BMW has two factory entries in the Hypercar class at this week’s 24 Hours of Le Mans, one of which will be adorned with the art of Julie Mehretu. BMW revealed this M Hybrid V8, its 20th Art Car, at the Centre Pompidou in Paris on May 22nd and subsequently shared it at Concorso d’Eleganza Villa d’Este at Lake Como, Italy later that week. Mehretu met with media at Villa d’Este and talked about her first rolling work of art and how the process gave her a new appreciation for the automotive world.

Mehretu, a New York-based contemporary artist, originally declined BMW’s offer to create the latest Art Car. She was unanimously selected by an independent jury of international museum directors for the role in 2018. During the Covid pandemic lockdown in spring 2020, she reconsidered: I was checking in with a lot of the people that I went to for guidance . . .  I think all of us were doing that around the world to make sense of this time when we [had been] hypermobile. And then the next thing you know, we’re all sheltering in place and under strict quarantine. I was thinking these are the times where you push yourself, and so while we’re all sheltering in place to think about mobility became a really interesting space. I thought, just take this [commission] and open up a new door.

She knew nothing about racing but became a racing fan: I really enjoyed going to the pit stop [at the 2023 Rolex 24 at Daytona] and seeing the numbers of people who work in there that are all communicating in some way or another with the vehicle itself and with the drivers [and realizing] that it is a team sport in that way. Going to Daytona was exhilarating—it was so much fun.

Although the Art Car debuted in May, Mehretu says it will not be done until after it races at the 24 Hours of Le Mans: The car will go through many transformations. Even the drivers you see going in and out of the car will mark up the car, and I made marks in that area thinking about that. There’s all the debris from the [track], the exhaust on the back, the car comes out just looking very different and we’ve discussed leaving it that way—you know, we’ll see what it looks like. If there are too many insects, we might have to do a little bit of hand washing, but we’ll see. I think with all of the [BMW Art] cars, the car has gone through the experience of the painting. The painting has transformed and marked up the car and then the painting—the car—will go through the race as the second major project [the first project being the wrap], and then it will be finished.

Her nephew, a car geek, was instrumental in helping her decide to take the BMW Art Car commission: My brother loves cars, and since my nephew was a child, tiny cars, toy cars, were always in his hands. That would be his meditation: Parking about 100 or 150 different toy cars in different configurations. He’s here with me [in Europe, for the Art Car’s debut] and he’s part of the reason I’ve done this project. He really was like, “please don’t say no, don’t say no. This is one of the things you should do!” And he’s loved it.

How she conceived the BMW Art Car in her studio: I had a scale model [of the BMW M Hybrid V8 race car] in the studio for a long time. I would just push the model around on a cart and it would go in front of different paintings at different times. And I just kept it there while I was working for the whole year. And then, about six months in, I saw this painting in front of it and then just thought of them together—I felt like the car could actually experience the painting. At first, I didn’t know how we were gonna approach that. [My assistant] Jackie Furtado worked with me on the digital sketches that [BMW] gave us, the vector files and the 3D model. And we were able to simulate how the car could go through the painting as a portal.

Mehretu also designed the racing suits and helmets that the three drivers— Sheldon van der Linde (South Africa), Robin Frijns (Netherlands), and René Rast (Germany)—will wear at Le Mans; she is an honorary fourth driver. I worked with another person who used to work at my studio, Minnie, who is now working on her own in fashion and apparel. She came back and we worked together on the driver’s uniforms, or overalls, and then the helmet as well. I know the helmets are very special, so we had a meeting with the drivers on Zoom. Each driver, from the different places that they live, showed their own helmets. And we tried to do something different on each helmet according to who they were.

Mehretu wanted to change the appearance of spare body parts for the race car, but Le Mans regulations prohibited it: One desire I had, and BMW tried really hard to get this to happen, was for the spare parts for the car—I wanted to do them in the ghost of the painting. So, they would be the negative of the car. If a part of the car had to be replaced, it would be replaced by its ghost, so the car would also shift and [change] shape through the race. We couldn’t do that; we tried hard. [It would have made it] part of this active performative painting, but in that sense, it’s ok. I mean, the point is to win, not to be disqualified.

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On June 21, 1974, which was 50 years ago this month, eccentric oil and gas millionaire Stanley Marsh 3 (as in “the third,” but that’s one of the things that made him eccentric) and the crew from the Ant Farm in San Francisco completed work on Cadillac Ranch outside Amarillo, Texas.

Along with The Big Texan Steak House—home of the “World Famous 72-ounce Steak Challenge,” where if you can eat the whole steak in one hour (along with the shrimp cocktail, baked potato, salad and a buttered roll) it’s free—the Cadillac Ranch has become one of Amarillo’s top tourist attractions, an admittedly short list.

