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[Series] The Person Who Connects Time | My wish is not for my own fame, but for the unchanging sound to reach someone in the future.
The Person Who Connects Time | Isao Itsutsu (NEO TOKYO STRINGS)
Many people have likely heard of the Stradivarius. These string instruments, crafted by the Italian father-and-sons Stradivari in the 17th and 18th centuries, are considered masterpieces. Even today, their tones stir the hearts of enthusiasts. The reason why violins made centuries ago continue to resonate on the foremost stages is none other than the techniques woven by countless repair artisans who, whenever damaged, mended them, and when deteriorated, restored them, thus keeping them in the finest condition. Isao Itsutsu, who runs the workshop "NEO TOKYO STRINGS" in Tokyo, faces these "beings that live for centuries"—violins—daily, passing on their stories to the next generation.
Text by KOIZUMI Yoko | Photographs by OTAKI Kaku | Edit by TSUCHIDA Takashi
A Detour Born from Resistance
A seasoned workbench, and on the walls, violins in progress, custom tools, special varnishes, and clamps are neatly arranged according to task. In one corner hangs a framed certificate from the Chicago Violin Making School. It was this foreign academy that transformed Itsutsu into a stringed instrument craftsman.
His father, Shinichi, was also a violin maker, and Itsutsu grew up in an apartment attached to the workshop. However, his father kept his young son out of the work area. "I believe it wasn't so much because it was dangerous, but because he didn't want his concentration disturbed," Itsutsu recalls.
His father often expressed his wish for his eldest son to inherit the family business, but without strong pressure; he never even taught him how to sharpen tools. Having apprenticed domestically and faced hardship without experiencing the forefront of international craftsmanship, his father likely had a strong desire for his son to study abroad if possible.
However, as a boy, Itsutsu felt a certain distance from the classical music world itself. He felt uncomfortable with the distinctive costumes and atmosphere of recitals, and the conversations and financial dealings among adults. Yearning to be a stuntman, a completely different field, he dropped out of high school at 17 and moved to Tokyo. His life was impoverished, and he eventually shifted his focus to the fashion industry.
A turning point came when he began working at a violin shop at his father's suggestion. A graduate of the Chicago Violin Making School, who was lodging with his father during the summer, noticed his stress and recommended he study at the school in Chicago. At 19, he headed to Chicago, beginning three and a half years of study abroad.
Those Who Taught Me "The Joy of It"
He had no money. He survived on popcorn and coffee, often eating only one meal a day. It was far from easy, but he never considered quitting school because of the encounters he made through the violin.
One was a Japanese senior student, ten years his elder.
"He had studied abroad after graduating from university and had the demeanor of a Showa-era university student. He spoke about violins and classical music to me in an interesting way, from a completely different perspective than what I had known before."
The other was the school principal, who held a Master's degree from Germany and had worked at a long-established shop in Chicago.
Thanks to the two of them discussing violin making as an art and as craftsmanship, Itsutsu came to think, "Violins are interesting."
And then there was one more person who showed Itsutsu the direction of his craft: a German luthier (a craftsman who makes and repairs stringed instruments like violins) operating his own workshop in Los Angeles.
Itsutsu didn't return home immediately after graduation; he met this luthier while gaining experience as a luthier at renowned workshops in America.
"He was also active as a copyist."
A copyist is someone who makes exact replicas of famous instruments while also adjusting the original.
"If a copy was well-received, it would be purchased as a 'second' on the spot."
The luthier's workshop, capable of creating "seconds" to master instruments, had instruments displayed in an open space that doubled as a showroom, with the craftsman working in the back.
"He had a spirit of inquiry and approached his craft seriously, yet there was a relaxedness about him, a lack of tension that felt refreshing. It was as if he wasn't putting on an act; his humanity shone through, conveying his genuine love for violin making."
Experiencing the three distinct approaches to craftsmanship in an open workshop setting is what led Itsutsu to decide, "Violins are interesting," and commit to this path.
"Don't Inject Your Ego" — Between Making and Repairing
Upon returning to Japan, Itsutsu worked in his father's workshop for about five years. It wasn't an environment conducive to discussing work at length, and his own position remained ambiguous. It was akin to having two artists in the same space, leading to mutual discomfort.
His decision to go independent at age 32 was less a separation from his father and more a natural choice reached after discerning their respective approaches to their work.
Since establishing his workshop in Tokyo, Itsutsu has engaged in both making his own instruments and repairing others. He draws a clear line between these two types of work.
"There is room for 'ego' in making an instrument, but repair is work that serves the owner and the original instrument. If a craftsman injects their ego into a repair, they risk damaging the instrument itself," he explains. He has repeatedly witnessed the perils of repairs that "inject ego," such as completely stripping the varnish or disassembling even minor repairs entirely.
At the school in Chicago, he was constantly asked, "What does it mean to repair, to restore?" To what extent should one adhere to the original? Should it be preserved as a tool, or as history?
The ultimate criterion is to align with the owner's wishes for the instrument. However, whether aiming to create a superior tool or preserve a piece of history, these goals are meaningless without the "skill" to achieve them.
The difference between mass-produced and handmade items is "immediately apparent." But articulating that difference is difficult. The technique of fitting the bridge's feet seamlessly to the curved surface of the top plate, the way the purfling is inlaid—instruments made with integrity possess a meticulousness that only experienced eyes can perceive.
"Some parts that aren't visible are finished carelessly. However, instruments made with the intention of producing good sound exude a certain kind of spirit. Craftsmen who are meticulous about this detail have a clean finish. When you open an instrument, you can see the care or carelessness of past craftsmen. If it's a good instrument, I believe the next craftsman will also approach it with integrity."
Passing On Sound, Passing On Time Through Objects
Now at 56, Itsutsu's focus is gradually turning towards creating his own works. While the experiences of working on Stradivarius and Guarneri del Gesù remain vivid memories, the desire to be recognized for his original creations has grown stronger each year. Regarding his ability to do both repair and creation, Itsutsu describes it as:
"Living life twice as deliciously."
The joy of creation is the confirmation that his own sensibilities were not mistaken. The joy of repair is a sense of relief and peace. The nature of these two joys is entirely different. Itsutsu navigates between these two kinds of fulfillment.
When instruments he previously worked on return, he can vividly recall his approach at the time. He holds a firm conviction that he will continue to care for the instruments he has made until the day he stops making violins.
The essence of repair lies in how an object is passed down through generations, transcending time. This is the fundamental nature of his repair work.
"My job is not just to pass on time, but to pass on sound."
A violin is both a tool and a work of art. However, it only gains value when played. A violin is an instrument that only has meaning when there is someone to play it; its true asset, to be passed down, is its sound, not its appearance for display.
The violins passed down from Itsutsu's hands to the next generation also carry with them the times and sounds of the people who owned them.
Isao Itsutsu
Violin maker. Born into a family where his father, Shinichi Itsutsu, was also a violin maker. Moved to Tokyo at 17, then to the U.S. at 19 to enroll in the Chicago Violin Making School, where he trained for three and a half years. After graduating, he gained experience as a Master Luthier at renowned American shops such as Kenneth Stein and Metzler. Upon returning to Japan, he established his workshop, "NEO TOKYO STRINGS," in Tokyo at age 32. While engaging with stringed instruments from both creation and repair perspectives, he also focuses on nurturing the next generation by conducting violin making courses.
NEO TOKYO STRINGS
Instagram:@neotokyostrings
IZUTSU VIOLIN
Instagram:@izutsu_violin
*Workshop of Shinichi Itsutsu (father of Isao Itsutsu)