In an ever more digitized world, Mitzi Pratt and Flip Scipio still work by hand. On separate levels of their two-story Moshup Trail studio, these artisans rely not on machines but on their knowledge, skill and experience. Though their mediums are different — Ms. Pratt is a bookbinder and Mr. Scipio makes guitars — their work sometimes overlaps, each feeding the other’s.

Standing in her studio, upstairs, surrounded by the tools of her trade, Ms. Pratt holds up an odd-looking book. It’s titled Bound to Be Unbound: Thoughts on Censorship. It has what looks like laminated shoelaces running every which way across it. Inspired by a step in the guitar-making process that involves wrapping the guitar in a strong cotton tape, Ms. Pratt wrapped the book, which is interactive and has sat in bookstores and museums inviting multitudes to put down their thoughts about censorship.

“Just atmospherically, having somebody downstairs who’s doing similar things [can be helpful],” Ms. Pratt said, of working in proximity to her luthier husband. Sometimes two creative minds are better than one.

“And just the whole philosophy of how far to go, it’s really great to have somebody else to bounce that back. Even if it’s in a different field, the issues are the same,” Ms. Pratt said both of her work restoring old books and the creative process in general.

Sometimes their work overlaps in more prosaic ways, Mr. Scipio said. “We both have sharp tools, work with paper and wood and all that kind of stuff. I find myself fixing her tools and I find her grabbing my tools and I find myself using hers.”

For his guitarmaking, Mr. Scipio explained, sometimes Ms. Pratt’s skillset comes in handy. He recently repaired an old 1920s Kona guitar for a client, who was disappointed that the label, prized by those in the know, hadn’t made the transition onto the inside of the guitar’s new back. Mr. Scipio found a fragment of the old guitar back with the label, but asked Ms. Pratt to unglue it.

“If I would look at the label it would tear,” Mr. Scipio said. “She kind of steams it and cuddles it and puts Japanese rice paper on it. I don’t know what her secret shmooze is with the paper, but she does it.”

Both Ms. Pratt and Mr. Scipio create for others. Custom books and guitars are inherently personal objects and reflect their owners. “In fact, a lot of what I do is very personal,” Ms. Pratt said as she pointed out a project she was working on.

“This is kind of moving,” she continued as she lifted the cover on an unbound book. It was an old notebook with Notes on Our Honeymoon scrawled on the cover. Ms. Pratt gingerly lifted pages covered in neat, penciled cursive detailing a trip out West by a newly married couple in 1917. The couple never returned to the East Coast and their descendants had had the book unbound and copied, but wanted Humpty Dumpty put back together again.

“I like doing that kind of thing,” Ms. Pratt said of the family artifacts, such as whaling logs, that she refurbishes. “It’s satisfying and they’re fun to read, too.”

When she’s not creating personal books for clients, Ms. Pratt is sometimes able to work on her own projects. She eagerly pointed out a book she had picked up at an antiques store. It was a two-volume edition of Facts for Farmers from 1867, in need of a new spine and filled with beautiful engravings of farm animals and of course advice for farmers.

Enthralled with the books, Ms. Pratt may keep them, though she noted, “Somebody’s gonna go crazy for these.”

Laughing about how rarely she works on books for herself, she shrugged, “It’s the old cobbler’s children with no shoes syndrome.”

Ms. Pratt was an apprentice of the German bookbinder Arno Werner and also with David Bourbeau, who had previously studied with Mr. Werner. She stepped into bookbinding almost accidentally. In her twenties, she had wanted to open a café bookstore and decided that learning how to repair books would be important.

“There was this weird group of people who used to play Clue, of all things, at an ice cream parlor in Vineyard Haven,” Ms. Pratt said of how she met Mr. Bourbeau and began her adventure in bookbinding.

She gave up her café notion to go into bookbinding. “I was just exploring, anyway,” Ms. Pratt said.

“[Bookbinding] suits my temperament more.”

She and Mr. Scipio both say that though they often bounce ideas off each other, working alone is a large component to their success. Mr. Scipio does have assistants who help run his New York studio, but he’s typically found alone in his ground floor studio in Aquinnah, his wife’s footsteps tapping through the ceiling. This situation, together yet apart, is ideal in their view.

Mr. Scipio came to his work from classical guitar playing. “I like to play classical guitar, except I can’t play very well,” he laughed. “So I used to sit in the bathroom just strumming my guitar for years.”

He still plays, and he feels that it improves his ability to make and repair the acoustic and electric guitars that line his shop.

“When you come to a certain point of agileness or ability to fix or build something and you don’t know how to play, there’s this sort of ceiling. Whereas some of the sort of more complicated things I’ve done, or more well-known things I’ve done, really have to do with [knowing how to play].”

There is plenty of luthier work for which he is well known. Mr. Scipio has made or repaired electric and acoustic guitars for Paul McCartney, Paul Simon, Bruce Springsteen, Ry Cooder, Jackson Browne and Carly Simon, many of whom testified with wonder about the Dutch-born luthier’s ability to make their instruments sing, in a documentary called Talking Guitars. He seems to have some of his own schmoozing secrets, with wood.

“I sort of went further than most people do, or seem to be going, I don’t know,” Mr. Scipio said. “I live in my own little head. To me it seems very natural to sort of spend a long time on something.

“I’m not very prolific, so when I have a guitar ready people will know and will go, ‘Oh, hey, can I take a look?’” Mr. Scipio said.

“And it’s not for everybody,” he continued, noting that he’s not the type of guitarmaker who sells himself as a jack-of-all trades.

In fact, Mr. Scipio hardly sells himself at all. “The whole thing about self-promotion is kind of alien to me,” he said. He relies on word of mouth and his reputation to keep customers coming. “Who’s interested in stuff that gets pushed in your face?” he said.

“All good things come really natural,” Mr. Scipio said.