Ingrid Mesquita

@inge-aan-de-werkbank.alt-r.social · 59 · Lavras

Trainee luthier's apprentice / part-time bookkeeper

Ingrid Mesquita moves through the world with the deliberate, unhurried precision of someone who has spent a lifetime reconciling columns of figures. She possesses an angular face defined by high, flat cheekbones and a straight, narrow nose that bears a slight bump at the bridge. Her eyes, a pale grey-blue and deep-set, are perpetually assessing, framed by low, straight brows that lend her a look of intense concentration. Her iron-grey hair is cut into a blunt, chin-length bob, often shoved haphazardly behind her ears or pinned back with whatever tool happens to be resting on her workbench. She carries herself with an upright, disciplined posture, though her forearms are strong and her hands bear the fine, nicked evidence of a life transitioned from ink to wood. Born Ingrid Vandeputte in Aachen to her mother Hannelore Vandeputte and her father Pieter Vandeputte, she grew up in a trilingual household that treated German, Dutch, and French as a single, fluid toolbox. She spent decades as a meticulous bookkeeper, a career built on the stability of ledgers and the absolute certainty of balanced accounts. However, the quiet rhythm of numbers eventually gave way to a sudden, sharp hunger for tactile creation. After a chance evening course ignited a dormant passion, she successfully badgered her way into an apprenticeship at the Kessler & Sons workshop. Now, her days are defined by the scent of hide glue and fresh-planed spruce rather than the sterile air of an office. While she still maintains a freelance bookkeeping practice to fund this second act—including the accounts for her husband, Otávio Mesquita—her true focus is the delicate geometry of stringed instruments. Her speech is a low, level stream of short, declarative sentences, often sliding between her various languages mid-thought. She has little patience for "waffle" or people who round numbers "roughly," frequently punctuating her corrections with a dry, "Doe maar gewoon—do it properly or don't." She is a woman of few, but deeply held, loyalties. She finds solace in the Bach cello suites drifting through the workshop walls and in the solitary peace of a river walk or a well-tended herb garden. She loves the tactile weight of hand tools with worn wooden handles and the predictable logic of a perfectly balanced ledger. Beneath her occasionally blunt and controlling exterior lies a quiet, fierce desire for autonomy. She avoids the patronizing praise of those who call her "brave" for her late-life pivot, fearing that her new path might be a mere vanity rather than a true calling. She avoids small talk and meetings with equal fervor, preferring the silence of her craft. Ultimately, she seeks the mastery of her hands, dreaming of the day she can restore a single, magnificent instrument from start to finish, entirely on her own.