Really, that’s not fair. Amarillo was once known as the “Helium Capital of the World,” and it operates one of the largest meat-packing areas in the United States, and it’s also the home of Pantex, the only nuclear weapons factory in the country (thanks, Wikipedia!).

You have about as much chance of making sense of Cadillac Ranch as you do finishing a Big Texan steak which, incidentally, 11 percent of the people who attempt it actually do. Sort of a Texas tribute to England’s Stonehenge, except Stonehenge is about 2800 years older, Cadillac Ranch consists of 10 vintage Cadillacs (they weren’t “vintage” in 1974, they were just old) buried nose-first, at a 60-degree angle, in a field alongside Interstate 40.

That field was way out in the country when Cadillac Ranch was constructed, but as Amarillo grew, the Cadillacs were dug up in 1997 and planted in another field on I-40 two miles west of the original, and that’s where they are today.

The idea essentially belonged to the Ant Farm, formed in 1968 in San Francisco by architects Doug Michels, who died at age 59 in 2003, and Chip Lord. They were eventually joined by New Orleans artist Hudson Marquez. They called themselves the Ant Farm in recognition of the plan they made to become underground [as in “ants”] architects, “ready to restructure the built environment of the counterculture,” Lord wrote in an obituary of his friend Michels, who died while climbing to a whale observation point in Eden, Australia.

If you weren’t around then, the “counterculture” was big in 1968.

One columnist described the Ant Farm’s projects, including Cadillac Ranch, as “half art, half science, half social commentary and half outright prank.” They include “Media Burn,” in which a Cadillac Eldorado was driven through a pyramid wall of burning televisions, and “The Eternal Frame,” a surprisingly serious video reenactment of the assassination of President John F. Kennedy, in which Michels, sporting a Jackie Kennedy wig, plays the First Lady. Stanley Marsh 3 even plays Texas Governor John Connally.

Marsh turned out to be the perfect partner for the Ant Farm. For the Cadillac Ranch project, the members of the Ant Farm mailed letters to various eccentric millionaires around the country, asking for funding. Marsh reportedly responded in a letter written in 36-point type, roughly the size of the headline on this story, saying that he was interested, but only if the project took place in Amarillo.

This is a good place to mention that the Ant Farm members really liked cars in general, Cadillacs in particular. After all, counterculture or not, in August of 1968, Michels and his wife, Carol, arrived in San Francisco in a lime green Cadillac convertible. From an article in Texas Highways: ‘“At Ant Farm, we were car crazy,” Hudson Marquez recalls. “It was always drawing cars, collaging cars, making art with cars. I had an idea to make seed packs where you could plant seeds that would grow cars. You could have a field of ’49 Fords or ’59 Cadillacs that would grow out of the ground.’”

So the Ant Farm temporarily moved to Amarillo. Marsh would pay them $2000 and give them a budget of $3000 to buy 10 Cadillacs, plus $250 to rent a backhoe. The Ant Farm started looking for cheap Cadillacs. The 10 they found ranged from 1949 to 1964 models.

It took five days to bury the Cadillacs. According to the Amarillo Globe-News, Marsh—who lived with his attorney wife on a 262-acre estate he named Toad Hall, after the residence of Mr. Toad, the fictional character in the 1908 novel The Wind in the Willows—would show up with fried chicken and beer.

On July 21, 1974, and every 10 years since, there was a party at Cadillac Ranch. For that inaugural party, the Ant Farm members rented tuxedoes and celebrated with Marsh 3’s friends, then promptly returned to San Francisco to work on other irreverence.

To passersby on Interstate 40, Cadillac Ranch was an unbilled surprise. There were no signs, no explanation, no road to the unconventional art exhibit. Nobody outside of Amarillo knew what it was.

That changed when CBS newsman Charles Kuralt, who toured the country in a motorhome collecting stories for his popular “On the Road” segments that aired on the CBS Evening News with Walter Cronkite, discovered Cadillac Ranch, and made it famous in a 1975 broadcast.

Here’s a link to that story. It features Kuralt and Marsh 3, who is wearing his trademark “Mad Hatter” top hat, telling Kuralt that Cadillac Ranch is “the most important roadside attraction of our generation.” What’s amazing about Kuralt’s story is that it shows the Cadillacs as they were then, before tourists began bringing cans of spray paint and covering the cars with graffiti.

According to the Texas Highways story, Stanley Marsh 4, son of Stanley Marsh 3, has placed a merchandise truck at the site selling, among other things, cans of spray paint to tourists who forgot to bring their own.

