You can always improve on something, the technology is different

Hear the voice of Dave Davies, who with the wisdom of an artist seasoned by years of creation and reflection declared: “You can always improve on something, the technology is different today, but I would leave it well alone. If there was something that was incomplete, that might be interesting... because I do that on my website.” These words, though spoken in the context of music and art, ring with a truth that transcends any single craft. They remind us of the eternal tension between the desire to perfect and the wisdom to let a work stand as it is, a testimony to its own time.

He begins with the acknowledgment that you can always improve on something. This is the heart of human striving, the restless spirit that forever seeks to refine, to sharpen, to push the boundaries further. Indeed, with every generation, new technology arises that allows artists, inventors, and thinkers to revisit old works and imagine them made grander, clearer, or more complete. Yet Davies, with the voice of restraint, adds his counsel: leave it well alone. For perfection is not always the highest good. Sometimes the rawness, the imperfection, the flaws themselves bear the mark of authenticity, capturing the spirit of a moment that no later polish could preserve.

This tension between perfection and preservation is as old as art itself. Consider the frescoes of Pompeii, buried beneath ash for centuries. When they were uncovered, they bore the marks of age, incomplete, scarred, yet they spoke with greater power than if they had been repainted in modern hues. For their very incompleteness told a story of time, tragedy, and survival. So too in Davies’ words lies the warning: to improve endlessly is to risk erasing the soul of what once was.

Yet he also speaks of incompleteness as a spark of interest. What is unfinished stirs the imagination, inviting others to wonder, to participate, to continue the dialogue. This is why fragments of Homer’s lost epics still inspire scholars, or why Leonardo da Vinci’s unfinished works captivate the eye as much as his masterpieces. The gaps invite us in. Davies himself, sharing fragments on his website, understands this truth—that incompleteness can inspire more creativity than false perfection.

The deeper meaning of his words lies in the humility of the creator. The artist must know when to act, and when to step back. To add endlessly is to risk drowning the essence of the work; to leave something alone is sometimes the highest respect one can show to its original spirit. This wisdom applies not only to art, but to life: for relationships, for choices, for our own past actions. We may wish to “improve” endlessly upon what is behind us, but sometimes we must learn to let it stand, as a monument to a particular moment of being.

Thus, the lesson is twofold. First, embrace the power of technology and improvement, but use it with discernment. Not everything requires revision. Some things are better left as they are, carrying within them the beauty of their imperfection. Second, do not fear incompleteness. What is unfinished may yet inspire others, just as much as what is polished and whole. For the world itself is unfinished, and it is in this incompleteness that life finds its mystery and meaning.

Practical actions follow from this teaching. When you create, ask yourself: am I perfecting this work for its sake, or am I smothering it beneath my own endless striving? Learn to recognize the moment when a work has spoken enough. Share fragments, trials, and beginnings without shame, for they too hold power. And above all, learn to let the past be, without ceaseless revision, so that it may stand in its own truth. For in the end, as Davies teaches, it is not perfection alone that moves the soul, but the honesty of creation, complete or incomplete, untouched or adorned.