A little conventional, perhaps unimaginative, hardly a niche interest; a bit like love or happiness.
 
What a beautiful miracle is the intricacy of a sonata rendered from this odd carved bit of wood. But to call it that, of course, is to wilfully ignore the vital difference that craft, beauty, civilisation make in the transmutation of the raw and base resource into the object of art. Elegant lines, polished hardwood, the caress against the cheek: the violin ought to be enjoyed for its own aesthetic triumph, though if you want to play some Paganini I won’t stop you. 
 
Perhaps you met someone fascinating at a concert; perhaps a character of unimpeachable harmony is the subject of your attention; perhaps you wish to reward a friend’s newly commenced attempts at making music: write them a letter.