JOHN GODSCHALL JOHNSON
One member of the Godschall
Johnson family that has made a legend of himself in his own lifetime is John
Godschall Johnson, eldest son of Douglas Reid Cholmondeley Godschall Johnson
and Alice Elizabeth Caseley. John was born on 4 November 1912.
John's career can be traced from
the popular press.
This article appeared in the Good
Weekend segment of the Sydney Morning Herald for Saturday 20 June
1981:
"Anna- Maria Dell' Oso talks
to two craftsmen in one of Australia's rarest trades. They are makers of
musical instruments. John Johnston makes violins in a Padstow garage. Bill
Bright creates harpischords in Barraba, near Tamworth.
The idea occurs to you as you
hold and turn over something beautiful in your hand; the craftsman's life, in
its effort to produce a beautiful thing, comes to develop the elements of a
beautiful thing in itself.
If you spend several days in the
workshops of musical-instrument makers, the relationship between quality of
work and mode of living will be even more apparent.
If he is a young craftsman, he
will be spending hours experimenting with materials and developing a workshop.
Already he'll be shying away from a 9 to 5 office and assembly line existence,
devoting his time to an ever expanding chessboard of private puzzles.
If he is old (as he generally
will be by the time his works are fine enough to develop a reputation), his
hands will be as coarse as wood shavings and his face as lined as a leather apron.
For the insttrument-maker deals with that
particularly ephemeral material, sound. Unlike the cabinet maker or jeweller,
the instrument maker not only has to fashion fine pieces, he has to create
vessels with the potential to utter anything from Chopsticks to the
Tchaikovsky's Violin Concerto.
Because this process is so
mysteriously nature bound, the instrument maker is a mysterious craftsman,
often difficult to find, enigmatic to talk to, buried in a back garage or deep
in the bush of a country town.
From the early 1600's Antonio
Stradivari began crafting violins in the northern town of Cremona. In 1981 at a
garage workshop in Padstow, John Godschall Johnson is trying to do the same
thing, though, he humbly admits, without quite the same incomparable old master
genius.
A creator of curly, full fiddles
for most of his 68 years, John Godschall Johnson works at his bench like a
character from Grimm's fairy tale. His hair white, he is as round as a cello
and his face bears a wizened expression. His workshop is situated in Rivenoak
Avenue beside a neat roses-and-letterbox cottage.
The violin workshop is cool and
dim. The only apparent piece of modern machinery is a hi-fi system which pulses
out various Vivaldi and Paganini concertos. John Godschall Johnson likes to
have the fiddles' sound softly about him as he shapes their fat little bodies.
"These are my
machines", he says, extending a pair of roughened but agile paws.
"Every bit of wood talks to me. No two pieces are the same".
John, well respected among Sydney
string players, is one of only a handful of fine violin makers in Australia.
The art is a difficult one and dying in the world where the assembly line can
knock them up, glue-box fashion, in their shiny dozens.
And time is shunting by: it is
more than 300 years since the Cremona masters made their finest instruments.
Even good fiddles by minor 18th and 19th century makers are getting old.
Many of them are beginning to
feel the strain. In last summer's humidity, Sydney musicians opened their cases
to find their 1804 Betts or 1779 Klotz, impregnated with the musical sweat of
centuries, had literally come unstuck.
This makes the conveyor belt
procession of factory fiddles slightly more insidious and the lone violin
craftsman's work doubly precious. John names makers who have recently died:
Sydney's renowned A. E. Smith in 1978 and the Victorians "Johnno"
Johnson and William Dolphin last year.
John Godschall Johnson, however, is
a fit as the 40 or so fiddles he has under various stages of construction. He
works from early light at 6 am till late into the evening seven days a week.
He is striving, he says, for
control, "such control as to be able to predetermine the sounds I will get
from a certain set of timbers".
A lifetime is barely enough to
complete the work he has set in motion.
Certainly he hopes it will be
long enough to build towards his projected magnus optus- a quartet of
instruments: two violins, a viola and a cello- from blocks of matched timbers
found by him by his Swiss timber agent, Franz Joseph Jaun of Rougement.
John heaves out these timbers-
maple from the Dalmatian coast of Yugoslavia and spruce from Switzerland- as
though they are snapshots of a favourite grandchild. He runs his fingers along
the grain, so tawny that varnish seems almost as unnecessary upon it as makeup
on a beauty.
Using change-the-subject tactics
John refuses to give away much about his past other than to reveal that he was
born in Queensland and began making violins more than 40 years ago.
It is impossible to put a price
on his fiddles, he says, because he does not sell them, merely dispatches them
to players on lifetime loans.
"I'm not compelled by the
market. There's only one reason I'm doing all this: I've got to know how they
did it".
John's continual referral to
"them" does not just include the crafty Italians of old but people of
the baroque times from which the violin emerged.
John points to a row of
dismembered fiddles on his desk. He is reconstructing them baroque style for
the Sydney Early Music Society.
It now takes John from two months
to a year to make a violin, but unravelling "their" mysteries looks
to take a good deal longer. Hence his workshop has grown to resemble the
convoluted, higgledy-piggledy secrets and sweat of his thinking.
There are the varnish experiments
going back 35 years, cobwebbed Vegemite jars full of them, honey, caramel, and
blood coloured with bits of steel wool, tin and nails lodged in them like
embryos.
