Machines can be assembled, but only the rare ones are born with a heartbeat. When someone asks why I love classic sports cars so much, I always say it’s because they were made with a soul. Beneath their polished surfaces lies more than metal and motion; there is a spirit that remembers care, a beauty that speaks of time, and a kind of grace that can only come from creation touched by love.
In the past, cars were built not only with extraordinary knowledge, often passed down through generations, but with boundless passion and meticulous attention to every detail. They weren’t created merely to perform; they were crafted to be felt, to be experienced, to be lived with, and to be enjoyed to the fullest.
Today, in the age of social media, it often seems that everyone is searching for shortcuts, all the possible ways to skip the hard part and leap straight into pleasure, unaware that the journey itself is what gives meaning, value, and true happiness. We scroll, swipe, and consume, yet somehow never arrive anywhere. Motion has become noise. Presence has been replaced by performance. Craft by convenience. Connection by consumption.
And yet, a few months ago, in an endless ocean of similar accounts on Instagram, something extraordinary caught my eye. The caption read, “In my dream shop, building my dream car on the most beautiful day. Anyone want to drive it?” next to an image of the very first body shape of The Specter. Tanner Boyes at the time was somewhere in the middle of a very long journey of building his dream car from the ground up.
In a world that prizes speed and spectacle, Tanner’s quiet devotion felt to me like a rare and luminous story, one that demanded to be told. I didn’t hesitate—I reached out, eager to hear the vision behind the hands that were shaping The Specter.
The courage to dream with your hands, the patience to build with your heart, and the joy of bringing a vision to life, one curve at a time—I hope you find this interview as inspiring as I did.
For those who don’t know you yet, how would you introduce yourself in just a few sentences?
I am Tanner Boyes, 34 years old. I have an abiding passion for design, art, craft, and creativity, and I seek every opportunity to engage with them.
Can you remember the exact moment you fell in love with cars? What was it that truly captivated you?
Like many deeply enthusiastic car fanatics, my passion for cars started at a very young age—perhaps before my earliest memories—and developed gradually through my early teens, when I became aware of European sports cars* of the 1950s and ’60s. The first cars I owned were air-cooled VW and Porsche projects that I saved for and fixed up with the help of friends and my dad. I remember seeing old pictures of my dad’s VW projects in the 1980s in SoCal. I wanted to do the same thing.
*These cars weren’t just fast or beautiful; they were lessons in engineering, balance, and subtle design. Air-cooled engines, like those in early VWs and Porsches, invited owners to get their hands dirty, to learn through touch, adjustment, and care — a rare, formative experience for a young enthusiast.
As a child, did you have a dream car you were obsessed with? What made it so special to you?
When I was a young teenager, I desperately wanted a Porsche 912. I managed to find one at age 17 and enjoyed it throughout high school. The poster on my wall growing up, however, was of the infamous Porsche 550 Spyder owned by James Dean*. There was something so magical about that shape to me.
*James Dean’s Porsche 550 Spyder, nicknamed “Little Bastard,” was more than just a car — it was a statement. Built in 1955 as Porsche’s first purpose-built racing car, the Spyder was low, lightweight, and precise, designed to be felt as much as driven. Its sleek, flowing body seemed sculpted by motion itself, every curve purposeful, balanced, and perfectly proportioned — a design that conveyed speed and elegance even at rest. Dean, already a rising Hollywood star, was captivated not only by its racing pedigree but by the almost alive quality of its shape, seeing in the car a reflection of freedom, rebellion, and careful craft. He intended to race it professionally, drawn to the hands-on engagement that a machine like this demanded.
Tragically, Dean never got to fully realize that ambition. On September 30, 1955, while driving to a race in Salinas, California, he collided with another vehicle and was killed instantly. The 550 Spyder, damaged beyond repair, became instantly legendary, its story intertwined with myth, danger, and the fleeting beauty of impermanence.
How did the idea for Specter Design first come to life? Was there a defining moment that sparked it?
I had the privilege of working on a very historic Porsche race car from the 1950s, and I would obsessively study its bodywork and construction. I was so impressed with its simplicity that I made up my mind to design and construct my own unique car. It was some years after starting that personal project that I created a company and named it Specter Design—with the goal of creating a boutique sports car brand.
