關於 rug making ，我們在網路上蒐集到這些相關的討論、資訊與評價

Alumine Five of Stenheim

Stenheim is a relatively late entrant to the high-end speaker field. It was founded in 2010 by a collective of mainly ex-Goldmund engineers, and its products have inherited an unmistakable aesthetic and, to a lesser extent, sonic DNA, although it was a significantly evolved character that was to emerge in the shape of the debut model, the compact, two-way Alumine Two. It’s a developmental divergence that has continued and, if anything, accelerated with the emergence of each subsequent product. The latest Stenheim speakers, developed under the auspices of new owner Jean-Pascal Panchard, definitely have their own, unambiguous identity, both visually and musically.

I’ve been seriously looking forward to the arrival of the Alumine Five. Previous experience with the brand has included impressive exposure to the various versions of the enormous and enormously impressive Ultime Reference models, as well as a brief but highly rewarding flirtation with the stand-mounted Alumine Two in my own system. The possibility of combining the sense of musical articulation, enthusiasm and communication I experienced from the Alumine Two, with more than a hint of the clarity, scale and authority so effortlessly delivered by the Reference models, all in a package that, if not exactly affordable, at least isn’t completely out of the question, makes the Alumine Five a distinctly interesting proposition.

Yet, confronted with the Alumine Five in the flesh, there’s little to hint at the extraordinary promise lurking within. Resolutely rectangular in true Stenheim style, the Five’s aluminum cabinet, with its plate-to-plate construction, stands just 48" tall, 15" deep and presents a broad 11" face to the world, dimensions based on golden-ratio numbers. The front baffle is split by a physical break between the upper midrange-treble enclosure and the lower bass cabinet, independently ported by the laminated full-width slots above and below, a physical separation that is mirrored by the contrasting inlaid strips that help visually break up the one-piece side panels. The regular lines, smooth surfaces, flawless matte finish and lack of visible fixings could easily result in a bland, almost featureless appearance. But those trim strips and the offset midrange and treble drivers do just enough to give the Five a subtle hint of individual style without resorting to the sort of gauche and ostentatious flourishes that so often pass as design.

The result is a refreshingly clean, classical appearance that will blend seamlessly with a range of different decors. Despite the lack of grilles (although they are available as an option, does anybody really spend this kind of money on a speaker and then compromise the performance by fitting covers?), the beautifully profiled baffle and absence of visible fixings makes for a genuinely neat, finished appearance that matches the superb surface finish on the cabinet. The end result just looks right, in a way that makes you wonder why you’d want grilles anyway.

The first hint of its potent sonic capabilities comes when you try to pick it up. Each comparatively compact cabinet tips the scales at 220 pounds. That’s a grunt-inducing, two-man lift. Now, take a look at the figures for bandwidth and sensitivity, and an in-room response that digs down as far as 28Hz combined with 94dB efficiency should raise your eyebrows, especially given the compact cabinet dimensions. Which brings us to the first experiential disconnect: boxes this size shouldn’t produce this much bass or do it so easily. Nor should they weigh so much -- although therein lies the clue to this particular conundrum. When it comes to bass extension, it’s not the external dimensions of the box that matter, but its internal volume. Just like the Crystal Cable Minissimo, a thin-wall cabinet makes for a much larger internal volume than the external dimensions might suggest -- especially if we apply the expectations of more conventional wood-based construction. Throw in the sheer weight of the aluminum panels and the combination of mass and physical dimensions would subconsciously suggest massively thick walls -- and a correspondingly limited internal volume. Instead, what we have here is a deceptively large volume, which, combined with the inertia of the heavy cabinet and the mechanical stability provided by the material, makes for an effective mechanical reference for driver movement, meaning that more of the energy your amplifier sticks into the speaker comes out as sound and (at least in theory) it will be more precisely rendered.