There are carefully labelled
copies of The Strad magazine going back to 1896, and baby violins, no
bigger than fists, upon which various experiments have been wreaked.
Bunches of horses' tail hang from
hooks and stacked on shelves are pots with wizardly names: Trementina dal
Larice Veneta, Gummi Gutti, Dragon's Blood, Fused Fossil Amber, Frankincense,
Canada Balsam, Sun Thickened Linseed Oil.
John's most interesting theory is
that things must never be perfect.
"Modern instruments have perfect
symmetry, they're stamped out as if they were plastic buckets. But there are
few straight lines in nature. Look at trees, apples- they have their sameness
and difference to others of their kind".
"These `imperfect' sides
here", he points to old Stradivari drawings "they give a character to
the instrument which the perfectly symmetrical cannot".
This is not to indicate that John
scorns the insights of science. He corresponds with makers throughout the world
and has long discussions with friends, John McLenna, a metallurgist at the
University of NSW, and Bill Elliot, a chemist at Berger Paints.
It is rather that science is
absorbed into the more eclectic work of the craftsman. At his bench, John,
woodworker, sculptor, artist, chemist, and acoustic engineer, has long since
ceased to separate one skill from the other.
Another newspaper article dates
from 1982 when John was aged 71:
"John Godschall Johnson is
ready to try every trick in the book to create the perfect violin.
He hasn't managed it yet- and
sometimes doubts he ever will- despite being hard at it for the past 40 years.
The 71 year-old former print
worker and one time portrait painter took time out last week to talk to the
Torch about his work.
I have 100 years work ahead of
me, and only 50 years in which to do it," he said from his Padstow
workshop on Thursday.
"I'll carry on until age
gets the better of me- but until then I'll keep on trying."
John Godschall Johnson describes
his work as a science and says he is not in it for the money.
"I'm not working for the
market and never sell my instruments- I'm simply trying to make the best,"
he said.
Acknowledged as one of
Australia's finest violin makers, his methods are an unusual blend of ancient
and modern.
Of the ancient the wily old
craftsman recently treated one of his instruments to a six week soaking in
urine in a bid to improve the tone.
He explains: "I had the idea
after reading of a chemical analysis of a 200 year-old Italian violin, which
showed a greater percentage of iron, calcium and aluminium in the wood".
The violin then went into a
solution of Bentonite and silica gel to be followed by immersion in an alum
bath.
"The best violins ever seen
were made by the 17th century Italians, but a lot of their secrets have been
lost".
John has never played the violin,
but is sure he has the know-how to recapture the old Italian magic.
"I'm a woodworker, a
sculptor, and a painter and I have help from chemists and acoustics
experts," he said.
"I'm on my 34th violin now-
but quantity is not what I am after".
A native of Brisbane, John had a
tough introduction to the world as one of a family of eight children.
His effective schooling ceased at
the tender age of nine and he scratched a living selling newspapers in northern
Queensland.
The turning point came in 1934
when he "picked up his swag" and headed for Sydney- and an art
scholarship in East Sydney Technical College.
Studying at night John earned his
keep as an artist's model for some of Sydney's best young painters.
"I used to be an artist with
an interest in the violin- now I'm a violin maker with no time to paint",
he said.
John turned his hand to violins
after he and his wife bought one as a present for his mother.
"There was something about
that violin that bit into me- I wanted to know what made it tick".
Since then he has ploughed
thousands of dollars into violin making, using only the finest materials and
equipment.
"My wood is imported from Switzerland-
including a piece cut in 1732", said John.
Surrounded by more than 30
violins, violas, and cellos he often spends up to 14 hours a day in his
workshop.
He works with the music of
Beethoven and Stravinski ringing from two speakers on a workbench.
"I listen to their violin
pieces in particular, to remind me what it is all about", he said.
Father of three, John and his
wife Phyllis, have lived in Padstow for more than 20 years.
He is an active member of the
Australasian Instrument Makers Association.
****
In December 1982, John
contributed an article to the Stereo FM Radio Magazine entitled Baroque
Violin Construction.
The editorial introduction said:
"John Godschall Johnson of
Padstow is one of our leading violin makers and an authority on the restoration
of early instruments. In conjunction with Bill Elliot and Ray Holliday, he has
been conducting a fascinating programme of research into baroque violin
construction, and a number of his instruments are now in use for concert performances
of baroque music. This month 2MBS-FM will broadcast recordings of Bach's St
John Passion and Handel's Messiah in which members of Richard Gill's
Little Chamber Orchestra play violins restored to baroque configuration by John
Godschall Johnson.
John's article described the
baroque features of such violins:
Stradivarius never heard a violin
which sounded like a present day Stradivarius; nor did he ever see his
instruments looking as they do today. Have you ever wondered what the
differences are between a baroque instrument and a modern one? Changes in
details of construction have brought about profound changes in tonal quality.
Sol Babitz describes the baroque violin sound as "...a penetrating liquid
tone of great resonance. Its responsiveness to the slightest pressure of the
contemporary bow is so immediate and expressive as to make vibrato almost
unnecessary".
John then went on to describe the
original structural features of early instruments which have been altered
during subsequent rebuilding.
"The major structural
differences concern the size and position of the bass-bar inside the
instrument, and the length and manner of attachment of the neck.
