Every serious restoration begins with an argument, even if only with yourself. Do you return the car to the condition it left the factory in, or do you preserve the marks of the life it has lived since?
The first approach leads to concours lawns, where originality is checked down to the type of screw head and the finish on a bracket nobody will ever see. The second leads to cars that are driven, scuffed and loved, wearing their patina the way an old leather jacket does.
The work itself is slow. A body might be stripped to bare metal, and every panel straightened by hand. Engines are rebuilt to tolerances that were cutting-edge sixty years ago. Parts that no longer exist are made from drawings, or from a surviving example borrowed from another owner.
The goal is not a new car. It is the same car, given another fifty years.
Good restorers talk about the car as if it has opinions. In a sense it does: the original design decides what can be changed without the car becoming something else. The best restorations end with a car that looks untouched, drives as it was meant to, and keeps its story intact.