Every artist faces challenges—was there a time you felt rejected or doubted your path? What were your biggest fears when launching Specter Design?
There have been many dark moments during my journey as an artist and businessman. I have feared that people who depend on me—my family, friends, partners, and employees—might be let down or disappointed, especially during difficult financial times. I have continued on the path anyway, because an even greater fear would be giving up on something I am truly meant to do.
What has been the most unforgettable moment in your journey with Specter Design so far?
My journey with Specter has been sprinkled with incredible moments I’ll remember forever. Sometimes it’s just the surreal feeling of walking into a place I worked so hard to build, filled with work I am proud of. Of course, there are triumphant moments too, like when we brought our prototype car to the lawn at The Quail*. I have also experienced profound solitude and darkness on my path, but the contrast of these moments brings perspective and depth to my life.
The Quail, A Motorsports Gathering, is one of the most exclusive and celebrated automotive events in the world, held each August during Monterey Car Week in California. Unlike a traditional concours, The Quail blends rare classic cars, supercars, and bespoke vehicles with a refined garden-party setting, celebrating not just speed, but artistry, craftsmanship, and history. Every car tells a story — from meticulously restored European sports cars to modern engineering marvels — offering enthusiasts a chance to experience motion, design, and legacy all in one place.
For collectors, creators, and admirers of automotive beauty, The Quail is more than a showcase; it is a dialogue between machine and human, a celebration of vehicles as living art. It’s a place where heritage meets innovation, where each curve, finish, and detail is admired as a reflection of dedication, skill, and passion — a rare glimpse into the soul of the automobile.
If your work could leave one lasting message, feeling, or idea in people’s minds, what would it be?
I am passionate about helping people realize their potential. I believe most people are more capable and stronger than they think. It often takes only a small victory to build upon and amplify one’s confidence, leading to greater accomplishments with their talents. I enjoy encouraging others to experiment and be curious with their gifts.
Your atelier has created a Porsche-powered masterpiece—what was the biggest challenge in bringing that vision to reality?
The biggest challenge I’ve encountered with the Specter car is discouragement and aligning my optimistic hopes with reality. Enduring a multi-year, highly expensive project can sometimes feel very vain, but I seek deeper meaning and gratification in exploring my creativity and will.
Driving a car built by yourself must be a unique experience. How would you describe the emotions it evokes?
The first drives were very surreal. Of course, the engineer in me focused only on finding problems and how to solve them. There wasn’t much thought given to enjoying the moment. As the car has become more refined and usable, I have experienced a surreal euphoria while driving it.
How would you define your personal taste in cars?
I very much enjoy purposeful cars—ones that were designed for a specific task. In the case of sports cars, the task is perfectly balanced between sport and comfort. That balance fascinates me, and I find cars that demonstrate it in a unique way extremely interesting.
Classic cars are timeless works of art on wheels, each carrying a story of a by-gone era. Yet, as the world races toward the future, their place is evolving. How do you envision their role in the years ahead—will they remain cherished relics, adapt to modern innovations, or take on an entirely new significance?
I often ponder the future of classic cars. I hope that future generations will cherish and maintain them thoughtfully, but it is clear that the economics of owning and maintaining a classic car have become more difficult for the average person. Hopefully, technology will help bridge the gap for less desirable cars, which seem to be more often forgotten and neglected these days. Hopefully, a resurgence of interest in skilled mechanical trades will occur.
To build something truly enduring is to engage in time in a way that most of us no longer do. When I look at Tanner’s work, I see patience in motion: an attitude toward craft that stands almost extinct in our age of instant gratification. His craft gathers the fragments of a vanishing world, where the human hand once left its imperfect, irreplaceable signature on every surface. It is in that imperfection that true magic lives — quiet, unrepeatable, and wholly human, a magic no machine, no artificial intelligence, and no shortcut could ever reproduce.