The shape, size and length of the
early bass-bar varied with different makers, as described in the authoritative
Hill book on Stradivarius. However, in comparison with modern practice, it was
narrower, usually shorter, and not as high at its highest point. It was
positioned so that it passed under the centre of the foot of the bridge on the
G string, that is to say, slightly closer to the centre-line.
The neck of the early violin was
shorter and was not mortised into the top block as is the modern neck. The top
rib was continuous from corner to corner and the neck was shaped and glued up
against this rib. From two to four hand-made nails were driven through the top
block into the neck, and so the back of the neck needed more wood for the nails
to penetrate and obtain a grip.
"The modern neck has had
much of the wood removed towards the body, a change brought about by playing
techniques. Since baroque violinists did not go into the high positions on the
finger board (which was shorter), the extra thickness was not an inconvenience.
The neck was not angled down as in a modern violin but came out straight, on
the same plane as the belly edge. The finger-board, instead, was shaped to
provide the backward slope. All the early instruments in use today (at modern
pitch- roughly a semi-tone higher) have had the original neck removed and the
scroll spliced onto a new, longer neck.
"The stringing of the early
instruments also differed markedly from modern practice. The finger-board nut
(where the strings pass over from the peg box) was wider than the modern one.
The strings were thus set further apart at this end but closer to the bridge.
Thus they ran more nearly parallel then than now. The strings themselves were
of gut, with only the G string overwound. Surviving baroque tail-pieces are
rare, but are known to have been flatter with smaller circular holes for the
strings. The tail-gut came through the end of the tail-piece and passed over a
much lower saddle glued to the edge of the belly.
"Baroque bridges differed
greatly from modern ones and also among themselves. Not only was the early
bridge narrower and lower, but also much thinner. I have found that the
thicknesses of bridges giving an
authentic baroque sound (as nearly as we can judge today), average 1 to 1.3mm
where the strings pass over, tapering to 2.5 or 3mm at the feet. Surviving 17th
century bridges are exceedingly rare, but it appears that the foot on the G
string side was often left a little heavier. The material from which the bridge
was made was usually the same wood as was used for the back of the instrument,
no doubt from off cuts remaining when the back was cut out. Modern bridges on
the other hand are of maple, different from the wood of which the violin itself
is made.
"It is possible that the
string spacings at the bridge varied significantly during the baroque era.
Certainly there were variations in bridge dimensions. James Talbot's manuscript
describes height and width at the feet corresponding to surviving specimens,
but a width at the top greater by 6mm. This may indicate either a wider string
spacing or a bridge with flared sides.
"The vibrating string length
of the baroque violin was shorter than that of today, and the pitch was lower
by about a semi-tone. String tension was therefore much less. Furthermore the
shallower angle of the strings between finger-board nut and tail-piece resulted
in greatly reduced pressure being exerted on the belly of the instrument (the
Talbot manuscript describes a sound-post having...the thickness of a
goose-quill).
"The Tourte-type bow of
today also owes little to its baroque counterpart."
****
John was honoured in April 1984
to be invited to speak at the third National Conference of the Australian
String Teachers' Association held at the NSW Conservatorium of Music.
On Friday 20 April 1984 he
delivered a talk entitled "Violin Construction Methods of the Old Italian
Masters and Present Day Methods".
On Monday 23 April 1984, he
delivered a talk entitled "Differences in the Construction of Baroque and
Modern Violins which contribute to the Distinctive Sounds of Both".
He represented the Australian
Association of Musical Instrument Makers, a body which gave him prominent
listing as one of their distinguished members.
Just an excerpt of the
introduction to one of John's speeches may here be included:
"Many of the special qualities
of the 17th and 18th century instruments came to be seen as shortcomings in the
following century. They were then improved in order to match the sound of the
developing pianoforte and the demands of the symphony orchestra in the hands of
the Romantic composers.
The loss of the light, sweet yet
robust sound for which the Baroque and Classical composer wrote, may not be
made good by the substitution of the direct and penetrating voices given the
old instruments to meet those new demands.
Under their conditions of
employment, these composers usually wrote for an almost immediate performance
on the instruments of the day.
The practices of 17th and 18th
century performance invite years of study for the musician of today, whose
training is in the 19th century tradition. An attempt to do justice to the
style of a composition should perhaps begin with the use of instruments whose
specifications match those of the instruments played in the original
performance".
****
As stated above those lectures
were delivered by John as a representative of the Australian Association of
Musical Instrument Makers, of which body John is a member.
That association was formed to
encourage high standards of musical instrument making in Australia and provide
a range of services to makers to help achieve this end. Its aims include
encouraging the investigation of instruments and use of Australian timbers,
improving the availability of timbers, encouraging the education of makers, and
improving communication within and about the profession. They hold regular
meetings and lectures, an annual conference and display, and a quarterly
journal.
The write-up for John in the
Association's brochure says:
John Godschall Johnson 2 Rivenoak
Avenue, Padstow. Makes violins, violas, cellos and bows - baroque and modern.
Formerly a portrait painter, John has been making violins for 25 years. He is a
dedicated researcher into the methods of the old Italian masters, as he
believes that no one has been able to produce better instruments. He has
investigated and made discoveries relating to the moulds used, the treatment of
wood, the techniques of construction and composition of varnish, but admits
that the subject is one which will outlast him. He is especially interested in
the Baroque style of instrument, as made by the old Italian masters and for
which much of the great violin music was written.
