My father was a talented guitarist. I remember him playing on holidays and weekends with our family friends. In the sizzling air of Kyiv summers, they sat around the picnic blanket; my father played the guitar, and my mother sang. A young me would kick a soccer ball through the dust on the parkground with the other children. I loved to hear the sounds of the guitar, even from afar. The rhythmic beats of his hands tapping the strings created beautiful music that filled the air around me.

His guitar was old, sunburned, and covered in small cracks.

The talent show

When I was in the third grade, my parents signed me up for guitar lessons.

I hated guitar lessons. I got the old guitar from my father. I put it into the protective bag. Each time I crossed from my apartment to the elevator, I counted my steps, and the guitar shook and crashed against the concrete ladder with each step.

One day, the school held a talent show. Because I was learning to play guitar, my parents forced me to participate.

I was practicing this annoying etude for my exam, but I never performed in front of a larger audience. This was the longest five minutes of my life: I sat down in front of my classmates and parents.

I play.

Note after note, absolutely disregarding tempo, I managed to go through the first half of the etude. My palms are sweaty, and my face is red: the state of absolute concentration. The eyes of my peers are on me.

Note after note, I manage to only occasionally play the notes right, but I hit most of them, though I do ignore the tempo. My eyes are on my hands, but my focus is miles away, so far that I’m in a trance. The state of absolute concentration. My palms are sweaty, and my face is red. The eyes of my peers are on me.

Suddenly, I forget the next note then the whole rest of the etude, my fingers entangled in a hopeless mess.

Silence is eating me alive, the eyes of the people screwing me over. My memory is pristine. Everybody starts applauding, helping me to end the suffering. But the etude is not finished, so I continue to torment the audience. My hands shake as I try to play, making mistakes in the process. Humiliated, I continue to make sounds. After a minute of being in the catharsis of shame, which felt like an eternity, I finally completed the etude. Here comes the second round of applause, and I run away from the stage.

After the performance, I put the guitar in its black bag and zipped it up. I tugged to make sure it was secure and then placed the bag in the closet, where it still rests today.

Covid hobbies

20 years later, when COVID struck and I decided to teach myself to play guitar, I did not have any instruments to practice with. Instead of buying a new one, I designed the body in the Fusion360, and 3d printed it on my Anycubic Mega S out of PETG. The neck and other gear are cheap Aliexpress parts. The project cost me less than 100USD, a lot of time for gluing, tuning, and fitting parts together.

It even sounds like a mediocre Fender.

I enjoyed building the guitar more than playing it!

The lesson of the story is:

Do not force your passion, since everyone likes different things. Some people like to play(my father), others like to build instruments, like myself.

Do not be discouraged, if you are not good in your hobby or work. To discover what you like requires experimenting with different things and a lot of time. Keep going!

Files

You can download 3mf files ready to be printed following the 3d printed Voron Gutar body files link . Mounting holes are designed to accept M3 knurled inserts for the hardware. I use cheap Fender Strat/Tele electric guitar bridge with a maple Stratocaster neck from Aliexpress.