This is the violin that I played throughout middle and high school. It has followed me through a lot of life changes, and seen me through all sorts of concerts (including two musicals and three very stressful solo events). I received this violin in 2007, when my rent-to-buy program had accrued enough credits. We purchased it the D&M Music store in Pleasant Valley, NY.

According to the label on the inside, the violin was manufactured by Stefan Ulrich in June 2007 in Romania. I tried to find a website, to try and see the history of what Stefan Ulrich does, but a Google search only brought up scores and scores of people trying to sell off or buy the instruments. Apparently, Stefan Ulrich is a very popular instrument crafter, and relatively inexpensive, making the instruments easy for parents or guardians to purchase for their children.

Moreover, when I looked on D&M’s website to try and find more information, they came up relatively blank. D&M is a company that focuses solely on middle and high school students, so they’re not as picky with quality, apparently. I couldn’t even look at any of the models of violins on the website; all I saw under the violin category were accessories. It’s possible that D&M no longer does the “rent-to-buy” program. Aside from going all the way to the shop in Pleasant Valley, I may not be able to find anything about my instrument.

Presumably, it was made by a Stefan Ulrich craftperson in Romania, and then shipped to the US by plane. It was purchased by D&M in 2007, and soon after bought for me. It seems that, unless you have a truly valuable, rare instrument like a Stradivarius, its ownership is largely lost. The saying that my high school orchestra director is true–unless it costs $1000 or more, a violin is worthless. Apparently it’s worthless to history too, objectively speaking.

But my violin is not worthless to me–though the fact that it’s been sitting quietly in my closet since the beginning of college says otherwise. It is something that I could pass on to someone else if I saw fit. It’s seen a lot of change in my life, and even though I don’t know much about its history, it knows about mine. Since I’ve had it, its strings have been changed multiple times, its case fell apart, and the bow it came with cracked. Its bridge still sometimes slips from the pressure of the strings. It’s got a sticky layer of rosin on its front that never seems to come off cleanly.

I do think it’s funny that this little violin is more well-traveled than I am. And I may never be able to find out more about who made it. Unlike mass-manufactured products, though, there is a certain intimacy and expertise required to make something like this. Maybe that’s why I feel more close with this piece than with the game or mask I wrote about.