Alongside John, the Association
figured Carey Beebe, Bob Meadows and Howard Oberg.
John could only be said to be in
fine company.
Carey Beebe makes harpischords
and other early keyboard instruments. He is the Australian agent for Zuckermann
Harpischords. From imported cut materials, Carey custom assembles instruments
so that it has its own sound and individuality. He is a performing musician and
graduate of the Sydney Conservatorium, where he majored in the harpischord.
Bob Meadows makes early and
modern fretted instruments, initially concentrating on guitars, and has trained
with the London College of Furniture and the Cass school of Art.
Howard Oberg is a lecturer in
flute and recorder in the NSW Conservatorium of Music and indulges in
instrument construction himself.
****
John began publicly demonstrating
woodcraft violin and cello making since 1983.
His demonstrations have covered
four States of Australia, and he has appeared in public in Melbourne, Brisbane,
Perth, Sydney, Newcastle, Canberra, Nowra, Gosford and elsewhere.
He sets his demonstrations up to
be entertaining and educational, displaying the woods used, the methods of construction,
with instruments in the various stages of construction on display. He also has
on hand completed instruments for amateurs and professionals to display,
including small violins of all sizes to encourage children to pick them up and
play. He also displays many of the tools he uses in their construction, and the
varnish materials with the completed varnish finish. He also displays and
demonstrates the methods he uses, based on the work of the Catgut Acoustical
Society in scientifically tuning the back and belly before assembly.
John has been so busy in this
department that he has had to decline more requests than he has been able to
accept.
His demonstrations range from one
days affairs to a week.
In 1988 he conducted 10
demonstrations over 34 days (335 hours); in 1989, 16 demonstrations over 36
days (322 hours); in 1990, 20 demonstrations over 55 days (494 hours); in 1991,
21 demonstrations over 60 days (526 hours); in 1992, 13 demonstrations over 91
days (554 hours); in 1993, 10 demonstrations over 45 days (354 hours); in 1994,
13 demonstrations over 39 days (407 hours); and in 1995 8 demonstrations over
26 days (258 hours). For that 8 year period, this combines to total 11
demonstrations over 386 days for a total of 3250 hours.
A typical round of commitments
was John's demonstrations for the year 1992. He attended the Sydney Powerhouse
Museum from 1 to 19 January, Sydney's Holroyd Family Festival at Merrylands
from 8 to 12 March, Darling Harbour at Sydney for its Music Expo from 30 April to
3 May, Sydney Powerhouse Museum from 18 to 24 May, The Timber and Working With
Wood Show at Brisbane Exhibition Hall, RNA Showgrounds from 12 to 15 June, the
Timber and Working With Wood Show at Sydney Showground from 24 to 26 July, the
Arts West Works at Glenswood Homestead, Sydney on 13 Sept, the Australian Craft
show, Exhibition Centre, Melbourne from 8 to 12 October, the Australian Crafts
how, Exhibition Hall, RNA Showground, Brisbane, from 28 October to 1 November,
the Australian Craft show, Canberra from 5 to 8 November, and the Australian
Craft show at Sydney Showground from 25 to 29 November.
****
The FM Radio station 2MBS-FM
continued to feature Baroque music.
In June 1990 the 2MBS_FM
Programme Guide featured an article entitled:
"King of the Golden Strings:
JOHN GODSCHALL JOHNSON", by Judith Reisner:
"The minute you meet him,
you know you are in luck. He has a voice of great warmth, eyes that twinkle
with both youth and wisdom, and is armed with a mind as sharp as a scalpel. So
you aren't surprised to find that he makes fine musical instruments... but then
you learn that his beautiful stringed instruments are never bought or sold, but
only given away!
The player is the custodian and
the instrument is engraved on the inside of the back: This Instrument May Be
Freely Given Never Bought Or Sold.
The first letters of those words
used to be all he inscribed on his work, until two years ago thieves stole two
of his loveliest instruments: one modern violin and one baroque violin which
were part of a free demonstration such as he gives at the 2MBS-FM Book and
Record Bazaar. If you happen to know such an instrument inscribed TIMBFGNBOS
and not its pedigree, notify 2MBS-FM or John immediately. You will have served
music well.
My first encounter with John was
after a Musica Viva concert some years ago as we both watched The English
Concert packing up their music and in particular, Bill Bright his new
harpischord.
John recognised my voice from
broadcasts on 2MBS-FM and introduced himself. When I learned his profession, I
was impressed and intrigued. Our friendship has spanned many years since then
and I was delighted to be asked to write a few words about this wonderful
throw-back to the medieval artisans.
John was born in Brisbane on 4
November 1912, and was brought up in the bush outside Townsville at a place
called Stewart's creek, which they now call Stuart. From the age of ten, he
worked selling newspapers for the North Queensland Register. He worked for a
photographer and later aimed for an apprenticeship in fitting and turning with
Dick Rye, serving four years and nearly completing it when the Depression hit.
Then John rolled his swag and
jumped a rattler for Sydney, where he went straight to the Minister for
Education with a collection of his drawings and paintings and requested a
scholarship. His cheek was duly rewarded and he studied with Bob Gunter and
Doug Dundas during the day, posing as an artist's model at night to keep
eating.
Then 40 years ago, with his
painting studio on George Street, he took what appeared to be a minor decision
and purchased a violin for his mother. His fate was sealed. The violin needed
slight repair and he met Tom Lewis, who thereupon taught him violin making
while he taught Tom to paint. The rest is history.
