Alessandro Voltini is one of the most respected contemporary Italian luthiers. Winner of the 1994 International Triennial Luthiery Competition with a cello, he has devoted his career to the construction, restoration, and teaching of stringed instruments, balancing tradition and innovation.

His international experience has exposed him to different approaches to instrument making and restoration, from Nuremberg to Lyon, and has led him to reflect on the current challenges facing Italian luthiery. Today, the craft faces numerous issues: global competition, the phenomenon of “unfinished violins,” commercial pressures that sometimes overshadow artisanal quality, and the risk of overly standardized training focused on sterile copies of historic models. Voltini offers an authoritative perspective on how it is possible to reconcile tradition, craftsmanship, and innovation without sacrificing the cultural and musical value of Italian luthiery.

What inspired you to choose luthiery as a profession in a city already so rich in tradition?

My passion for luthiery began when I was a boy. Passing by the old premises of the School of Luthiery in Piazza Marconi, I was captivated by the sight of those magnificent instruments hanging on the walls from the office windows. It was a vision that drew me like a magnet, combining art, history, and craftsmanship in a single image.

The initial drive was primarily the satisfaction of the craftsman: the idea of creating something from start to finish with your own hands, following the entire process from raw material to finished instrument. It’s a very tangible, almost physical satisfaction that comes from seeing an object take shape and acquire a precise function – producing music.

At first, I met several luthiers, including Americans, and I observed the work environment, the atmosphere of the workshops, and the relationship with musicians. This led me to decide to attend the School of Luthiery. My parents were initially reluctant, but over time they were convinced, and I enrolled. That first motivation – hands-on work, creation, transforming wood into something with artistic and musical purpose – has remained constant and still underpins my approach to this profession.

How would you describe your training path between Cremona, Nuremberg, and Lyon? Which experience do you consider the most decisive?

These were three very different experiences, but precisely for that reason, extremely formative.

In Cremona, I received training rooted in tradition, craftsmanship, and the classical workshop approach. It was an important foundation, but not exhaustive.

In Nuremberg, at the Germanisches Nationalmuseum, I encountered a completely different approach: the museological approach. There, I learned that restoration is not only a technical intervention but also an act of cultural responsibility. Each instrument is studied to determine whether the goal is functional recovery or preservation as a historical document, and to what extent an intervention might compromise the originality of the object.

In Lyon, I worked in a private workshop where the objective was clear: the instrument must return to the musician and perform perfectly. Here, sound quality and functionality mattered more than the visibility of the restoration work.

It’s difficult to say which experience was most decisive: Nuremberg gave me a cultural and methodological perspective, Lyon provided highly advanced technical expertise. Together, they completed my training.

Some critics argue that today many luthiers pursue recognition more than sound quality. How do you respond?

I believe there is some truth to this criticism. It is easier to focus on aesthetic and stylistic perfection than to tackle the very complex and less immediately visible issue of sound quality.

Much like in music performance, where technically flawless renditions may lack real interpretation, the same can happen in luthiery: instruments may be perfect visually but less convincing acoustically.

In Italy, we are behind in this field. In America, for over forty years, there has been work on acoustic experimentation with multidisciplinary teams of musicians, physicists, programmers, and universities. Here, this type of approach has long been neglected, and we are now paying the consequences.

The phenomenon of so-called “unfinished violins” has sparked many debates. What is your opinion?

This phenomenon clearly originates from the demand for lower-priced instruments but has become increasingly problematic. Often, unfinished instruments made by third parties are simply finished in Cremona, exploiting legislation that allows the “Made in Italy” label even if only a small percentage of the work is done in Italy.

The critical issue is not just the law but the lack of oversight and, above all, the absence of real professional ethics. Too often, a system has been accepted that allows instruments to enter the market which have little to do with Cremonese luthiery but exploit its name as a commercial brand.

This has caused serious reputational damage to contemporary luthiery: the name Cremona becomes emptied of meaning, reduced to a label. Historical luthiery remains untouchable, but today’s craft risks losing credibility due to these compromises, which ultimately affect everyone.

In a world where art must contend with business, how challenging is this balance?

The balance is extremely delicate, and in many cases, the point of no return has been exceeded. It is legitimate to want to make a good living from your work, but too often, luthiery has been turned into almost an industrial production, with a logic closer to marketing than artistic craftsmanship.

The problem arises when business becomes the end rather than the means. Then, everything is justified: overproduction, shortcuts, compromises in quality and transparency. The pursuit of the image of the luthier as entrepreneur or manager often overshadows the craft’s cultural responsibility. Luthiery is not only about making marketable instruments but about preserving and transmitting knowledge. Sacrificing this dimension for commercial gain damages the credibility of an entire school and city over time.

Some say that today too many sterile copies are produced. Do you agree?

Partly, yes. I personally do not make faithful copies: I am inspired by models and luthiers that reflect my taste, but I always try to insert my own voice. For me, it is important that the final instrument also speaks of its maker.

Copies – or replicas – require extremely high skills and respect for those who make them, but it is not my way of working. A perfect copy risks telling more about the original instrument than the personality of the luthier who made it. The historical strength of Italian luthiery has always been the ability to create, not just reproduce.

Are awards and medals important for a luthier’s career?

They can be useful, especially at the beginning, but they must not become the goal. The risk is working for recognition rather than for music.

A truly valuable instrument, even if not perfect at birth, will eventually find the right musician who can bring out its potential. Over time, it is the sound and adaptability of the instrument that matter, not an additional medal.

To what extent does Cremonese tradition limit or stimulate innovation?

Tradition should never be a limit, but a solid foundation to build upon. In luthiery, one cannot disregard what has been done before, but that does not mean remaining stagnant.

The problem arises when tradition becomes merely a brand, a label exploited commercially. Studied and understood deeply, however, it can be a powerful stimulus for conscious innovation.

What are the main challenges facing Italian luthiery today in a global context?

Competition is now global. There are top-level luthiers all over the world. Cremona retains a numerical advantage, but contemporary quality is shared with many international realities.

In several countries, luthiers work in contexts more favorable to research, interaction with musicians, and acoustic experimentation. This represents a major challenge for Italy.

How do you judge the evolution of international luthiery compared to Italy?

Many international luthiers work in cities like New York, London, or Berlin, where interaction with orchestras, theaters, and soloists is constant. This fosters a continuous dialogue between makers and players.

It only takes a great musician choosing an instrument for it to become a reference: this has happened with Samuel Zygmuntowicz and the Emerson Quartet, with Peter Greiner, and earlier with Peresson. In Italy, Cappicchioni had instruments in the hands of many musicians and teachers, showing how word-of-mouth is decisive in the musical world.

What future do you envision for the italian luthery?

The future, if it exists, cannot ignore a deep knowledge and genuine respect for history. In luthiery, one cannot improvise or attempt to erase the past: it must be studied, understood, and, if possible, surpassed consciously.

If purely commercial trends can be limited and a more solid cultural dimension recovered, Italian luthiery can continue to be a reference point. But this requires clear, sometimes uncomfortable choices, and greater responsibility from today’s makers.

Violins, violas, and cellos have a unique characteristic: they change over time, adapt, mature, and often gain value. This makes them not only musical objects but witnesses of different eras. Therefore, those who build them today should think not only of the current market but of how these instruments will speak fifty or a hundred years from now. This is where the true measure of a luthier lies.