In its 50 years, Cadillac Ranch has become a legitimate exhibit of abstract art, even spawning imitators, most notably Airstream Ranch next to Interstate 4 in Dover, Florida, where Frank Bates planted seven and a half Airstream trailers, as in 7.5, commemorating the 75 years Airstream had been in business. Bates, a Texas native inspired by Cadillac Ranch, was an Airstream dealer, known for ads that showed him dressed in a black and white cow suit, dancing and holding up cards that suggest you can save some MOO-lah at Bates RV. But neighbors complained, and Bates’ efforts to have Airsteam Ranch declared art, in the same fashion as Cadillac Ranch, failed. The county gave him 30 days to remove the trailers. He did. That was in 2008.

As for Stanley Marsh 3, he continued his puckish ways, like the time he interrupted a live Weather Channel broadcast from Amarillo when he performed a Native American snow dance in front of the cameras while wearing an Indian headdress and a fringed jacket. Here’s a link to it. He also had hundreds of diamond-shaped signs posted around Amarillo, an effort he called the Dynamite Museum, with a variety of often-nonsensical messages such as “The Wine Has Eaten Away My Brain,” and “Wild Packs Of Chihuahuas Dragged Conquistadors From Their Horses And Ate Them For Snacks,” and “His Father Was A Rancher But He Could Not Eat The 72 Ouncer.”

Despite his antics, he and his wife, Wendy, were highly regarded in the community for decades of philanthropy.

Marsh 3 suffered strokes in 2011 that left him incapacitated. Unfortunately, his legacy was tainted by a series of lawsuits first filed in 2012 that alleged Marsh paid at least a dozen underage male teens for sex. In 2013, he was indicted on eight felony counts of sexual performance by a child, four counts of sexual assault of a child and two counts of indecency with a child. It never went to trial. He died in a hospice in 2014 at the age of 76.

Cadillac Ranch, though, has a life of its own, though most of the cars are rusting into the ground, held together by coats of Krylon. And as for Marsh 3: In 1994, he was asked what he wanted on his tombstone. He said, “Thanks, everybody. I had a good time.”

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Frank Stella, the abstract painter and sculptor who was the second artist after Alexander Calder to design a BMW Art Car, died Saturday at age 87. The New York Times said that Stella had been battling lymphoma.

Stella loved racing—both automobiles and horses—and had many friends in both communities. His 1976 contribution to the BMW Art Car Project was a white BMW 3.0 CSL overlaid entirely by small black checkers, resembling graph paper. Over that base he painted thin geometric outlines in black. The car, driven by Brian Redman and Peter Gregg, raced in the 24 Hours of Le Mans, but didn’t finish the race due to an oil leak in hour five.

Stella also designed the exterior of an “unofficial” art car—it is not considered one of the official works commissioned by BMW—in 1979 at the invitation of his friend Gregg, the sports-car racer who had a class win at the 24 Hours of Le Mans and five victories at the Rolex 24 at Daytona. Gregg bought a BMW M1 Procar, used in the one-make racing series created by the automaker, and had Stella paint it. The car was displayed in the Guggenheim Museum.

Stella considered the M1 part of his “Polar Coordinates for Ronnie Peterson” series, which he created to commemorate his friend Peterson, the Formula 1 driver who died in a crash at the 1978 Italian Grand Prix, when his Lotus collided with the car of James Hunt. Gregg and Stella, who often traveled to races together, were present at the Grand Prix to watch Peterson and his Lotus teammate, Mario Andretti.

Stella was the passenger in a car driven by Gregg in 1980 en route to the Le Mans circuit when they collided with an oncoming car outside Paris. Both were injured but recovered, but there was damage to Gregg’s vision, which never improved and ended his racing. Seven months later, Gregg took his own life.

Stella was considered a major contributor to the freewheeling abstract expressionism movement that began after World War II, swirling around mostly in the art community of New York City, where Stella lived. In its definition of abstract expression, the Guggenheim points to Jackson Pollock as the movement’s leading artist, “who placed his canvases on the floor to pour, drip, and splatter paint onto them and to work on them from all sides, which set him apart from the tradition of vertical easel painting.”

Stella’s “Black Paintings” are his most famous work. They consist of mostly geometric shapes on a white canvas, using black paint.

“Stella was courtly, charismatic and formidable,” wrote Washington Post art critic Sebastian Smee, in Stella’s obituary. “Even when he wasn’t speaking, a terrific intelligence came off him like steam.”

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As we observed in our most recent Hagerty Market Rating, the collector car market is cooling, and has been for the last 19 months. That said, it’s important to look at the larger story: The collector car market, measured by this rating, is still stronger than it was before the unprecedented gains of the pandemic years. In 2022, during that boom, we took a look around at the markets for other collectibles—fine art, NFTs, and sneakers—to see what we could learn. Perhaps to no one’s surprise, collector markets of all stripes took off in that era. Two years later, as the cooling classic-car market continues to search for equilibrium, we decided to repeat the check-in, to see whether other collector segments are slowing in the same fashion. This time, however, we looked at different luxury goods.