Now to the treasures he will
bring to the Book and Record Bazaar: a display of the principal European,
American and Australian woods, including an example of the rare Australian
ebony, needed for finger-boards, frogs for bows and other dense parts. There
will also be English boxwoods for Baroque instruments, Italian red willow,
exactly the same stuff that Stradivarius used for linings and blocks inside the
instruments and one piece of top wood dated 1720, before Stradivarius died!
John will illustrate two or three
methods of constructing the rib assembly as done by Stradivarius- with
everything shown from "go to whoa", including completed instruments
for players, skilled and unskilled of all ages to try. There will be smaller
ones for the smaller children, too.
He will provide two carving
benches, one for himself and one for you to try your skill, and a thankyou card
for you to take home as a memento of the occasion. While you are working you
can look at the display posters which show how wood is split and why, the use
of the grain, and the differences between modern and baroque instruments.
This will be John's seventh year
with 2MBS-FM. Be sure to call in and see all the exciting work he has with him,
and perhaps you might say, as we do: "Thank you, John; it's always a
pleasure to have you with us!"
****
This excerpt appeared in the Courier
Mail (Brisbane) in 1990:
Violin-maker, John Godschall
Johnson, has never sold an instrument, and says he never will, no matter what
the offer.
In 40 years, Mr. Godschall
Johnson, 80, has made 59 violins and handed each to a custodian whom he trusts
to pass on to someone else...
Mr. Godschall Johnson imports
fine European ‘tone wood’ from an old man in the Swiss Alps and fine maple from
forests in what was formerly Yugoslavia.
Mr. Godschall Johnson says he
knows everything about a violin- except how to play one.
Mr. Godschall Johnson has a keen
eye for potential musicians and he describes most of his custodians as `players
of tomorrow'.
Mr. Godschall Johnson is
demonstrating violin making at the Timber and Working with Wood Show, being
held at Brisbane's RNA Showgrounds this weekend.
****
In the August September 1990
issue of Australian Country Style magazine, there was a long article on
John Godschall Johnson:
In a well thumbed exercise book
filled with round, irregularly spaced handwriting, one entry reads: `To day, I
helped an old man to fix up a vyling'.
The renowned master violin-maker
John Godschall Johnson is particularly fond of that statement- just one of many
recorded by children who have watched and participated in the demonstrations
that he gives at libraries, craft shows and museums around Sydney.
“The only thing is," he
remarks dryly, “I'm still searching for the old man."
Now 77, Johnson has been obsessed
with violins for well over 40 years. It has always been an obsession, he
maintains, not a hobby. Hobbies are for people with nothing else to do with
their time, and time, in his case, warrants scant attention. A violin is not
something to be hurried.
Johnson looks as though he has
stepped out of the Sorcerer's Apprentice. His build is diminutive, his
hair is wild, white mane, and his countenance decidedly wry. But, even though his
workshop does contain jars filled with mysterious minerals and dark powders,
there are no bubbling cauldrons of appurtenances of wizardly pursuits to be
found. Instead, violins, violas and bows hang from the ceiling in lustrous,
golden profusion. Every surface is stacked with pieces of wood, planes, his
favourite chisel racks and the seductively shaped bellies and backs of the
instruments in progress. There is scarcely room for Johnson and the worn,
portable carving bench which he designed and made himself.
At the far end of the workshop,
pastel portraits and landscape drawings illustrate his early training as an
artist, and are a reminder that the path to violinmaking had a twist or two.
Johnson was one of eight children, and was brought up near Townsville,
Queensland. As a youth, he jumped the `rattlers' and eventually came to Sydney
where he talked himself into a scholarship at the East Sydney Technical
College. Before spruce, maple and ebony became his chosen media, he had been an
engineer, portrait painter and sculptor, all occupations that have stood him in
good stead - a violin is made of around 80 separate pieces of wood, each of
which has to be fashioned individually, and then `engineered' or assembled into
the acoustically highly complex instrument. Further, as Johnson explains,
"When you're carving the contours of an instrument, you are actually
sculpting. I'm utilizing all of my knowledge of refined line. However," he
continues, "I don't believe, whatever you're studying, that you can hope
to achieve anything unless you are the one who teaches yourself."
It was Johnson's purchase of a
violin as a gift for his mother that triggered his obsession with finding out
what made then tick; he has been researching techniques and teaching himself
about the violin family ever since. He did casual work several evenings a week
to keep the pot boiling and spent his days experimenting and building up his
store of materials:
"Every piece of wood is
different, and there lies the challenge. You can't have a formula or recipe for
a musical instrument as you can for making a cake."
There were many centuries of
history for Johnson to pore over. Much of the material was enlightening; other parts
were, and remain, tantalizingly obscure. The violin's splendidly named
ancestors are confusingly numerous. They include the ravanastron (dating from
the third millennium BC and thought by some to be the first of the bowed
instruments), the crouth, the rebec, the fiddle and the lira da braccio. All
vary in size, shape, number of strings and quality of wood.