So far, not very much that’s new. It’s not like Stenheim (or Magico, or YG Acoustics) has exclusivity when it comes to aluminum cabinets. But what does make Stenheim different is the unique material they use in damping their cabinet panels. Of course, the separate enclosures and the internal baffles they demand make for an inherently heavily braced structure, but look inside a dismantled Alumine Five and you’ll find strategically placed pads stuck to the cabinet walls. These three-layer, self-adhesive pads combine a heavy damping layer (adjacent to the cabinet wall itself) with added foam and impervious layers, allowing the low-volume pads to influence both the mechanical behavior of the cabinet itself and the enclosed volume. It’s an interesting solution because it manages to overcome the weakness so often audible in simple, braced aluminum cabinets (the all-too-recognizable resonant signature of the material itself) while maximizing the benefits (large volume and rigidity) by obviating the need to stuff the internal space full of wadding or long-haired wool. In fact, if the Stenheims were stood behind a sonically transparent curtain, you’d be hard-pressed to recognize the music as emanating from an aluminum cabinet at all. The absence of the bleached, grainy or lean colorations, the lack of sterile, mechanistic reproduction, is one big half of the Stenheim story, living, breathing proof that it’s not what you use but how you use it that counts.

The other half is down to the drive units, and after the cabinets, those come as quite a surprise, both the lineup and the chosen materials. In stark contrast to the use of the latest, precision CNC techniques, complex damping pads and finishing options, the Alumine Five's drivers are as traditional as they come, with a coated silk-dome tweeter and pulp or laminated paper midrange and bass drivers. The cone drivers use textile double-roll surrounds and massive magnets more normally found in pro-audio applications, and while Stenheim doesn’t build its own drivers, the company works closely with its chosen supplier (PHL, definitely not one of the usual suspects) to specify the electrical parameters, mechanical characteristics and precise details of the surface coating.

The use of such lightweight cone materials and large motors aids the system efficiency, while a hybrid second-order/Linkwitz-Riley crossover, the result of extended listening and evolution, ensures phase coherence and excellent out-of-band attenuation and makes for easy non-reactive load characteristics, despite the three-way topology. The other aspect of the driver lineup that might be considered slightly unusual is the use of a large-diameter (6 1/2") midrange unit -- although less so since Vandersteen’s patent on the approach lapsed some years ago, resulting in a rash of companies suddenly exploring the possibilities of the topology.

Perhaps more important, in the case of the Alumine Five, it means that you are getting the tweeter and midrange drivers from the Ultime Reference series speakers, teamed here with a pair of 10" woofers but without the benefit of a super tweeter. Even so, Stenheim quotes bandwidth out to 35kHz, which should suffice for most purposes. The review speakers arrived with the optional second set of terminals installed, allowing for biwiring or, more significantly, biamping, an upgrade opportunity that makes this an option you should take. If, in the meantime, you are single-wiring the speakers, make sure you factor in a set of jumpers that match your speaker cables: the Alumine Five's overall sense of musical coherence makes the benefits especially obvious. Likewise, good wiring practice is essential, both in terms of cable dressing and diagonal connection (red to midrange/treble, black to bass, with jumpers arranged accordingly).

Aside from the speaker's substantial weight, the parallel sides and flat surfaces of the four-square cabinet make setting up the Fives an absolute joy. Precise, repeatable, angular adjustments are easily achieved, while changes in attitude are just as straightforward, helped by the beautifully profiled stainless-steel spiked feet and deeply cupped footers. Both the cones and their locking rings have nice, large ports to take the supplied pry bars, but it’s worth greasing the threads before installation. One other thing to watch out for: the spikes are seriously (refreshingly) sharp -- sharp enough to penetrate a thick rug and score the floor below, so be careful where you stand the speakers once the feet are installed. Final positioning disposed the speakers on a broad front with minimal toe-in. When it came to dialing in their considerable musical energy, the most critical factor proved to be height off the ground, with tiny adjustments of the spikes making profound differences to the weight and pace of the presentation. Likewise, equal weighting of the four spikes was crucial to a proper sense of grounded weight and dynamic authority.
........................................................

