In a still, small, wood-lined auditorium in northern Italy, a young violinist stands alone on a circular stage. Two hundred people look down in silence. Only this moment matters. She raises a small wooden instrument to our gaze. It seems impossibly frail: barely 400g of curved wood, fashioned in this city — Cremona — nearly 300... read full story
"Halfway through the recital I began to cry. Tears were pouring down my face and I was terrified that they would damage the violin."