GG Kim

Min-jun Kim built violins for fifty years, an instrument a season, in a workshop where the radio was never on. His father made things too, less well and with more affection, and the last object to leave that bench was a board: walnut, hinged badly, the points a shade uneven. It hangs on the wall above the desk. Min-jun has never set a checker on it and does not intend to, and when his daughter asked why, the answer took a fortnight to arrive and consisted of one sentence about the hinge. He plays online, on a plain wooden theme, in the deep unhurried quiet that trade leaves in a man.