"There is no percentage in remembering the past"
— Taj Mahal, Take a Giant Step.
For the most part, I view lingering in the past as a cry for help. If you are afraid that your audience will abandon you, the first thing some performers do is dig into the archives for the old hits. I'm not saying that old hits are bad, I've had my share of "glory years" but they're all in the rear-view mirror now.
As time passes, I become more attuned to the different needs and desires of my own motivation. I want to build guitars that have a back-story built in as opposed to building the back story for the second or third time.
Here's a look at the hand-made book of sketches, dimensions and ponderings that accompanies each "Signature" guitar that I build. It's a place to draw, doodle and communicate the concept that drives the build. It's a place to record dimensions and ideas. The pages step through the thought process behind my choices—the true back-story that is built into the guitar. This is one that I'm calling "The Crow", and when the instrument is finished, the book is hand-stitched, bound with a beautiful cover of original artwork and goes with the guitar.
I bring my experience, my taste and my sense of humor to each project. Serving the client is only one side of the coin; just as fitting my designs into a template dictated by a company policy isn't my priority any longer. I'm free to express my own desires and esthetics with my own projects. I love what I'm doing and I hope it will show. It's not such a bad place to be.
All of this comes to mind as I am simultaneously designing new instruments and building a classic "replica" for Anthony. In that regard, it certainly feels better to obsess on someone else's past than your own.
The question that remains is, can guitar designs that owe so much to a vintage esthetic, move ahead without being purely nostalgic?