Interview • TANNER BOYES
Machines can be assembled, but only the rare ones are born with a heartbeat. When someone asks why I love classic sports cars so much, I always say it’s because they were made with a soul. Beneath their polished surfaces lies more than metal and motion; there is a spirit that remembers care, a beauty that speaks of time, and a kind of grace that can only come from creation touched by love.
In the past, cars were built not only with extraordinary knowledge, often passed down through generations, but with boundless passion and meticulous attention to every detail. They weren’t created merely to perform; they were crafted to be felt, to be experienced, to be lived with, and to be enjoyed to the fullest.
Today, in the age of social media, it often seems that everyone is searching for shortcuts, all the possible ways to skip the hard part and leap straight into pleasure, unaware that the journey itself is what gives meaning, value, and true happiness. We scroll, swipe, and consume, yet somehow never arrive anywhere. Motion has become noise. Presence has been replaced by performance. Craft by convenience. Connection by consumption.
And yet, a few months ago, in an endless ocean of similar accounts on Instagram, something extraordinary caught my eye. The caption read, “In my dream shop, building my dream car on the most beautiful day. Anyone want to drive it?” next to an image of the very first body shape of The Specter. Tanner Boyes at the time was somewhere in the middle of a very long journey of building his dream car from the ground up.
In a world that prizes speed and spectacle, Tanner’s quiet devotion felt to me like a rare and luminous story, one that demanded to be told. I didn’t hesitate—I reached out, eager to hear the vision behind the hands that were shaping The Specter.
The courage to dream with your hands, the patience to build with your heart, and the joy of bringing a vision to life, one curve at a time—I hope you find this interview as inspiring as I did.
For those who don’t know you yet, how would you introduce yourself in just a few sentences?
I am Tanner Boyes, 34 years old. I have an abiding passion for design, art, craft, and creativity, and I seek every opportunity to engage with them.
Can you remember the exact moment you fell in love with cars? What was it that truly captivated you?
Like many deeply enthusiastic car fanatics, my passion for cars started at a very young age—perhaps before my earliest memories—and developed gradually through my early teens, when I became aware of European sports cars* of the 1950s and ’60s. The first cars I owned were air-cooled VW and Porsche projects that I saved for and fixed up with the help of friends and my dad. I remember seeing old pictures of my dad’s VW projects in the 1980s in SoCal. I wanted to do the same thing.
*These cars weren’t just fast or beautiful; they were lessons in engineering, balance, and subtle design. Air-cooled engines, like those in early VWs and Porsches, invited owners to get their hands dirty, to learn through touch, adjustment, and care — a rare, formative experience for a young enthusiast.
As a child, did you have a dream car you were obsessed with? What made it so special to you?
When I was a young teenager, I desperately wanted a Porsche 912. I managed to find one at age 17 and enjoyed it throughout high school. The poster on my wall growing up, however, was of the infamous Porsche 550 Spyder owned by James Dean*. There was something so magical about that shape to me.
*James Dean’s Porsche 550 Spyder, nicknamed “Little Bastard,” was more than just a car — it was a statement. Built in 1955 as Porsche’s first purpose-built racing car, the Spyder was low, lightweight, and precise, designed to be felt as much as driven. Its sleek, flowing body seemed sculpted by motion itself, every curve purposeful, balanced, and perfectly proportioned — a design that conveyed speed and elegance even at rest. Dean, already a rising Hollywood star, was captivated not only by its racing pedigree but by the almost alive quality of its shape, seeing in the car a reflection of freedom, rebellion, and careful craft. He intended to race it professionally, drawn to the hands-on engagement that a machine like this demanded.
Tragically, Dean never got to fully realize that ambition. On September 30, 1955, while driving to a race in Salinas, California, he collided with another vehicle and was killed instantly. The 550 Spyder, damaged beyond repair, became instantly legendary, its story intertwined with myth, danger, and the fleeting beauty of impermanence.
How did the idea for Specter Design first come to life? Was there a defining moment that sparked it?
I had the privilege of working on a very historic Porsche race car from the 1950s, and I would obsessively study its bodywork and construction. I was so impressed with its simplicity that I made up my mind to design and construct my own unique car. It was some years after starting that personal project that I created a company and named it Specter Design—with the goal of creating a boutique sports car brand.