Like collector cars, which you would own in addition to your daily transportation, the other three collectibles we chose here are nice-to-haves, not need-to-haves: Fine art (again—its maturity as a market makes it a perennially valuable comparison), watches, and handbags (the high-end, carefully crafted kind). Like cars, all three are collected globally, and thus influenced by geopolitical tensions and large-scale economic trends: Think inflation in the U.S., war in Eastern Europe, the Chinese economy struggling to recover from strict COVID policies, etc. 

There are a few important differences between the four markets, starting with demographics. Though the age ranges for watch and handbag collectors are similarly broad—20 to 80 for the former, 30 to 70 for the latter—the watch market, like the classic-car market, is dominated by men. The market for handbags is largely composed of women. Fine art hosts a mix of both. While the price of the most expensive painting (Salvatore Mundi, by Leonardo da Vinci, $450M) dwarfs that of the most expensive car ($142M, Mercedes-Benz Uhlenhaut Coupe) and watch (a $31.2M Patek Phillipe), the watch market (including retail) is larger than the art market, measured in value: $74.6B to $65B. At $513,200, the most expensive handbag sold at auction (a crocodile Hermès Kelly 28 Himalaya with diamond-encrusted hardware) falls well below the most expensive examples of fine art, cars, or watches (in that order), but the handbag market is also far younger than any of the other three: Its rise is closely connected to the rise of the Internet, in the late ‘90s.

The tl;dr is that post-pandemic cooling is not restricted to the collector car market. Naturally, we dug deeper, and were rewarded: Each field revealed similar trends in buying behavior, as well as increasing interest from younger collectors. Whether the treasure of your collection is a Birkin or a Bugatti, we are confident that you will gain a richer understanding of collecting from what these experts have to say. We certainly did.

Volatility of Novelty

Everything got hot during COVID, but some less-established names got really hot, really quickly. The inverse is occurring now: The most dramatic decreases in the last few years are confined to those superheated segments that, in hindsight, were most due for a correction. Let’s start with the collector vehicle market, specifically with trucks and SUVs from the late 1970s and ’80s. Ford Broncos, Chevrolet Blazers, and Land Rover Defenders from this era were hot even before 2020. In 2017 and 2018, the average appreciation for this set was 26%. From 2019 to 2022, that figure spiked to 91%. The bubble has let some air out. In the last two years, the average change for these vehicles is -7%. A significant change in trajectory, yes, but it didn’t erase COVID-era gains. 

In the world of fine art, young contemporary artists (under 45) “overheated dramatically in 2022” according to The Fine Art Group’s 2023–2024 Global Art Market Report. Sales doubled, the report says, in 2021, compared to 2019 and 2020, only to correct, equally dramatically, in 2023, when they reverted to pre-pandemic levels. “It’s important and needs to happen,” says Anita Heriot, president of The Fine Art Group. She diagnoses the segment as “overheated,” adding that there simply is “not enough track record for the [young contemporary] artist to really consider them investment-quality.”

In the world of timepieces, the parallel is “hype watches,” typically stainless-steel versions of pieces that are coveted from the moment they are produced and, because of that desirability, easy to flip for far above retail price. The trio, according to Hodinkee, are the Audemars Piguet Royal Oak, the Patek Philippe Nautilus, and the Rolex Daytona. Tiffany To, head of sales for Phillips’ watch department, calls out a stainless-steel variant of Daytona called the Panda, which retails for $10,000. “At its height, it went up to $40,000,” she says. “Now it’s in the middle ground at around maybe $30,000. It’s still triple the retail price, but it’s just not at a level where it was completely nuts as it was two years ago.” She sees the trajectory as a natural correction: “The more people bought [a stainless-steel Daytona], the more other people thought it was an investment and then everyone kept trying to jump onto the bandwagon until at some point it just wasn’t sustainable anymore and it just flopped.”

When we spoke with Max Brownawell, head of Christie’s handbag and accessories department, he painted a less dramatic picture. Handbags overall increased in value by about 25% during the pandemic. As we saw in the car market, the examples at the top of the handbag market set records: In November of 2020, Christie’s set a new world record for the most expensive bag sold, a 25-centimeter Hermès Kelly that brought $435,375. The auction house broke its own record a year later with another Kelly 28 Himalaya, one with diamond-encrusted hardware that brought $513,200. Today, Max says, those prices are very difficult to achieve. Prices for bags at the top of the market have come down, while prices for more accessible bags and leather bags have continued to rise. (Another pattern we’ve observed in classic cars, as borne out by our Blue Chip and Affordable Cars indexes.) Though annual increases in value are still going up, the pace of that growth has slowed, and increases are in the single digits. 

