Way back in 2003 a very talented Artist named Emett Shinners worked for me and we came up with an idea for a series of guitars with hand painted cartoons called "welcome to my head". Emmett used to sit at his bench day after day drawing whatever came into his head hence the name and put around 40 hours into each guitar.
In all 6 of these guitars were made but the first in my opinion was the best and was most memorable.
That first guitar was used by someone acting as a sales agent for us to promote Emerald guitars and it created alot of interest everywhere it went but then we parted company with that sales rep and in the process the guitar went missing and I assumed I would never see it again.
I persued it for a couple of years but finally gave up on it until a couple of months ago when I got an email from Heather asking for information about a guitar she had. She had decided to sell it and wanted to know more about it and what it was worth.
I knew straight away it was "WTMH 1". I emailed her back and politely told her the story and really expected to never hear from her again but to my surprise Heather emailed back to say she wanted to do the right thing and return her.
I was amazed that she would be willing to part with such a special guitar and I have been really moved by her kindness and understanding.
The guitar which Heather nicknamed Emmy arrived back here last week and she is in near perfect condition which was a great bonus.It was great to loose myself in Emetts great artwork once again. Its been a great journey and a great story.
Here is Heathers side of it.
"I first came into possession of her when I was living in Lydhurst, New Jersey; a fellow who had taken over our living room gave it to me in lieu of two months' rent and living expenses. Looking back, I should've looked a gift horse in the mouth. Being young and stupid (which was how I ended up in Jersey in the first place!), I accepted it without an adverse thought. Derp.
I played the guitar all over Manhattan -- it got quite a bit of face time in the folk clubs of the West Village, places like The Bitter End and The Back Fence, where the shadows of Jack Kerouac and Bob Dylan still loom large. It even did a little time at CBGB's. I'm not sure much of anyone was paying close attention to me there, though. All the kids downing liquids I wouldn't pour on concrete were like, "Who's THIS hillbilly?"
When I finally packed up all my black clothes, books and six thousand and one scraps of scribbled-on paper, I took the guitar -- dubbed "Emmy", short for Emerald -- and dragged myself over the rails for two days until disembarking back in my home state of Arkansas, where I've been since mid-2005. Since our stay here, we've been through an electric pickup replacement, a post-tornadic flood, an audition for a Virgin Records executive, and lots of late-night living room jam sessions. Then there's the matter of the great guitar caper....
Shortly after my now-husband and I began seeing one another in 2006, we returned to my home to find the front door unlocked. Alarmed, we sorted through the house and discovered that only Emmy and a Fender mandolin had been stolen from a closet in my spare room. Infuriated more than afraid because of the break-in, I contacted the local Sheriff's department and filed a report. To this day, I suspect one of two things happened: the jilted CRAZY cop ex-boyfriend of mine -- one of the only people who had been in the house and was aware of the instruments' presence -- had stolen and pawned these things out of spite, OR some daring individual who was aware of my isolated rural residence simply picked the lock and got lucky.
The strange part is yet to come: after my family circulated posters in the nearby town of Hot Springs to spread the word of a $500 reward for the stolen instruments, we received a phone call from a newish pawn shop in town where both instruments had been accepted. The shifty-eyed owner of the shop claimed that shortly after an employee of his had bought the instruments, he stopped showing up for work and was discovered to have skipped town. The pawn shop itself boarded up its windows very quickly after that. hm. The case was never solved, but I'm very suspicious that the owner himself had something to do with his, ahem, buildup in merchandise.
After that incident, the guitar was retired to a safe hiding place at my parents' residence, where it lived for two years until I decided to find it a better home. I know in my heart now that it's in the right place. I'm honored to have been a tiny footnote in the Emerald Guitars story.
Cheers,
Heather
This is a very special guitar with a great history that would be a worthy addition to any collection. If you would like to become its new keeper then email me at emeraldguitars@yahoo.com for details.
In all 6 of these guitars were made but the first in my opinion was the best and was most memorable.
That first guitar was used by someone acting as a sales agent for us to promote Emerald guitars and it created alot of interest everywhere it went but then we parted company with that sales rep and in the process the guitar went missing and I assumed I would never see it again.