Price: $60,000 per pair.
Warranty: Five years parts and labor.

(Source: The Audio Beat)

工作室換了一張全新的人體工學椅，還有繽紛的新地毯! 工作環境舒適度提升，人生是彩色的!! 好好繼續做音樂吧!! <3
Got a brand new ergonomic chair for the studio and a colorful new rug! Comfy surroundings make me happy. Let's keep making more music!

An incredibly beautiful, sad, brave, wise, inspiring post by Facebook COO Sheryl Sandberg. Early this year, I read her book 'Lean In', a book encouraging women to achieve their dreams and ambitions, and was so grateful it was written for such a time as this. I especially loved her chapter about David being so supportive of her. I'm still stunned by all that's happened to them.

Here's to beating the heck out of Option B.

Today is the end of sheloshim for my beloved husband—the first thirty days. Judaism calls for a period of intense mourning known as shiva that lasts seven days after a loved one is buried. After shiva, most normal activities can be resumed, but it is the end of sheloshim that marks the completion of religious mourning for a spouse.

A childhood friend of mine who is now a rabbi recently told me that the most powerful one-line prayer he has ever read is: “Let me not die while I am still alive.” I would have never understood that prayer before losing Dave. Now I do.

I think when tragedy occurs, it presents a choice. You can give in to the void, the emptiness that fills your heart, your lungs, constricts your ability to think or even breathe. Or you can try to find meaning. These past thirty days, I have spent many of my moments lost in that void. And I know that many future moments will be consumed by the vast emptiness as well.

But when I can, I want to choose life and meaning.

And this is why I am writing: to mark the end of sheloshim and to give back some of what others have given to me. While the experience of grief is profoundly personal, the bravery of those who have shared their own experiences has helped pull me through. Some who opened their hearts were my closest friends. Others were total strangers who have shared wisdom and advice publicly. So I am sharing what I have learned in the hope that it helps someone else. In the hope that there can be some meaning from this tragedy.

I have lived thirty years in these thirty days. I am thirty years sadder. I feel like I am thirty years wiser.

I have gained a more profound understanding of what it is to be a mother, both through the depth of the agony I feel when my children scream and cry and from the connection my mother has to my pain. She has tried to fill the empty space in my bed, holding me each night until I cry myself to sleep. She has fought to hold back her own tears to make room for mine. She has explained to me that the anguish I am feeling is both my own and my children’s, and I understood that she was right as I saw the pain in her own eyes.

I have learned that I never really knew what to say to others in need. I think I got this all wrong before; I tried to assure people that it would be okay, thinking that hope was the most comforting thing I could offer. A friend of mine with late-stage cancer told me that the worst thing people could say to him was “It is going to be okay.” That voice in his head would scream, How do you know it is going to be okay? Do you not understand that I might die? I learned this past month what he was trying to teach me. Real empathy is sometimes not insisting that it will be okay but acknowledging that it is not. When people say to me, “You and your children will find happiness again,” my heart tells me, Yes, I believe that, but I know I will never feel pure joy again. Those who have said, “You will find a new normal, but it will never be as good” comfort me more because they know and speak the truth. Even a simple “How are you?”—almost always asked with the best of intentions—is better replaced with “How are you today?” When I am asked “How are you?” I stop myself from shouting, My husband died a month ago, how do you think I am? When I hear “How are you today?” I realize the person knows that the best I can do right now is to get through each day.

I have learned some practical stuff that matters. Although we now know that Dave died immediately, I didn’t know that in the ambulance. The trip to the hospital was unbearably slow. I still hate every car that did not move to the side, every person who cared more about arriving at their destination a few minutes earlier than making room for us to pass. I have noticed this while driving in many countries and cities. Let’s all move out of the way. Someone’s parent or partner or child might depend on it.