As with the Bronco, Blazer, and their ilk, young contemporary artists and stainless-steel Rolex Daytonas are still bona fide collectibles. Corrections haven’t erased their gains, and even though their performance has been volatile, it’s an oversimplification to say that anyone who has invested heavily in one of those superheated segments is out in the cold. Some works by young contemporary artists, too, have not only survived the correction but are now thriving. The Fine Art Group points out Caroline Walker, a Scottish artist, who had the good fortune to be shown in museums before the pandemic. That foundation is helping protect her against the volatility of her genre. 

Demographic Changes

When it comes to demographics within the four markets, each of the experts we discussed painted an optimistic picture: Younger buyers are entering the market. In the case of watches, however, the tastes of those buyers are influenced by a highly unpredictable factor: social media. “It has a life of its own,” says Tiffany To. Younger buyers, says vintage watch dealer Eric Wind, aren’t always interested in the same things as older buyers; they are more likely to be influenced by trends, fashion, and what (and who) they see on social media. To points to the collaboration between Audemars Piguet and Houston-based rapper Travis Scott: “Once everyone on Instagram saw him wearing the watch, people wanted the model, it became super hot.” Brownawell says that the handbag market reflects a similar influx of younger buyers—Gen Z in particular—and an influence from social media, which drives demand for certain colors or styles. 

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Demographic changes in the classic car market don’t reflect anything dramatic over the last four to five years (before, during, and after the pandemic): Our insurance quote data reveals a changing of the guard supported by a gradual upswell of younger interest. Gen X is now the largest generation, surpassing that of the baby boomer for the first time in the number of quotes. Of the younger generations, millennials are increasing slowly and steadily. Gen Z surpassed preboomers back in the spring of 2021, and their share of quote data has only gotten larger since.

Changing Tastes

Nostalgia plays a major factor in the markets for cars and for watches, and what is nostalgic is determined by the age group most dominant in that market. “I think of it as generational collecting,” says To. “You see resurgence of each period pending on the profile of the people who have purchasing power today.” Think of the rise of Gen X in the collector-car market, and the concurrent appreciation of ‘80s and ‘90s, or Radwood-era cars. The pattern also explains why certain items fall out of fashion: “People don’t really buy pocketwatches today because people who are 40 or 50 didn’t dream of pocketwatches as children. That era passed.”

Relevance and collectability don’t directly correlate, however. Just look at the $94.4M sale by Sotheby’s of Gustav Klimt’s Dame mit Fächer (Lady with a Fan) last year. An Impressionist work, it was the highest-value picture ever sold at auction on the European continent. “Everyone says that impressionism (in fine art) is hard to sell … it’s an older person thing.” But, as a $12.1M Mercedes Simplex proved at the 2024 Amelia Island auctions, a work can still make millions if it is the best representation of its era. Not only was the Simplex the most expensive result from those auctions, it was the most expensive by a factor of nearly three.

Desirability of Originality

Cars, handbags, and watches all have something in common: New ones are being produced all the time, which means that if you want something that no one else has—a sentiment shared by more serious collectors—you’re going to look at secondary markets. There, certain types of imperfection are actually desired, not only because of attrition and the rarity of well-preserved examples, but also because imperfections can tell a particular story that makes an item unique. “The Japanese call it wabi sabi,” says Wind. “It’s what gives [a watch] character.” If that story involves a celebrity, or an important event, all the better. Often, originality or authenticity itself is what collectors prize. Take a closer look at that Simplex mentioned above. Note the peeling paint and weathered upholstery.

Patterns of stratification in each of the markets bear out the desirability of originality. Says To of watches: “A collector would rather have a watch that is highly worn, but showing all its original definitions on the side of the case, rather than sending it to the factory and coming up brand new with today’s parts. Wind adds a specific example: “There’s a huge difference between, say, a 1950s, small-crown Submariner that has a service-replacement dial, and bezels, bracelets, et cetera—that might be an $8000 watch—but an original example could be $500,000 at auction.” 

The handbag market appears to be following the same trend that our own Dave Kinney, publisher of the Hagerty Price Guide, observed in the car market: Serious buyers are getting more selective. The value of an example isn’t captured solely by its configuration or condition. To be desirable, the example must also have the right paperwork and provenance. As Max Brownawell observes about the handbag market, buyers are increasingly looking for a bag to be accompanied by its original box, accessories, receipt, and/or factory paperwork. All three markets understand the value of a factory-spec restoration—the handbag market is especially picky, requiring the work to be done by the manufacturer—and prove the truth that Kinney captures: “Restored is OK, but original is better, and sometimes way better.”