I persued it for a couple of years but finally gave up on it until a couple of months ago when I got an email from Heather asking for information about a guitar she had. She had decided to sell it and wanted to know more about it and what it was worth.
I knew straight away it was "WTMH 1". I emailed her back and politely told her the story and really expected to never hear from her again but to my surprise Heather emailed back to say she wanted to do the right thing and return her.
I was amazed that she would be willing to part with such a special guitar and I have been really moved by her kindness and understanding.
The guitar which Heather nicknamed Emmy arrived back here last week and she is in near perfect condition which was a great bonus.It was great to loose myself in Emetts great artwork once again. Its been a great journey and a great story.
Here is Heathers side of it.
"I first came into possession of her when I was living in Lydhurst, New Jersey; a fellow who had taken over our living room gave it to me in lieu of two months' rent and living expenses. Looking back, I should've looked a gift horse in the mouth. Being young and stupid (which was how I ended up in Jersey in the first place!), I accepted it without an adverse thought. Derp.
I played the guitar all over Manhattan -- it got quite a bit of face time in the folk clubs of the West Village, places like The Bitter End and The Back Fence, where the shadows of Jack Kerouac and Bob Dylan still loom large. It even did a little time at CBGB's. I'm not sure much of anyone was paying close attention to me there, though. All the kids downing liquids I wouldn't pour on concrete were like, "Who's THIS hillbilly?"
When I finally packed up all my black clothes, books and six thousand and one scraps of scribbled-on paper, I took the guitar -- dubbed "Emmy", short for Emerald -- and dragged myself over the rails for two days until disembarking back in my home state of Arkansas, where I've been since mid-2005. Since our stay here, we've been through an electric pickup replacement, a post-tornadic flood, an audition for a Virgin Records executive, and lots of late-night living room jam sessions. Then there's the matter of the great guitar caper....
Shortly after my now-husband and I began seeing one another in 2006, we returned to my home to find the front door unlocked. Alarmed, we sorted through the house and discovered that only Emmy and a Fender mandolin had been stolen from a closet in my spare room. Infuriated more than afraid because of the break-in, I contacted the local Sheriff's department and filed a report. To this day, I suspect one of two things happened: the jilted CRAZY cop ex-boyfriend of mine -- one of the only people who had been in the house and was aware of the instruments' presence -- had stolen and pawned these things out of spite, OR some daring individual who was aware of my isolated rural residence simply picked the lock and got lucky.
The strange part is yet to come: after my family circulated posters in the nearby town of Hot Springs to spread the word of a $500 reward for the stolen instruments, we received a phone call from a newish pawn shop in town where both instruments had been accepted. The shifty-eyed owner of the shop claimed that shortly after an employee of his had bought the instruments, he stopped showing up for work and was discovered to have skipped town. The pawn shop itself boarded up its windows very quickly after that. hm. The case was never solved, but I'm very suspicious that the owner himself had something to do with his, ahem, buildup in merchandise.
After that incident, the guitar was retired to a safe hiding place at my parents' residence, where it lived for two years until I decided to find it a better home. I know in my heart now that it's in the right place. I'm honored to have been a tiny footnote in the Emerald Guitars story.
Cheers,
Heather
This is a very special guitar with a great history that would be a worthy addition to any collection. If you would like to become its new keeper then email me at emeraldguitars@yahoo.com for details.
You really aughta give the guitar back to Heather, she and Emmy should be together.
ReplyDeleteA nice piece of work. Love the asymmetrical bridge. A round of applause to Emmett for downloading his cranial database onto the finish, and to Heather for sending you the guitar, which she has certainly earned, at least by adverse possession. If you sell it, be sure to send a hefty commission to her and Emmett.
ReplyDeleteI have to argue in Heather's favor, too. She obviously played and loved Emmy, which any instrument maker hopes is the end product of his or her labor. And returning Emmy to Heather would be the epitome of the "if you love something let it go" adage. Allow Heather to make a home for Emmy, and she'll likely sing your praises.
ReplyDeleteIn today's world, neither gesture would go amiss.
another vote for Heather!
ReplyDelete