I have learned how ephemeral everything can feel—and maybe everything is. That whatever rug you are standing on can be pulled right out from under you with absolutely no warning. In the last thirty days, I have heard from too many women who lost a spouse and then had multiple rugs pulled out from under them. Some lack support networks and struggle alone as they face emotional distress and financial insecurity. It seems so wrong to me that we abandon these women and their families when they are in greatest need.

I have learned to ask for help—and I have learned how much help I need. Until now, I have been the older sister, the COO, the doer and the planner. I did not plan this, and when it happened, I was not capable of doing much of anything. Those closest to me took over. They planned. They arranged. They told me where to sit and reminded me to eat. They are still doing so much to support me and my children.

I have learned that resilience can be learned. Adam M. Grant taught me that three things are critical to resilience and that I can work on all three. Personalization—realizing it is not my fault. He told me to ban the word “sorry.” To tell myself over and over, This is not my fault. Permanence—remembering that I won’t feel like this forever. This will get better. Pervasiveness—this does not have to affect every area of my life; the ability to compartmentalize is healthy.

For me, starting the transition back to work has been a savior, a chance to feel useful and connected. But I quickly discovered that even those connections had changed. Many of my co-workers had a look of fear in their eyes as I approached. I knew why—they wanted to help but weren’t sure how. Should I mention it? Should I not mention it? If I mention it, what the hell do I say? I realized that to restore that closeness with my colleagues that has always been so important to me, I needed to let them in. And that meant being more open and vulnerable than I ever wanted to be. I told those I work with most closely that they could ask me their honest questions and I would answer. I also said it was okay for them to talk about how they felt. One colleague admitted she’d been driving by my house frequently, not sure if she should come in. Another said he was paralyzed when I was around, worried he might say the wrong thing. Speaking openly replaced the fear of doing and saying the wrong thing. One of my favorite cartoons of all time has an elephant in a room answering the phone, saying, “It’s the elephant.” Once I addressed the elephant, we were able to kick him out of the room.

At the same time, there are moments when I can’t let people in. I went to Portfolio Night at school where kids show their parents around the classroom to look at their work hung on the walls. So many of the parents—all of whom have been so kind—tried to make eye contact or say something they thought would be comforting. I looked down the entire time so no one could catch my eye for fear of breaking down. I hope they understood.

I have learned gratitude. Real gratitude for the things I took for granted before—like life. As heartbroken as I am, I look at my children each day and rejoice that they are alive. I appreciate every smile, every hug. I no longer take each day for granted. When a friend told me that he hates birthdays and so he was not celebrating his, I looked at him and said through tears, “Celebrate your birthday, goddammit. You are lucky to have each one.” My next birthday will be depressing as hell, but I am determined to celebrate it in my heart more than I have ever celebrated a birthday before.

I am truly grateful to the many who have offered their sympathy. A colleague told me that his wife, whom I have never met, decided to show her support by going back to school to get her degree—something she had been putting off for years. Yes! When the circumstances allow, I believe as much as ever in leaning in. And so many men—from those I know well to those I will likely never know—are honoring Dave’s life by spending more time with their families.

I can’t even express the gratitude I feel to my family and friends who have done so much and reassured me that they will continue to be there. In the brutal moments when I am overtaken by the void, when the months and years stretch out in front of me endless and empty, only their faces pull me out of the isolation and fear. My appreciation for them knows no bounds.

I was talking to one of these friends about a father-child activity that Dave is not here to do. We came up with a plan to fill in for Dave. I cried to him, “But I want Dave. I want option A.” He put his arm around me and said, “Option A is not available. So let’s just kick the shit out of option B.”

Dave, to honor your memory and raise your children as they deserve to be raised, I promise to do all I can to kick the shit out of option B. And even though sheloshim has ended, I still mourn for option A. I will always mourn for option A. As Bono sang, “There is no end to grief . . . and there is no end to love.” I love you, Dave.