Long-Tail COVID Changes

The COVID era introduced speculation and volatility, but to reduce the last four or five years to that story risks oversimplification, as does a conviction that 2023’s cooling is a cause for major concern. When we interviewed experts in the collector car market at the end of 2023, the consensus was a decelerating but stable market. The Hagerty Market Rating, at 65.41 as of April 19, may be on the longest unbroken losing streak in its history, but it remains safely above the 50 of a flat market and higher than any point in the four years leading up to its most recent surge. 

The art market finished 2023 with a global total of $5.74B in sales, a 27% drop from 2021, according to The Fine Art Group’s year-end report. As drastic as that sounds, the latest non-COVID-related highwater mark was 2018, whose total of $12.33B was heavily swayed by one Christie’s sale ($835M for The Collection of Peggy and David Rockefeller) and, with that discount, 2023 ended only 9% below 2018. The Art Group concludes by calling 2023 “a natural and necessary decline from a period of unprecedented and unsustainable price points.” 

The handbag market, on the other hand, appears to be sitting pretty: Between 2019 and 2023, says Christie’s Brownawell, the Handbags & Accessories auction market grew by 28% overall. Christie’s own department, which comprised 52% of the global handbag market in 2023, observed 94% sell-through rates; far stronger than the art market or the classic-car auction market (live and online), whose numbers are both declining. 

One thing is sure: Online auctions, forced centerstage by COVID, are here to stay, no matter which of the four luxury goods we’re discussing. Heriot says that COVID was the single biggest factor in increasing the popularity (by 400% or more) of online auctions for art, a notoriously “persnickety” market that can punish an “overexposed” lot. From 2019 to 2023, total sales of online collector-car auctions ballooned from $243.74M to $1.7B. Online participation in Phillips watch auctions doubled or tripled in the last few years, To says. Post-COVID, Christie’s only hosts one live handbag auction, in Hong Kong, and not because online is weak: The local market in Hong Kong is particularly strong, and export restrictions around alligator and crocodile bags artificially localize the market. 

What’s not as clear is what sort of a factor social media is in the market. Gen Z, the group whose youngest years were dominated by social media, has yet to age into its prime earning years. Will the transience of online trends become so obvious that even younger collectors brush it off? Or will it become a new factor in taste-making for a rising generation? 

A Few Takeaways

Some things, of course, never changed. One is that the serious collectors have patience and crave the best, not simply the most popular. “When you’re starting to collect,” says To, “you want the thing that’s most recognizable. Once you’ve collected all these highly recognizable pieces, then I would say people become more nuanced. They want to go deeper.” Often, this desire prompts a turn from the retail to the secondary market. Wind identifies a complementary motivator: the desire for something more exclusive, more individual. “I would say more people in the kind of fashion world, athletes, [people] who would never think about vintage watches—actors, musicians as well—all these demographics were sort of more focused on modern watches traditionally.” As with cars or handbags, the finite selection within the vintage market offers more exclusivity than the retail market, in which there might be thousands of a single reference, and that limited selection offers more of a challenge to those who want the best. To, again: “The game is not just paying as much as you can, but it’s having the patience to search, hunt for certain references.” Money, of course, cannot always prize the piece that you want out of the hands of another buyer … and that hunt, and that game, is what attracts such passion-driven buyers.

Such patience may or may not be accompanied by curation of your collection as a collection; you may simply buy what you like. As Brownawell says, “There’s a big element of our buyers that I would call shoppers, more than collectors … They’re not necessarily looking at their [handbag] collection as something that they’re developing over time. It’s just something that they do. This is just what they buy.” If you nodded as you read that sentiment, you likely buy out of genuine love for the object, regardless of whether others recognize a car, bag, or piece of art as a statement about your taste or status.

Nearly everyone we interviewed for this piece attested to another lasting truth: the value of education. “I’ve seen people blow, in some cases, millions of dollars buying things that they shouldn’t have, you know, either overpriced or misrepresented Frankenstein watches, et cetera,” says Wind. “It’s a huge negative for the market because those people leave the field forever typically.” The more educated collectors are, he says, the happier they will be and the stronger the market will become. At Hagerty we have a similar goal: We want to celebrate vintage cars, educate younger buyers about their quirks, and empower them to make informed decisions not only about purchase but about maintenance.

It’s not just individual dealers or publications that take on this responsibility; auction houses accept the mantle, too. As Brownawell says, “When we get a very rare vintage piece that might not be appreciated by the larger collecting community, that’s our opportunity to teach people about it and to increase the level of scholarship within the market and introduce it to  a large audience.” Much of the education, too, happens between collectors, no matter whether you’re discussing how to jet a carburetor or the best insert to protect the lining of your Birkin. 

If you are genuinely passionate about bags, watches, cars, or art, buy what you love, learn about it, and seek out the community around it: You might even come out ahead. Despite the unprecedented heating earlier in the decade, it’s clear that collector markets are generally correcting. (The handbag market is riding higher than the other three, which may be tied to its relative youth; time will tell.) New buyers are entering the market, and new eras, varieties, brands, and manufacturers are finding their footing. This sort of growth, while it may contribute to instability, is what keeps every collector market humming, and if the last few years are any indication, the market always recovers.

