Factory Tours
Matt Rubendall Luthier
In a small workshop filled with chisels, wood shavings, and steel dust, Matt Rubendall quietly keeps a centuries-old craft alive. “I’m a classical guitar maker—the only one left in the five boroughs,” he says. For him, the title is both a badge and burden: a sign of rare mastery, and a reflection of how little space New York leaves for the niche craftsmen.
Matt’s path to lutherie was never about business. “I’m the world’s worst businessperson—on purpose,” he laughs. “I make things because I want to make them, because I have to make them, not because I’m trying to make it as a business.” He builds guitars under Matt Rubendall Luthier and hand-forged knives under Ruby Knives, both at his own pace, guided by curiosity and the physical need to create.
His clients range from classical musicians to jazz players and Brazilian performers who play choro on seven-string guitars. Each instrument is custom-built, balancing tradition and personal expression. “When I first started, I thought I had to follow history—like 1850 was the culmination of all things,” Matt recalls. “Then I realized I should make what I want to make, regardless. Classical musicians can be followers—they’ll freak out if their guitar is pink, even if it’s the best guitar in the world.”
That independent streak extends to everything he crafts. Matt’s workshop doubles as a museum of his obsessions: handmade chisels, planes, kitchen knives, and the tool rolls he sews himself. What began as a way to make better tools evolved into a fascination with form and facet. “Once you start making things, you start to see patterns,” he says. “I like angles, not rounded edges. You can make giant art that hangs in museums—but silverware? That’s where the excitement is. People use it every day.”
His knives are as much sculpture as they are tools—crafted from Karelian birch, a wood once used by Fabergé (the famed luxury house behind jeweled eggs), sometimes dyed or vacuum-sealed in resin. Recently, he’s turned to sushi knives, marrying Japanese precision with his own aesthetic. Every object in his studio tells a story of obsession and defiance, of someone unwilling to outsource meaning.
Matt’s relationship with New York is equally complex. “Being the only classical guitar maker is somewhat of an advantage,” he says. “I know everyone, and I don’t have to advertise much. But it would be impossible to do this anywhere else—there’s no one to buy higher-end things outside the city.” His workbench sits within the Brooklyn Army Terminal, a space that still hums with the quiet persistence of makers. “If you came to New York now and tried to do what I do—it’s virtually impossible. Tools cost thousands of dollars. Young people just can’t afford it.”
Despite the challenges, Matt refuses to scale up. “Every time I make something, people say, ‘You should sell those,’” he says. “But that’s not why we make stuff. The city wants you to hire people, make more, grow. And then you end up with just consumer crap. I don’t want that. I just want cheap rent so I can keep making things.”
There’s a quiet integrity to his defiance—a reminder that craftsmanship doesn’t need to be industrialized to have value. In a city obsessed with scale, he’s proof that devotion, not growth, is the truest measure of mastery.
To peruse Matt’s guitars, please head to his Instagram, and to check out his knives, please head here.