The instrument named ‘violin',
which plays a considerable role in the world of music today, dates from the 16th
century. Who invented it, and whether its close relatives, the viola and cello,
appeared at the same time, are something of a mystery. What is known is that,
initially, the violin ranked low on the social scale and was looked on as the
common instrument of dance music - hardly likely to capture the imagination of
serious composers. The names of master violin-makers Stradivari and Guarneri,
recognised as luminaries by even the most unmusical among us, didn't emerge
until the second half of the 17th century, when their skills were in
demand from those composers who now valued and utilised the rich nuances of
expression of which the violin is supremely capable.
Design of the instrument falls
into two main styles: the Baroque (pre 1830), and the modern. Johnson, who
makes both, explains that the modifications came about to suit the requirements
of the music of the day. As musicians moved out of small, private salons into
vast concert halls, so the sound their instruments made had to change.
Modifications were made to the length and weight of the bass bar, the size of
the soundpost, the position of the openings in the bridge, and the length of
the neck. Many other more minor alterations were also introduced.
Johnson, who has a fondness for
things Baroque, asserts, "A Baroque instrument is much more resonant and
responsive than a modern one. If you lay into it with the bow - particularly a
modern one - you'll choke it. The early bow had a much softer attack."
Materials have changed little
over the centuries. The best trees for instrument making are around 200 years
old, but, with heavy logging and environmental pollution, quality wood is
getting harder to come by. John uses spruce, sent to him from Switzerland, for
the belly (or soundboard). The maple, because of its ratio of weight to strength,
is favoured for the back, while African ebony is employed in the fingerboard.
The best makers require that the wood is split by hand, radially into wedges,
resulting in more rigid, stronger wood than the mechanically sawn for factory
production. "A master-made handmade instrument is entirely different from
the factory made items. Most of those imported instruments have been made on a
factory basis, some better than others. Some, which buyers aren't aware,"
Johnson laughs mirthlessly, " are made from three-ply which is pressed -
the same as you'd press out a plastic bucket. There's no way in the world they
could sound like even an average sort of instrument that was made by
hand."
While some may boast fairies at
the bottom of their garden, Johnson has his madder plant. He makes his own
varnish, and grows his own colours. Researching the lost methods of varnishing
is one of his passions, and he is hopeful that modern analytical chemistry will
do much to unravel the secrets. "The old varnishes mirrored the wood,"
he explains. "Most of the modern varnishes are opaque. I call them toffee
apples."
People mistakenly consider
varnish to be simply a visual, albeit beautiful, accessory, but this is also
one of the many elements that controls, to a greater or lesser extent, the
quality of tone that an instrument produces: "Varnishing is the art of
deception - not too thick, not too hard, not too soft, not too much. Whatever
you add on is adding mass. That'll upset all the delicate calculations you've
made.
A violinmaker has to be many
things, among them a mathematician, a
chemist, an acoustician. What
Johnson has never professed to be is a violinist, although he admits he took a
few lessons many years ago. Playing well, he maintains, is a lifetime's job.
Violin-making requires the same dedication. "A mediocre player can't
really put an instrument through its paces and disclose any weaknesses it might
have. Nor can they appreciate its strengths. If I have an instrument that I
want tested, well, there are a number of top players in Sydney who are most
happy to oblige. They'll really give it the works. Then, when I have a
cross-section of opinions, I've got something to work with that I know is of
substance."
Many people would like to buy one
of Johnson's violins, but none will ever be successful. All they can hope to
achieve is the status of `minder'. Inside each instrument, John Johnson writes
the letters TIMBFGNBOS which signify that "This instrument may be freely
given, never bought or sold". He explains, "When I have finished a
violin, I look around for a custodian. I prefer young up-and-comings, the
brilliant ones of tomorrow. I get so many requests, but it doesn't do any good.
I couldn't possibly produce the number of instruments.
****
One of the young up and coming
prodigies that John has fostered is Simon Brown. Simon looked upon John as his
mentor.
In the Australian for 30
July 1990 a full article appeared upon this young artisan:
MAKING
STRINGS SING WITH STRADIVARI STYLE
Young Australian violin maker, Simon
Brown, is pursuing a dream in his quest to unravel the mysteries of the
legendary masters.
Simon Brown had long hoped to
dedicate his life to unravelling one of the astonishing mysteries of music - how
the great violin-makers of the past, with only a basic knowledge of physics and
acoustics, turned out instruments that are still cherished for their beautiful
sound.
The earnest young man made his
first violin at the age of 15, and harboured visions of a brilliant career
crafting instruments similar to those from the golden age of violin-making.
Yet Brown's dreams of emulating -
however modestly - the masters Antonio Stradivari and Guiseppe Guarneri almost
dissipated because of a misunderstanding compounded by language difficulties.
His hopes were salvaged thanks to an indignant but insightful Italian police
sergeant who recognised the splendour of his work.
The saga has long since been put
behind with the 21 year-old from Sydney's northern suburbs who has excelled at
this centuries-old art. But he wears the humbling episode like a mark of
dedication to his time-honoured vocation.
Now a third-year student at the
Cremonese School of Violin Making in Italy, founded in 1560 - one of the
world's leading violin-making academies - Brown is only the third Australian to
be accepted into the elite establishment.
Home-grown violin-making experts
believe this quiet, tall, softly spoken young man is the brightest
instrument-making talent Australia has produced in generations.
Now on holiday in Australia,
Brown recalls how fate intervened to help him realise his dreams:
"Originally I was not accepted at Cremona on the grounds that my Italian
was not good enough. I was bitterly disappointed, but determined to stay there
at least a year.
