My story
I’ve played guitar since my late teens, and like most guitarists, I always dreamed of “the one” — the guitar that would perfectly match my hands, my style, and my needs.
At the time, it never crossed my mind that I would one day build it myself.
The idea of building guitars began as a coincidence rather than a plan.
In my yard stood a maple tree that eventually had to come down. I knew I didn’t want to turn it into firewood — I wanted to build something meaningful from it. For years, I couldn’t quite figure out what that should be.
Then one morning, during the early days of the COVID pandemic, I woke up, looked at my Epiphone Les Paul, and it suddenly clicked: that guitar is made of maple.
At the time, I was quarantined at home after a possible exposure, with plenty of time to think — and build. I decided to give it a try.
I’ve always loved working with my hands. As a kid, it was tree houses. As an adult, it became real houses. Building a guitar felt like a natural continuation of that curiosity and creativity — combining craftsmanship with my lifelong love for music.
That first guitar changed everything.
What started as a fun idea quickly turned into a passion, and eventually into Härbre Guitars. And as they say — the rest is history.
A guitar is not just an object — it’s an extension of the player.
I believe a guitar is an extension of the person playing it.
When an instrument feels personal, it allows your creativity and personality to come through naturally in your playing and your music.
That connection can exist with any guitar — even a mass-produced one — but it rarely runs as deep as it does with an instrument built solely for one player. A custom guitar has the potential to respond to you in a more intimate way, because it is shaped around your hands, your needs, and your way of making music.
A guitar should do more than function as a tool. It should inspire you to pick it up, explore, and create. It should invite ideas rather than stand in the way of them.
Every guitar I build is made with intent. I aim to give each instrument its own character, feel, and energy. Sometimes the build follows a clearly defined plan from the very beginning. Other times, the guitar slowly reveals itself during the process, allowing the wood, the materials, and the moment to guide the final result.
In the end, the goal is always the same: to create an instrument that feels alive in your hands — and truly yours.
Nothing is anonymous. Every guitar has a traceable origin and is built by one set of hands.
Every H rbre guitar is built by me, one at a time, from start to finish.
I begin by selecting the right materials — often sourcing the wood myself. In many cases, I can tell you exactly where a tree once stood before it became part of an instrument. I cut it down, mill it, and let it dry properly over time before it ever becomes a guitar. That connection to the material is an important part of the process for me.
While I do use modern tools where they make sense — table saws, routers, and occasionally even a laser — nothing about the guitar itself is mass-produced. These tools are simply extensions of my hands, helping me work with precision and consistency. The shaping, fitting, and final details are all done by hand.
For structural parts like the body and neck, I primarily work with locally sourced woods. Exotic woods that don’t grow in Åland are used sparingly, mainly for decorative elements such as bindings, inlays, or occasionally a fretboard. The core of the instrument remains rooted in local material and place.
From raw lumber to finished instrument, each guitar grows slowly and deliberately. No shortcuts, no production lines — just careful work, attention to detail, and respect for the material.
The Härbre
H rbre Guitars takes its name from the building where every instrument is made.
The word härbre refers to a traditional Nordic storage building, most often used for grain and farm tools. In the logo, the missing “ä” in H rbre is intentional — a small quirk that came from experimenting with fonts that didn’t support the character. It stuck, and it felt right. A subtle nod to both tradition and individuality.
The härbre that houses my workshop was built in 1907 using reused timbered logs from an even older structure. By counting the growth rings in the wood, it’s clear that the trees were already more than 100 years old when they were felled. Taking into account their earlier use, it’s likely that these trees began growing sometime in the mid-1700s.
Working inside these walls means being constantly surrounded by history.
In the 1990s, a nearby barn was struck by lightning and burned to the ground. The härbre survived, but not without scars. The back wall was heavily damaged by the fire, leaving the exterior charred and parts of the interior marked where flames burned all the way through the logs. Those traces are still visible today.
Inside the building, the original log walls remain exposed. You can still see carved markings in the timber — records left behind by previous generations, counting grain barrels or measurements from the building’s original purpose.
Today, the exterior has been protected with new paneling to shield the structure from weather and time. Inside, however, the härbre remains unchanged — raw, honest, and full of character.
What was once a place for storing grain is now a place for creativity. A building shaped by centuries of use continues its life by shaping instruments made to be played for decades to come.
Values
I build guitars with a few simple principles in mind.
Comfort and playability come first. A guitar should feel natural in your hands, making it easy to focus on playing and creating rather than fighting the instrument.
Every guitar should be personal. Individuality matters — in sound, feel, and design. No two players are the same, and no two instruments should be either.
Craftsmanship is about intent, not perfection. Each decision is made with care, respecting both the material and the instrument’s purpose.
I value honesty in materials and construction. Wood has a history, character, and limits, and part of my work is listening to what it wants to become rather than forcing it into something it’s not.
Above all, a guitar should inspire. It should invite you to pick it up, explore, and make music — again and again.