold to the other; second, it can sometimes show a hump or a bump more clearly than just looking at the rib line itself.  This is especially true if you're trying to get a smooth transition over one of your cross section points, where the rib line tends to hump up on each side.

(By the way, comparing rib lines from one side of the mold to the other likely won't give you an exact match.  That's to be expected, and it's not a problem, as long as the shapes are comparable, and good on each side.)

The second handy tool is the sliding bevel.  This tool allows you to look at the angle formed by the outer rib and the bottom of the mold.  That angle will obviously change as you go from the widest point forward, or back; the sliding bevel will help you judge whether the rib angle is changing gradually and gracefully.  It will also allow you to compare the rib angle from side to side on the mold.

The sliding bevel is perhaps most useful around the bottom of the mold, as you develop the shape of the capping strip.  Again, the angle changes as you move around the mold, but the angles should be similar from one side of the mold to the other.  

The Bottom of the Mold
The area back of the widest section is the most difficult part of the mold to shape.  All you have to guide you is the longitudinal section; every thing on either side of that is up for you to judge.  It helps if you have a good set of photographs of the original lute body you're working from, showing the bottom section from various angles, but you might have only a photo of the side view, and another of the whole back.  Or, you may not have any photos at all.  In any case, while it's true of the mold as a whole, it's especially true of this part of the mold: you are a sculptor, and you have to imagine this shape into being.

I can't say that much to guide you here, except to re-emphasize the principles I've given already--remove a little wood at a time, try to see the back area not in isolation but as part of the whole, and at the same time pay attention to individual facets, to judge whether you will actually be able to bend a rib into the shape you've made.  One other general principle is that of all the ribs, the center rib will likely be the one to have the sharpest bend at the bottom end.  All the other ribs will have a somewhat shallower bend, and they will likely become a little shallower the further they are away from the center.

The Capping Strip
Maybe the best way to help find a shape for the back end of the mold is by setting up the capping strip.  We've already put in a pin line to show its location (remember, we did this when we first set up the rib lines)--now, let's draw it in fully, and do some work to integrate it into the mold.

Once I've drawn in the location of the capping strip, I flatten the whole area, from the top of the capping strip to the very bottom edge of the mold.  Why do that?  Won't that spoil the nice rounded shape at the bottom of the mold?  Well, it will, but the fact is that once I actually get around to putting a back together on this mold, I'll need to flatten the ribs in that area anyway to create a gluing surface for the capping strip.  If I flatten the area on the mold first, then when I put the back together I can bend the tips of the ribs to follow that shape.  I'll be giving myself a head start in my flattening work, and I'll also save having to remove a lot of rib material to do it (which might otherwise thin out and possibly weaken the ribs in that spot.)

The more you refine the capping strip area, and the rib lines and facets leading up to it, the better idea you'll get of the shape of the whole bottom end.

Things are starting to look better here.  I can't remember how many drafts I went through on this particular mold to get it to this shape, but it was a few.  Each time I touched up the rib lines, and each time I flattened the facets between them, my work got more and more precise, and the mold got more and more refined.

Late-Stage Chores
As the overall shape evolves, and comes close to what you might hope is a finished shape, there are a few late items to pay attention to.

Keep refining the top block, but when the shape gets very close to finished, switch to working with a file (a #0 Grobet file works well), and file from the mold onto the top block.  Remove the block to have a look at how close you're getting to the marked cross section here--you should be very close indeed.

Another late-stage task is to scrape the facet of the center rib.  You'll remember I advised to leave that one alone for as long as possible, to preserve the longitudinal section you built into the mold.  At a certain point, though, hopefully when the mold is very close to its final shape, that longitudinal section needs to be scraped away, as the center rib takes its place as just another of the ribs on this lute mold.

While we're on the subject of scraping facets, another important late chore is to hollow-scrape the facets between all the rib lines.   Up until now we've been content to scrape them reasonably flat, for the purposes of carving a good overall shape.  However, we now have to take this scraping a step further, in anticipation of actually fitting a bent rib against the mold.