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Much has changed since we first learned about the amazing Anthony Schmidt in 2020. He is older now, of course, all of 16. He treasures his driver’s license, owns two classic cars, slicks back his dark hair, enjoys wearing leather jackets and sunglasses, and has seen his fame rise right along with his height. Anthony is no longer just a local celebrity in and around his hometown of Woodinville, Washington; he now has nearly 750,000 followers on Facebook, and 250,000 on Instagram.

The teenager never asked for any of this, but when you have an obsession that runs deep and reveals talent that few others possess, it’s difficult to avoid the limelight. Anthony has autism, a developmental disorder that, in his case, makes him hyper-focused on what interests him. And what interests him most are cars and photography. He’s skillfully meshed the two passions through his use of forced perspective photography, a technique that turns Anthony’s extensive collection of die-cast miniature cars into images that appear real.

The secret behind his realistic optical illusions?

“It’s because of his autism that he’s able to do this,” his mother, Ramona Schmidt, told People magazine. “His visual perception is off the charts whenever it’s tested. People with autism are visual thinkers and very detailed people. It’s an advantage for him. And the photography is such a good boost for his self-esteem.”

Ramona Schmidt also points out that people with autism can be more awkward in social settings, and some (like Anthony) suffer from misophonia—a severe sensitivity to specific soft sounds, like hearing others chew or rustle paper. Anthony sometimes wears headphones to deal with the disorder.

“Imagine what it’s like for him at school,” his mother says on Facebook. “… Imagine eating in the cafeteria, gum chewing. Everything that’s perfectly normal and common in school becomes excruciating. Of all the things he has to cope with, this one is the one I wish I could take away from him.”

Anthony has always overcome obstacles, and he continues to do so. Every day he painstakingly modifies his model cars (if he wants them to look like barn finds) and meticulously places them in settings that make them appear life-sized, using only an iPhone for photography. Nothing is photoshopped. 

His hobby has blossomed into a web-based business in which he sells calendars, books, clothing, postcards, and prints at anthonyschmidtphotography.com. You can also follow his work on Facebook and Instagram.

Anthony’s photography has become so popular that, in addition to his real-life 1959 Studebaker Silver Hawk, he received a 1957 Ford Custom 300, nicknamed “Betty,” from a gentleman named Greg Wilkinson. Wilkinson, who was also diagnosed with autism at a young age, was so moved by Anthony’s photography that he gifted him the Ford.

Then, last Halloween, Anthony met musician Craig Martin at a Trunk or Treat event where Martin was showing his black 1987 Buick Grand National. Martin’s grandson has autism, so he and Anthony immediately connected. Martin offered to write a song to accompany Anthony’s photography for online posting.

“He sent me the first mix of the song, and I nearly fell off my chair,” Ramona Schmidt shared in the video description of “Here I Am … I Am Me” on YouTube. “It was so much more than I ever expected. The quality of the vocals and the music itself are amazing, but the subject matter is so heartfelt and moving and describes Anthony perfectly, even mentioning his ’57 Ford and Silver Hawk. Anthony got a huge kick out of that part.”

Martin called it “probably the hardest song I’ve ever written with a pre-determined subject matter. Especially trying to say something through the eyes of Anthony or my grandson, Peyton. I’m not them and I can only speculate how they might view life around them. At times, when I was recording and mixing this song, I would get choked up.”

Anthony’s amazing story and incredible talent have the same effect on us. You can be sure you haven’t heard the last of this talented automotive photographer.

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With a subtle tip of his Stetson hat, Todd Sanders says hello. It’s a kindly, respectful, gesture. He’s a mellow and unassuming man. Not a cowboy, nor a rancher, but an artist, with a milky, laid-back southern drawl. “I was born in a small town in east Texas,” he says, “but I was always fascinated by the expanse of the open road. The world unfolds ahead of you.” His slow talking helps set a provocative scene; setting the car to cruise control as you cross a shimmering sun-bleached desert beneath a big sky.

“When I was 16, my dad and I took off to Arkansas,” he cheerily recalls. Sanders’ parents, at the time, had recently divorced. “We figured our way there and back using maps.” They figured a few things out about each other, too. “If you really want to get to know someone, go on a road trip with them, because good or bad, you’re going to know who they are after a few hundred miles.” Was it revelatory? You betcha, but not just because of the frank talking between father and son. “I fell in love with the old gas stations, diners, and cafes we saw on the highways.” Their iconography, he romances, stirs a sense of nostalgia for the classic all-American experience.

