Amanda N. Ewing shared their story and experiences with us recently and you can find our conversation below.
Hi Amanda N., thank you so much for taking time out of your busy day to share your story, experiences and insights with our readers. Let’s jump right in with an interesting one: Are you walking a path—or wandering?
I am doing a little of both. Walking a path, yet leaving space for wandering. The path gives me direction, a sense of purpose and momentum, but the wandering reminds me that life is not a straight line. Sometimes the most beautiful discoveries arrive when I step off the trail and follow the pull of curiosity, of spirit, of the unexpected. I am guided, but not confined. Rooted, but not rigid. I trust that every step, whether on the path or in the wild, carries me closer becoming fully me.
Can you briefly introduce yourself and share what makes you or your brand unique?
My name is Amanda N. Ewing, and I am a violin maker, a luthier— one of the few Black women in this country shaping instruments by hand. For me, violin making is not just craft; it is a living dialogue between history, art, and sound. Every piece of wood carries a story, and when I carve, bend, and bring it to life, I feel as though I’m honoring all the hands and voices that came before me.
What makes my work unique is the way I see each instrument as more than an object, it’s a vessel of memory, legacy, and possibility. Violins have often been symbols of tradition, refinement, and mastery, yet their roots are deeper and more complex than what is commonly told. By creating them, I’m reclaiming space in a field where Black stories and contributions have been overlooked. My violins are not only finely crafted instruments, but also carriers of cultural continuity and imagination.
Right now, I’m working on projects that combine storytelling, music, and hands-on education inviting young people to not only hear music but to create it with something they built themselves. This is the heart of my brand: to bring beauty and history into tangible form, to remind us that our voices matter, and to prove that art has the power to bridge past and future.
Okay, so here’s a deep one: What relationship most shaped how you see yourself?
The relationship that most shaped how I saw myself was the one I shared with my mother. She was a quiet strength in my life. Gentle in spirit, yet unwavering in her love and presence. She taught me that resilience does not always roar; sometimes it whispers in patience, in tenderness, in the steady way someone believes in you. Her support gave me confidence to step into the world, her gentleness showed me the value of compassion, and her strength reminded me that endurance and grace can walk hand in hand. She helped me understand that love is not only a feeling but a practice, a way of being. Though she is no longer here, her influence continues to guide me. The way I see myself as someone capable, worthy, and connected to others is inseparable from the way she shaped me with her love.
If you could say one kind thing to your younger self, what would it be?
I would tell my younger self: Trust the process. Even when it feels uncertain, even when the path seems crooked or slow, every step is carrying you exactly where you need to be. You don’t have to have all the answers right now, and you don’t have to rush. Keep moving, keep learning, keep creating. Every experience, joyful or other, is shaping you, preparing you, and guiding you toward the life you’re meant to live.
The life of your dreams? You will live it. You may not see it yet, but it is quietly unfolding, piece by piece, moment by moment. The setbacks, the doubts, the moments when you feel lost, they are not roadblocks. They are signposts. They are lessons. They are necessary to strengthen you, to sharpen your vision, to deepen your courage.
Believe in yourself. Trust your instincts. Keep your heart open, even when the world seems impatient. One day, you’ll look back and realize that every twist, every pause, every unexpected detour was guiding you to exactly where you were supposed to be. And when that day comes, you’ll smile because you finally understand: the journey itself was part of the dream, and you were brave enough to follow it all the way.
So a lot of these questions go deep, but if you are open to it, we’ve got a few more questions that we’d love to get your take on. What’s a belief or project you’re committed to, no matter how long it takes?
I am committed to uncovering and documenting the stories of Black violin makers throughout history. Their brilliance, creativity, and dedication to the craft have too often been overlooked, erased, or forgotten. This work requires patience, persistence, and a deep reverence for the past, but it is a labor I embrace wholeheartedly. Every instrument, every maker, every story I uncover is a piece of a legacy that deserves to be celebrated, preserved, and shared.
For me, this project is about more than just historical accuracy—it’s about reclaiming a lineage, amplifying voices that were silenced, and creating a bridge between past and future. I want young makers, especially those who look like me, to see themselves in this history, to know that they belong in spaces of creativity, craftsmanship, and artistry. Each story I document, each name I bring forward, is a reminder that Black makers have always shaped this art form, and they continue to inspire the work we do today.
This commitment is lifelong. It will take years, maybe decades, to fully illuminate these stories, but I believe that every small discovery matters. Every detail preserved, every legacy acknowledged, brings us closer to a fuller understanding of our shared cultural heritage. Through this work, I hope to honor those who came before, strengthen those working now, and inspire the generations to come to pick up tools, tell their own stories, and carry the music forward.
Before we go, we’d love to hear your thoughts on some longer-run, legacy type questions. What will you regret not doing?
I would regret not telling the stories that need to be heard, those hidden, erased, or overlooked. I would regret not using my hands, my voice, and my craft to honor the people whose labor, creativity, and brilliance have shaped our world but have been forgotten. I would regret not reaching across time and space to connect the past with the present, to illuminate the legacies that teach us who we are and who we can become.
Ultimately, I would regret not fully showing up; fearless, curious, and compassionate in the ways I can make a difference, in the ways I can preserve, uplift, and inspire. Humanity is carried in the stories we pass on; I don’t want to leave any of them untold.
Contact Info:
- Instagram: @thelutherielounge
Image Credits
Mike Belleme
