Cesar Vicente

Cesar took his place at the bench at fourteen, sweeping shavings for his father Miguel and sharpening the planes before he was allowed to touch one. He built his first guitar at nineteen. His father made him give it away — a guitar you keep, he said, teaches you nothing.

Forty years on, he tunes every soundboard that leaves the house — shaving, tapping, listening, shaving again — and lays on every final coat of shellac by palm. Guitarists who visit the workshop are usually surprised by the silence. Cesar is listening.