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CLASSIC INTEREST
The restorer's lament
With an eye for detail, it's easy to overlook the big picture
By David Grainger
Thursday, November 27, 2003
To the restorer of antique or classic cars, the hackneyed old adage 'you can't see the forest for the trees' has very special relevance. The problem is that as a restorer of old cars, one becomes far more familiar with them as great rusty heaps of bits and pieces than as beautiful expressions of 20th century art. When I first became a restorer of vintage automobiles a decade or so ago, it was because as a professional artist I had become besotted with the beauty and appeal of classic cars. I would spend hours walking from car to car at shows and cruise nights, examining them in infinite detail. I would feel a very palpable rise in heart rate when I came upon a perfectly restored, big block 1960s Corvette, '57 Chevy or '31 Ford Model A. There were times when every night of the week was spent driving to one cruise night or another, gathering with other motorheads under the mercury vapour lights of countless parking lots, discussing the merits and drawbacks associated with flathead engines and dual point ignitions.
While driving, my neck would snap and eyes rivet to any vintage auto spied in the oncoming lane. A parked 1959 Caddy was an irresistible lure.
As with all things, familiarity breeds contempt, and hundreds of restorations later I have to admit that a passing Chevelle or 1969 Mustang receives little more than a glance. I have become jaded; my innocence and sense of wonder lost to a gluttony of sweeping fins, flashing chrome and burbling exhausts. What once instilled excitement and longing now often elicits a sense of dread as classic cars come limping through my doors, all scabrous paint and corroded coachwork. I now perceive them as rolling Rorschach tests; their age bent and abused, twisted parts defying attempts to identify them as whole entities.
The restoration of antique and classic cars is perhaps the most difficult of any discipline within the automotive industry. Its complexity is mind boggling and the number of skills that must be mastered in order to restore a car properly is daunting to say the least.
Any serious restoration begins with the car being completely dismantled to its basic parts. It is a critical procedure - if the process is not recorded properly then much of the information that will be required during reassembly can be irretrievably lost. This is where the automobile begins to be perceived as tens of thousands of parts rather than as a whole.
Each piece, no matter how seemingly insignificant, has to be carefully removed, checked for condition and usability, catalogued, bagged and tagged. Identification and storage has to be accomplished in such a way that even a year or two later, each part is readily available and its use clear to anyone pulling it from the shelves.
Most people perceive a car in fairly simple terms. It is composed of the engine and other mechanical parts, body, trim and interior. While easy and convenient, this simplification of a very complex piece of machinery works against the restorer and his relationship with the car owner. The restorer thinks of the car as thousands of bits and pieces, each of which must be replaced or reconditioned to not only work as if new, but to look as if new.
It's not enough to just bring a car back from the edge of the abyss. Modern restorations have become so caught up with attention to detail that the cars end up far better than they were when they first rolled off of the manufacturer's assembly line. If a professional restorer were to perfectly recreate the car as it was when brand new, the owner would be less than pleased with the car's finished appearance and it would not stand a chance at any properly judged car show.
For example, at a proper Concours event, like the one held in Pebble Beach, California, a judge will look for details as minuscule as the shape of the bottom of a slot in a slotted screw, in hopes of catching a restorer who might have missed repairing damage caused by a screwdriver while driving the screw home.
It is little wonder, then, that the restorer can become so lost in detail that he or she fails to appreciate the car as a whole.
When I was a professional artist I was plagued by the insecurity of knowing everything that was wrong with a painting, even one that was basking in the glow of critical praise. As a restorer, the same insecurities plague the appreciation of the rolling sculpture that I recreate. While others might see a stunning and awe inspiring 1930s Packard dual cowl Phaeton roll quietly past, the good restorer may only be capable of seeing that tiny little sag in the paint at the bottom inside of the right rear fender.
Such is the price one pays for the privilege of recreating these pieces of rolling art.
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