Petaluma friends collaborate on ‘rainbow dragon’ ukulele

When Petaluma ukulele-maker Kawai Carvalho decided to create a one-of-a-kind instrument as an auction item at a rainbow-themed school fundraiser, the idea of decorating it with rainbows and dragons seemed perfect.

And the artist to design the dragon was obvious.

“Gio Benedetti draws dragons,” said Carvalho, leaning against the counter in the crammed and cozy garage/workshop where the ukulele was made.

“I do. I draw dragons,” nodded Benedetti, a local artist who hosted the popular “I Draw Dragons” zoom-based youth art classes early on during the pandemic shut-down. (Benedetti also curates the Argus-Courier’s weekly “For the Love of Comics” feature, showcasing the work of local art students.)

The instrument in question – with an ornate fingerboard featuring a multicolored mashup of clouds, swirling rainbows and an impressively horned dragon – is on proud display in a case beside him. It is waiting for Saturday, March 11, when it will be auctioned off to the highest bidder at Live Oak Charter School’s “Rainbow Connection” dinner/auction fundraiser. Benedetti and Carvalho both have children currently attending Live Oak.

“It’s a very complex design,” Carvalho acknowledged. “There are all these really tiny elements. I counted them.” For the record, there are 179 individual elements, each a separate piece of wood or crushed shell, in Benedetti’s design.

“That nostril alone is like a pencil-tip, and that’s its own piece of dyed wood that I had to put in. It was very difficult.”

“I should explain that, for my part, the drawing was exceedingly easy,” Benedetti said, grinning at Carvalho. “I liked this partnership a lot. ‘You need a dragon? Here you go. Can you do this? Good luck!’”

“I first had to cut all the pieces out,” Carvalho explained, moving to a shelf where stacks of wood in various colors are on display, “and then I had to assemble them, like a jigsaw puzzle.” In fact, the fingerboard was assembled twice. “I made two of them, just in case I messed up.”

Carvalho, who uses they/them pronouns, was born and raised on the island of Oahu in Hawaii. Though a lifelong fan of the ukulele – which they say with the traditional pronunciation of oo-koo-ley-ley – they never actually played the instrument much until 2017.

“My partner and our first kid took a trip to Hawaii, and while we were there I got the idea to pick up an ukulele,” Carvalho said. “And I just fell in love with it, and started playing, playing, playing. Then 2020 rolled around, the pandemic shut everything down, I was at home and I needed a hobby. I wanted a new ukulele, so I had to decided – do I buy another one, or do I build one myself?”

After learning the basics from a standard do-it-yourself ukulele kit, Carvalho found that it barely scratched the itch to learn everything about how an ukulele works.

“I wanted to do everything myself,” they said.

After buying some of the necessary tools to bend the wood and make the fingerboard, Carvalho spent the next few weeks making an ukulele from scratch. “I like to say I made that first one with a bucket of sandpaper and a dream.”

As it so happened, that one ukulele both scratched the itch and deepened Carvalho’s desire to make more ukuleles.

“From that very first one, I just fell in love with it, fell in love with making ukuleles,” they said. “I felt super-connected to it. As someone who is part Hawaiian and part Portuguese – the ukulele being a Portuguese instrument that is unique to Hawaii – I loved channeling that ancestry, which just made me feel more connected to Hawaii.”

In January 2021, educator EB Troast, Carvalho’s partner and the mother of their children, died suddenly of cardiac arrest.

“That totally twisted our world around,” said Carvalho, adding that in short succession their out-of-the-area landlords gave them two months notice to vacate, as the owners planned to return to Petaluma and move back into the house. Meanwhile, Carvalho’s job as a video editor disappeared in a round of mid-pandemic layoffs. “Really bad timing, right?”

Shortly before Troast’s death, Carvalho had purchased some very nice wood, specific to ukulele-making, which was not inexpensive. After Troast died, for a time, Carvalho was too overwhelmed to even think about making ukuleles, and with money tight, they wrote to the seller of the wood, explained the situation, and asked to return the shipment and receive a refund.

“And the person was like, ‘I’m going to refund the money. Just keep the wood. Make some ukuleles,’’’ Carvalho recalled. “That kindness, which is commonplace in the ukulele community, it just brings tears to my eyes when I think of it. And it got me building again. And that saved me.”

It turns out that building ukuleles was exactly the right kind of therapeutic practice Carvalho needed while processing such enormous grief.

“I’m always going through grief, right?” they said. “I’m never not experiencing grief, but during that early deep grieving time” – they held out their arms to encompass everything inside the garage – “this saved me. No matter what stresses of the day I was having – the stresses of suddenly being a solo parent, the stresses of trying to figure all of these changes out, the stresses of just being alone – when I come in here, and I get my hands on an ukulele, I instantly feel calm.”

Before losing the editing job, Carvalho’s ukulele efforts were a hobby only. But being unemployed, and needing to take care of two children full-time – schools still being closed – they decided to attempt turning the ukulele pastime into an official business.

That business is Coast Ukuleles, a combination of the first two letters of Carvalho and the last three letters of Troast. Coast Ukuleles are sold in one store in Hawaii and one more in the UK, but the majority of the instruments Carvalho makes are custom jobs designed to the specifications of a particular buyer.

Of course, with limited available hours in which to build instruments – “I seriously have seven hours a week of kid-free time,” Carvalho said – and with the average ukulele requiring 40 to 50 hours to make and selling for $3,000-$5,000, Carvalho is not yet at a point where the business is paying all the bills.

“We’re still dipping into savings each month, but when both kids are in school, and I can spend more time building, considering the length of the wait-list I have right now, I think we’re going to be OK.”

There are 18 ukuleles in varying degrees of creation in the workshop right now, Carvalho said, gesturing to a stack of objects – bodies, necks and headstocks – from which those custom ukuleles will be assembled. Given the time it takes, some of the instruments are not scheduled for delivery until 2024.

As for the rainbow dragon ukulele, Carvalho summed up the experience in succinct fashion.

“So anyway, we decided to make this, and we made it, and I’m excited,” they said. “I’m not sure how much money it’s going to raise for the school, but I’m hoping it goes for a good price, and every dollar counts, right?”

“Kawai has never been to this auction before, but I have, and it gets wild,” said Benedetti. “There will be silent auction items, but this is going to be part of the live auction.”

“And if all goes well, and there’s real interest, then maybe next year we’ll do something even more special,” Carvalho said.

“I’m ready. Let’s do it,” replied Benedetti. “There’s nothing cooler than having a drawing you made show up on something as cool as an ukulele. This has been such a satisfying project. And yes, I’m already having ideas for the next one.”

“Maybe a little simpler, though?” suggested Carvalho.

“No way!” Benedetti said with a playful laugh. “Next time, 180 pieces!”