Every artist faces challenges—was there a time you felt rejected or doubted your path? What were your biggest fears when launching Specter Design?
There have been many dark moments during my journey as an artist and businessman. I have feared that people who depend on me—my family, friends, partners, and employees—might be let down or disappointed, especially during difficult financial times. I have continued on the path anyway, because an even greater fear would be giving up on something I am truly meant to do.
What has been the most unforgettable moment in your journey with Specter Design so far?
My journey with Specter has been sprinkled with incredible moments I’ll remember forever. Sometimes it’s just the surreal feeling of walking into a place I worked so hard to build, filled with work I am proud of. Of course, there are triumphant moments too, like when we brought our prototype car to the lawn at The Quail*. I have also experienced profound solitude and darkness on my path, but the contrast of these moments brings perspective and depth to my life.
The Quail, A Motorsports Gathering, is one of the most exclusive and celebrated automotive events in the world, held each August during Monterey Car Week in California. Unlike a traditional concours, The Quail blends rare classic cars, supercars, and bespoke vehicles with a refined garden-party setting, celebrating not just speed, but artistry, craftsmanship, and history. Every car tells a story — from meticulously restored European sports cars to modern engineering marvels — offering enthusiasts a chance to experience motion, design, and legacy all in one place.
For collectors, creators, and admirers of automotive beauty, The Quail is more than a showcase; it is a dialogue between machine and human, a celebration of vehicles as living art. It’s a place where heritage meets innovation, where each curve, finish, and detail is admired as a reflection of dedication, skill, and passion — a rare glimpse into the soul of the automobile.
If your work could leave one lasting message, feeling, or idea in people’s minds, what would it be?
I am passionate about helping people realize their potential. I believe most people are more capable and stronger than they think. It often takes only a small victory to build upon and amplify one’s confidence, leading to greater accomplishments with their talents. I enjoy encouraging others to experiment and be curious with their gifts.
Your atelier has created a Porsche-powered masterpiece—what was the biggest challenge in bringing that vision to reality?
The biggest challenge I’ve encountered with the Specter car is discouragement and aligning my optimistic hopes with reality. Enduring a multi-year, highly expensive project can sometimes feel very vain, but I seek deeper meaning and gratification in exploring my creativity and will.
Driving a car built by yourself must be a unique experience. How would you describe the emotions it evokes?
The first drives were very surreal. Of course, the engineer in me focused only on finding problems and how to solve them. There wasn’t much thought given to enjoying the moment. As the car has become more refined and usable, I have experienced a surreal euphoria while driving it.
How would you define your personal taste in cars?
I very much enjoy purposeful cars—ones that were designed for a specific task. In the case of sports cars, the task is perfectly balanced between sport and comfort. That balance fascinates me, and I find cars that demonstrate it in a unique way extremely interesting.
Classic cars are timeless works of art on wheels, each carrying a story of a by-gone era. Yet, as the world races toward the future, their place is evolving. How do you envision their role in the years ahead—will they remain cherished relics, adapt to modern innovations, or take on an entirely new significance?
I often ponder the future of classic cars. I hope that future generations will cherish and maintain them thoughtfully, but it is clear that the economics of owning and maintaining a classic car have become more difficult for the average person. Hopefully, technology will help bridge the gap for less desirable cars, which seem to be more often forgotten and neglected these days. Hopefully, a resurgence of interest in skilled mechanical trades will occur.
To build something truly enduring is to engage in time in a way that most of us no longer do. When I look at Tanner’s work, I see patience in motion: an attitude toward craft that stands almost extinct in our age of instant gratification. His craft gathers the fragments of a vanishing world, where the human hand once left its imperfect, irreplaceable signature on every surface. It is in that imperfection that true magic lives — quiet, unrepeatable, and wholly human, a magic no machine, no artificial intelligence, and no shortcut could ever reproduce.
/ All photos © Tanner Boyes, from his personal archive — except the painting, that one’s mine (:
One reply to “Interview • TANNER BOYES”
tanner boyes
Thank you for this opportunity to share some thoughts and ideas. Your words are beautifully written Ocean! Kind regards, Tanner