"I went to have my visa
extended and saw a police sergeant who had originally processed my travel
documents and admired my violins, letters and submissions.
"When I told him that the
school had not taken me because my Italian was not good enough, he flew into a
rage. He rang the headmaster of the school and blew him up...the principal
reconsidered his decision and decided to accept me."
Brown says that Cremona is the
only place in the world where violin is as much a part of the culture and
vocabulary as football is in Australia.
The 17th Century
birthplace of the Stradivarius violin, the small town is almost exclusively
dedicated to the aesthetics of violin-making.
Classes at the school are
conducted in Italian and English, and students travel from all parts of the
world to learn from some of the best classical teachers and to absorb, they
hope, as much by osmosis as study, the accumulated wisdom of generations.
From the age of six years, Brown
learned the violin and was a member of school and district orchestras.
It was not until his violin was
trodden on by a schoolmate - "someone who did not own up to it"- that
he was exposed to the traditional art which embraced all his intellectual
passions: music, art, and science.
It was then that Brown came to
know his Australian teacher, John Godschall Johnson, a diminutive, white-haired
man of 77 years with an extraordinary talent for teasing from his violins a
most exquisite voice almost human in quality and emotion.
Godschall Johnson's garage is
like a museum, cluttered with the heavily-sanded wooden embryos of future
violins, shove grass, sanding stones, and carving instruments.
It is crammed with jars bearing
evil-looking varnishes, stains and fossil amber.
Highly polished, completed
violins are strung from the ceiling like elegant mobiles, yet the only players
here are an orchestra of spiders.
In this garage, Brown learnt the
basics of the art - the importance of choosing the model, the outline and the
archings of the instrument, the elements of constructing the rib assembly,
shaping, cutting grooves for the purfling - the decorative lines on the violin,
attaching back and belly - the shaving, scraping and application of priming
coats, all of which affect the sound of the violin.
He discovered that the top plates
of an instrument are best made of straight-grain, quarter-cut spruce, while the
back is usually one or two pieces of curly maple.
The wood for a violin has to be
especially selected; the grain has to be even and true with no marks, and it is
quite expensive.
The inside of the instrument is
left "in the white" (or untreated) while the exterior is treated with
sealer and varnish - the secret being to use as little varnish as possible.
Godschall Johnson believes
Brown's potential is unlimited.
"He made his first violin
here when he was 15, and it was a beauty. Simon will be the greatest living
violin-maker Australia has produced - I am sure that will be borne out in the
future.
"He is very confident. It is
a self assurance rather than an arrogance."
Brown says one cannot be a great
player and maker of the violin - a choice must be made. Bow-making, too, is a
totally different area.
He is especially interested in
the history of the violin, and expresses wonder at the quality of the
instruments made in the times of Stradivari given the limited knowledge of
physics and acoustics.
And yet he speaks in reverential
tones of the great masters' obvious familiarity with mathematics, geometry and
sound, of the wealth of information and sophisticated skill that has been lost
over time and still not recaptured by modern violin-makers.
Extensive research is underway to
try to unlock the secrets of the great masters - to reproduce the superb craftsmanship,
sound and clarity they produced. Brown is keen to pursue such investigation.
Leonardo Floravanti, in his book The
Mirror of Universal Science, written in 1573, says the qualities of a truly
fine violin-maker have not changed, and Brown notes the extensive knowledge and
understanding of the violin implicit in his words:
"He who would be esteemed in
the art of musical instrument-making must firstly be a Painter in order to know
how to design the form of the instruments; secondly, he must be a Smith in
order to make tools to proportion his art; thirdly, he must be a Master Wood
Worker in order to make the mechanics of the instrument; fourthly, he must be a
Musician to make well the proportions of voicing the consonants of the
instruments; lastly, he should be an Alchemist in order to know the preparation
of the metals with which to make the strings as he must know the metals to make
the organ pipes.
"He who would discover
everything in this art would discover a multitude of diverse things, as if it
were a deluge and would never ever find an end, much and deep and of great
practice and science it is".
A violin-maker cannot help but
expose his character in his work - one of the hardest things for such artists
is to use restraint.
Brown says violin-makers must
find a way to express themselves without exaggerating, without crossing the
thin divide between beauty and kitsch.
"One cannot help one's own
personality coming out in one's work, but it's like painting - you don't study
painting seriously by experimenting in isolation, you need to study the
masters...it is like that with the violin. You need to study the master
violin-makers - Stradivari, Guarneri.
"Stradivari was the greatest
maker, and he was also the most perfect craftsman; his work from the viewpoint
of artistry and acoustics was absolutely beautiful. Nothing has surpassed his
work, ever. At the school, we learn his styling, his methods, very classical
lines of work".
Brown hopes to make a name in the
violin-making world. While he is eager to return to Australia, he would like to
stay in touch with peers overseas at the forefront of his art.
One imagines that fate,
accompanying such talent, will again be kind and guide him on the right path.
*****
The next press article on John
appeared in the Age in Melbourne, on 10 October 1991:
"This little box requires
the application in some form or another of every known piece of human
knowledge." At the Australian Craft Show at the Exhibition Building, John
Godschall Johnson yesterday was talking about one of the dozens of violins he
has crafted.
From what appear to be lumps of
old wood, Mr. Johnson creates precisely tuned instruments that will make
beautiful sounds for generations to come.
