I'm an outsider.  I don't go to music events.  I don't jam with other musicians.  I don't know Mary Z. Cox.  I don't know Mike Seeger.  They don't know me.  Few banjo players know me.  You won't find me at the Banjo Hangout.  I prefer to be making banjos.  I don't crave to spend long hours playing them.  I don't shamelessly self-promote.  I don't hunger for notoriety.  I make banjos for my own enjoyment.  I enjoy making unusual banjos.  I wasn't apprenticed to a master luthier.  I didn't learn banjo making at my grandfather's knee.  My banjos are my invention.  I learned how to make them by making them.  Like my instruments, I'm eclectic, eccentric and idiosyncratic.  We, my banjos and I, are outsiders.

I started making banjos because I needed an artistic outlet.  Banjos were appealing for several reasons.  Within the rustic folk idiom, banjos can be (and have been) anything the maker can imagine.  I liked the freedom of complete artistic license.  Banjos could be made of wood – I wanted to work with wood.  But, the most attractive aspect was that banjos do something.  Furniture just sits there, but banjos are dynamic – they have a voice and a personality.

Thirty-five years ago my consuming passion was playing the banjo.   Twenty-eight years ago my consuming passion (and full time business)  became restoring antique clock and watches (they, too, are dynamic).  After a twenty-five year lapse, I came back to the banjo, but as a maker instead of a player.