One characteristic of ribs bent with dry heat is that they tend to go somewhat concave across the width.  This makes for a really cool look on the finished instrument, but it can make for some difficulty in fitting and gluing ribs--unless you account for it on your mold.  That's what the hollow scraping is for.  The wider the rib you're working with, the more concave it's likely to go, but narrower rib facets--like the ones I'm working with here--need to be hollow scraped too.  Check with a straight edge all over the mold to make sure that they are.

Beyond the Theoretical
At this stage, your mold is very close to being finished--you've used the cross and long sections you built into the mold to carve yourself an elegant shape, with graceful, flowing lines.  But what if, after all this work, and all that careful attention you've paid, the lines aren't graceful, and the shape isn't elegant?  Well, the short answer is: you've got more work to do.

You may have gotten to a point where the practical shape of the thing you've made bumps up against the theoretical shape you're working with.  In other words, the cross sections you designed in two dimensions on your drawing just haven't translated well to three dimensions on the mold.  That's okay--it happens.  Usually, for me, the problem has been that I've ended up with a shape that's a bit too big and boxy on the front end of the mold (the area approximately behind the rose on the finished instrument.)  I'm not too upset if that happens, because it just means that I have a little more material to remove; it would be far worse if the area was designed too small, because once the material is gone, it's difficult to put back.

If this is the case for you, and you've got more material to remove, then just do it the way you've been doing it so far--a little at a time, working both sides of the mold evenly, keeping an eye on the flow of the ribs, as well as the overall shape.  You'll get there eventually.  I've found that when I'm working the area behind the rose, it's very easy to go too far, and to weaken it (I mean visually, not structurally), so do be careful.

The Finished Mold
The mold is finished when you declare it to be--when you're either satisfied with the shape, or you're so sick of working with it that you can't bear to look at it anymore.  (They might be the same thing.)  Here is the final shape of my mold.

I think this shape looks reasonable--reasonable enough, at least, for me to build a body on it, which is after all the only real way to tell if the mold is good or not.  If it builds a good-looking back, then I'll be satisfied; if it doesn't, then I'll work on it some more before building on it again.  Most of the molds in my shop have been works-in-progress; some have gone through numerous versions before reaching their final shape.  I'm looking for a shape that's practical, but also beautiful, and sometimes those qualities can be elusive.

You can see in the photos above that I've done a couple of things to finish up: I've inked the rib lines, and numbered the ribs.  You can number them consecutively if you want--I prefer to number the ribs separately on the treble and bass sides from the center rib out (i.e., 0 in the center, then T1, T2, T3, on the treble side, B1, B2, B3, on the bass, etc.)  I find this system helps me keep things straight as I'm working outward from the center rib when building the back.

Here's another hint--cut some strips of mylar, stick them down with double-sided tape, and trace the pattern of the rib.  A set of these rib patterns is very handy to have when you're laying out shapes on your rib material. 

One last thing to do is give the mold some kind of finish: two or three coats of a spray-on lacquer sanding sealer work well.  (Remember to remove the top block before you do it!)

You are now well and truly done your lute mold, and you have my congratulations in advance.  Take yourself out for a refreshing beverage of your choice--it's on me.  Don't overdo it though--you've got a lute to start building in the morning.

* * *

Post-Script 

And there you are, for those who asked (and those who didn't): this is how I make a solid wood lute mold.  I told you it was complicated!  Perhaps it's unnecessarily complicated; no doubt there are many ways you can find to do this more simply, or more efficiently, or more precisely.  I encourage you to experiment, and find the method that works best for you.  If you have the time, I'd like to hear from you--let me know what your experience is like using this method, or if you've come up with ways to improve the process (I'm a fan of those who betterize.)

I hope this is a help to lute makers, especially those who are starting out.  When I was building my first lutes, there wasn't much information around on how to make this kind of mold.  I don't think a solid wood mold is necessary for all kinds of lutes, but for some of the more complex shapes of certain lute bodies,  I think a solid wood mold is indispensable.

Still, while it's a very important part of the process, making a mold is really only a small part of the total work of making a lute--and after all, the whole lute is the true test.  The mold shown in the pictures I've used for this series is for a 12 course lute that I made in 2012.  How did it turn out?  You can judge for yourself--here's the lute's happy owner, Evan Plommer, favouring us with a tune, his own lovely setting of Walsingham.

Until we meet again...