"It takes roughly two months
to bring a violin to the varnishing stage but for an instrument that will last
two or three hundred years, how long it takes to make it is unimportant,"
he says.
Mr. Johnson, 79, ignores time in
his pursuit of perfection. He has freed himself from the tyranny of market
forces by refusing to sell his violins. He gives them away. However, he is very
careful about choosing the right recipients, preferring promising young
musicians over established names.
His refusal to sell is not for
want of demand, but he makes violins for the sake of music, not money, he says.
And as a socialist, it pleases him to think there are still some things money
cannot buy.
Choosing the right wood is
crucial. Mr. Johnson's specialist supplier in Switzerland sends him spruce from
the Swiss Alps and maple from the Dalmatian Coast of Yugoslavia. It is split to
reveal the true grain and seasoned naturally for about 30 years.
He uses gouges, planes and
scrapers to shape the wood; the front is carved to just three millimetres. He
employs modern technology to determine
the frequency responses of the unattached back and belly in various bending
modes.
"My only power tools are my
hands".
The violin bug, as he calls it,
bit him about 40 years ago when he and his wife bought Mr. Johnson’s mother a
violin. At that time he was a portrait painter and sculptor, but both pursuits
have been "on hold" for 30 years as Mr. Johnson searches for elusive
perfection in the form of a violin.
Mr. Johnson says he earned his
bread and butter in many jobs, working as a fitter and turner, shovelling coal
and going to sea in his youth. His efforts have freed him to pursue his craft
in the second half of his life.
If he had another lifetime to
spare, there would still be so much to learn: "Modern acoustical science
is still working on it and the old guys had it off pat."
****
The next mention of John is in
the Inner Western Suburbs Courier, a Sydney suburban paper, for 14
October 1996.
It was entitled Alice Could
Soon Be In Wonderland:
Petersham resident Alice Dallow
has dreamt of becoming a film-maker since the age of seven - and the 20 year
old is now well on the way to realising her aspiration.
Last week, Alice, a University of
Technology (UTS) Sydney film student, was named as one of 13 finalists from 400
entrants in the Nescafe Big Break awards.
Eight $20,000 cash prizes are
handed out as part of the competition, designed to help young people on the
road to success.
Alice wants to use the money to make
a television documentary about the whimsical violin-maker, John Godschall
Johnson, 84, who has won the hearts of many through his altruistic actions.
Mr. Godschall Johnson, who lives
at Padstow, designs and crafts world-class violins, violas, and cellos and
gives the instruments away free of charge to promote young Australian talent.
His generosity has led to the
establishment of at least two string instrument groups, the Baroque Orchestra
of Australia and the Jessie Street Quartet.
Inside each of his pieces, Mr.
Godschall Johnson engraves the words: "This instrument may be freely
given, but never bought or sold".
Mr. Godschall Johnson received an
Order of Australia Medal in recognition of his work and generosity in 1991.
Alice said the story of the
violin man was full of inspiration.
"I don't know the first
thing about violins, but I believe that people, not statistics, tell us more
about our history," she said.
"Mr. Godschall Johnson's
story is full of magic - he has such a unique outlook - and that needs to be
shared with the world".
"She is adamant that she is
not in it for the fame.
"I just want to be
successful enough so that I can take on projects which I believe in," she
said.
The Nescafe Big Break winner will
be announced on October 24.
****
The next press mention of John
was in the Courier Mail, in Brisbane, on 23 May 1995, entitled Craftsman
fashions a stringed family:
The loving craftsman cradles his
amber-coloured violin as if it were his child.
And in John Godschall Johnson's
eyes, it is.
The 82 year old craftsman perches
himself in his Sydney workshop every day, carving additions to his family of
stringed instruments.
With his wild white hair and
pragmatic wizardry, it is hard not to compare Mr. Godschall Johnson with Albert
Einstein.
But another great springs to mind
when his dedication to musical purity is uncovered.
He follows the same method as 17th
and 18th century Italian violin maker Antonio Stradivari used - but
Mr. Godschall Johnson's violins, violas, and cellos are without the
million-dollar price tag.
His are free.
"I've had many lucrative
offers for my instruments; but I don't make them for commercial markets - I
make them to make music," Mr. Godschall Johnson said.
But reciting any of the classical
masterpieces has its difficulties for the obsessive, slightly eccentric,
craftsman.
"I don't play because I
don't want to be mediocre at anything, and to play you have to have natural
ability and practise for ever and a day," he said.
"If I practise for ever, I
would not have the time to make my `children".
"And I have to make
instruments - it's an obsession."
Instead Mr. Godschall Johnson,
who has worked as an engineer, a painter and a sculptor, fosters his
instruments out to "custodian" musicians.
Brisbane baroque musician Ravind
Sangha is "in charge of" a dozen instruments crafted by Mr. Godschall
Johnson.
He met the stringed inventor at
the Timber and Working with Wood Show last year while searching for timber to build
a harpischord.
A friendship blossomed between
them and after Mr. Godschall Johnson had donated eight violins, two violas and
two cellos, Mr. Sangha fulfilled his long-held dream of forming a baroque
orchestra.
His 22 piece Baroque Orchestra of
Australia, based in Brisbane, made its debut at the Exhibition Ground on Sunday
- at the wood exhibition where the two men met.
****
John continues to give
woodworking demonstrations, even as late as May 1997, at the Brisbane
Woodworking and Craft Show.
****