NORTHFIELD, MINN. -- If your heart soars at the strains of Handel's "Messiah" or Bach's "Christmas Oratorio" this year, say a silent thank-you to the Siberian stallion, the Brazilian pernambuco tree and the artisan whose gifts made it possible for those strings to sing.

Matthew Wehling is one such artisan. In the no-frills basement of his 1903 house in Northfield, Wehling crafts award-winning bows for violins, cellos and violas. Musicians pay as much as $5,000 for a Wehling bow.

Only about 35 full-time professionals make bows in the U.S., about four in Minnesota. Like most, Wehling crafts each bow by hand -- and even makes some of his own metal planes and knives for shaving and carving them.

The reddish wood for bows comes from Brazil, bits of decorative shellfish from Asia. He uses Siberian horse hair because it's straight and tough, and he meticulously sorts it, hair by hair, tossing out as many as half that are not quite right.

A bow must first be functional, a tool on which a musician can rely. But there's another aspect, one on which Wehling places great emphasis: the bow as an object of beauty.

To make beautiful music, "we must relate to our instruments, surroundings, fellow musicians," Wehling said. "And it's simply easier for us to relate to an object when it's beautiful. That is why I work very hard to make bows which capture the aesthetic of beautiful older French bows."

What Italy is to violins, France is to bows. Wehling studied bowmaking in France for five years, then came home to Minnesota in 2001 with a French wife and their baby boy. He said he knows of only two or three other Americans who studied French bowmaking as intensively as he has.

He stopped himself midsentence. It's so un-Minnesotan, he murmured, to get even close to saying, "Look at me. I'm special."

So, let's let others talk about how good his bows are:

Ken Freed, violist with the Minnesota Orchestra and its assistant conductor this year: "Using his bow is like driving a Ferrari. It's so responsive, so fast. It has great sound and great spiccato [bounce]. Usually a bow has only one or the other. Put it this way: Imagine having a paintbrush that does anything you want."

Cathy Schubilske, violinist with the Minnesota Orchestra: "His bows do such a good job of hugging the strings, even in soft passages."

Robert Hanford, concertmaster of the Chicago Lyric Opera and former associate principal violin with the Minnesota Orchestra: "I like Matt's bows a lot. I own two fine bows -- Matt's being one -- and three lesser bows. His gives a clear, very powerful sound." Hanford appreciates Wehling's workmanship, and he likes the maker: "Matt works very hard and is an unassuming person."

Off with its neck!

On the door of Wehling's workshop is a black-and-white poster of the great violinist Jascha Heifetz, violin in his left hand and a handsome violin bow prominently displayed in his right. Taped above the poster is a newspaper headline: "Don't settle for average."

Heifetz didn't. Wehling vows not to.

Wehling, 43, grew up in Cottage Grove, the youngest of four boys. He graduated from the University of Minnesota and worked as a chemist in the medical-device field for seven years. For fun, he played mandolin (his primary instrument), guitar and a bit of violin.

In about 1990, he picked up his unlatched violin case one day, and the instrument came tumbling out. The neck was severed from the instrument's body.

That led to thoughts of violin repair, or maybe violinmaking. But, never one to follow the pack, Wehling considered instead bowmaking. He likes working with his hands on intricate work, and he loved the idea that something so seemingly simple as a violin bow has so many layers of depth. Bowmaking, he realized, was something in which he could be immersed for a lifetime.