guitars, part two

To say that there is something magical about acoustic guitars would be an understatement. They touch all of one's senses.  Old Gibsons smell musty like your grandmother's wooden curio cabinet. New Taylors have the scent of freshly cut wood - imagine spruce logs in a northwestern sawmill. Pluck a string (old Black Diamond Brand, Norman Blake would sing) and a tone resonates across hand scalloped bracing, vibrating the thin top, racing to escape. The backs and sides - figured & inlayed - can be art, worthy of hanging on a gallery wall. To be able to play one is a joy, to build one is a wonder.