he seems to be very passionate .a true artist ...sensible and passionate ... thanks sylvain
----- Original Message ----- From: Augusto de Ornellas Abreu To: [email protected] Sent: Monday, October 29, 2007 11:15 AM Subject: Re: [HG] why i bought the ebay pouget hurdy girl-dy ... Jesús is one of the greatest luthiers around... My maker studied under him for many years... On 10/29/07, sylvain gagnon mini moteur 2000 inc <[EMAIL PROTECTED]> wrote: Date: Thu, 29 Mar 2001 22:00:47 -0500 From: Cathy Moore <cathy _at_ proseprovider.com > Subject: Re: [HG] A letter to Pouget, translated Here's a translation, well worth the effort: Dear Mr. Pouget, During the last few weeks, I have had the privilege of restoring one of your hurdy-gurdies, precisely, one that you built in Ardentes in April, 1856. The person who requested the restoration bought it in an antique shop in Salamanca. The wheel of fortune had brought it there, who knows in what way. The poor thing was very dilapidated, broken and eaten by hundreds of insects. When I first saw it, I thought there was no hope; it was missing many original pieces, keys, tangents, and pegs, and had several cracked and sunken staves. I had the hurdy-gurdy on the workbench and turned it around and around, examining its state and convincing myself more and more that this was an impossible job. I stepped back a bit, lit a cigarette, and looked at the hurdy-gurdy as if asking forgiveness for feeling incapable. It was there, quiet, silent. I don't know why, but I began to think of you. I closed my eyes and I seemed to see you in your workshop that distant spring. I saw with total clarity your hands carving the keybox and in the expression on your face I saw everything clearly. All this tenderness deserved a better end. It couldn't stay mute forever. In that moment you looked at me and a light smile appeared on your lips. I have to confess that I was surprised that the darkness had taken over my workshop, and all that remained of my cigarette was a long strip of ash that bent inevitably toward the floor. I didn't want to turn on the light and for a few minutes I caressed the hurdy-gurdy in silence. Under my fingertips, I felt its moaning whine and its pain, which more and more became mine. Now it was clear that I should try and I knew that you would help me. The next morning, a state of excitement took over me. In the workshop everything was ready. I had to take photos, take it apart, warm water, permetrina?, paraloid?, knives, paintbrushes -- the entire process was clear in my mind. When I began to take off the top, I thought that the best I could find inside would be a message written by you. I thought this because I am in the habit of doing this. I write poems in the interior of my instruments, always in the top in a place no one can see, messages for the future, for when dust covers my bones and my instruments become the perfume that remains of the vague memory of my existence. But there was only your handwritten label. I cleaned it with a paintbrush, gently, until I could read "Faet par moi Pouget mois d´avril 1856". This has been a meticulous and very gratifying job. Every step forward, every problem solved filled me with anxiety about finishing it. I couldn"t save the wheel because it was in very bad condition and I decided to make a new one. I took the liberty of putting in bearings and making it removable to resolve any problem that might present itself in the future. I hope that the change doesn't displease you. If you like, in another letter I will tell you about the improvements in hurdy-gurdy construction introduced in recent years. I can't find words to describe the wave of feeling that washed over me when I finally put on the strings, tuned them, adjusted the cotton and resin, and began to play -- a clean and brilliant sound surrounded everything. At first I had trouble getting a clear sound from the trompette. The dog that I had installed was too small and didn't respond correctly. I checked the angles of the string and realized that I needed a taller dog. I made a new one and then it worked, a little harsh for my taste, but all the beats came out easily and precisely. I improvised a bourree and while I played, everything became drenched with a strange sensation of peace, until the light of that March morning became an accomplice in the moment and in the bit of sky that I can see through my window, clouds threatening rain disappeared. The hurdy-gurdy now has its voice again and sings again. I hope that the music that comes from its entrails makes us dance, laugh, or cry. In the end, music is the language that everyone understands, a language that unites us. Now all that remains is for me to thank you for everything that I've learned working on your hurdy-gurdy, and I promise that if I go through Ardentes I will look you up and we'll drink a toast with a glass of wine, for music and for all that we've shared. With best regards and all my respect, Jesús Reolid welll if someone have closer picture of a pouget like this it will be realy aprciate ..thanks..sylvain send to [EMAIL PROTECTED] ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ No virus found in this incoming message. Checked by AVG Free Edition. Version: 7.5.503 / Virus Database: 269.15.12/1097 - Release Date: 2007-10-28 13:58