“Neon came to America in 1923 from Paris,” Sanders says. “Over there it represented the height of opulence, but, here in the US we turned it into something that’s truly our own—think cartoon dogs with a wagging tail.” Have you seen the giant dachshund gobbling frankfurters on Historic Route 66? Sanders refrains from using the word tacky. “In their heyday, everyone in town had a neon sign, from the police department to the mortuary and exterminator.” The most unusual he’s seen lit up a store for prosthetic legs. “They can be macabre but still fun, and to me, always beautiful.”

After making an inconspicuous debut to flaunt a car dealership in Los Angeles, neon illuminations blazed a path across America during the first half of the 20th century. From the casinos of Las Vegas—back then a fledgling city of entertainment—to the art deco hotels of Miami’s South Beach and the iconic billboards of New York’s Time Square, the novelty of the science-driven art form captivated a generation. Crowds gathered to witness the latest switch-on, the moment when physics and chemistry collide. “I don’t think people understand how neon works, but they feel it,” Sanders says. “Like a full moon or a campfire, it’s somethin’ on a primal level that you really feel.”

The technical explanation is this. “Neon is a noble gas that occurs naturally in the atmosphere,” Sanders explains. Traces of it can also be found in the Earth’s crust. “When an electric current passes through it, the ions inside the gas get excited and glow.” They turn a retina-searing orange-red. For this reaction to occur, the neon has to be placed into a vacuum, which in this context is a sealed glass tube. “The aurora borealis is a bunch of noble gases that are ignited, like neon signs, so that’s why there’s something about it that speaks to us on a primal level.”

It’s on a lonesome highway in the middle of the night that neon can have its most profound effect, Sanders suggests. “It’s a beacon, it beckons you in.” Think of the relief a weary traveler might feel when they see the motel sign flashing “Vacancy” without the “No.” By the 1950s, though, plastic lighting had arrived. “Neon was vilified,” Sanders says, a hint of anguish in his voice. Scrapped, neglected, and in many areas banned, neon displays became an endangered commodity. “I’ve heard stories of people with shotguns standing outside their property saying ‘you’re not taking my sign.’”

Sanders took a less confrontational approach to saving the medium. A college dropout living in a 1950s trailer, he set up the first vintage neon sign company in the U.S. It was 1995 and he named it Roadhouse Relics. “I grew up in my dad’s welding shop,” Sanders explains, “but I always wanted to be an artist. I lost my nerve when I got out into the real world and painted cars in Southern California for a while.” His story turns a little melancholy. “I came back to Texas.” But the homecoming wasn’t a full-stop.

Painting signs to pay for his tuition at Sam Houston State University, where Sanders studied Fine Art, “was a step in the right direction,” but it was missing a turn and ending up in Austin during a spring-break road trip that sealed his creative fate. “I saw the neon signs, I felt the vibe of the city, and I said this is what I want to do, and this is where I want to move to. It took years to learn my craft.” But it didn’t take long for Sanders’ talent to be noticed. Two of his earliest pieces, depicting the Mercury Man with a winged helmet, were commissioned by the actor and musician Johnny Depp.

“I would have carried on anyway, but the validation felt great. To see someone’s response, someone’s emotional reaction, is the real payment.” In actual terms, Sanders’ pieces range from $5 to $35,000. He doesn’t do commercial work but his mix of one-off commissions and limited runs are coveted and shipped worldwide. Willie Nelson, Joe Rogan, and Billy Gibbons are all clients.

From a mason jar alive with fireflies that flicker on and off, to a buxom tattooed mermaid with a swishy tail and sweeping scarlet hair, Sanders’ installations are whimsical, sometimes mythical, and always fun. They’re also a feat of ingenuity. The most ambitious so far is a 30-foot mural that tells the saga of a family’s life. Set against a road map that he painted to look like parchment, this neon biography, “one of the most meaningful but hardest pieces I’ve ever done,” features an animated Native American drawing back a bow as well as a volcano mid-eruption. “All these neon artworks had to communicate with each other,” says Sanders, who uses a device called a transformer to control the transfer of electric energy from one circuit to another. This is how he’s able to make elements flash. “It was tough to get it all wired and I thought, man, I hope I got all this right. But when I turned it on, it glitched for a second, and then the Indian started shooting the arrow from his bow. I was exhausted, I was sweaty, but it never stops captivating me when I light one of my pieces up for the first time. I’m a little boy again.” (Sanders’ earliest memory of neon is of a turquoise-and-pink clock that he saw outside a BBQ restaurant when he was 2 years old. “I know it sounds crazy, but that’s when I fell in love.”)

It can take weeks to develop a new concept; a sign he made for the band Kings of Leon went through 27 different iterations. “After 30-something years, coming up with a new idea is the toughest part,” Sanders admits. He finds inspiration in lyrics and on long drives, and for the latter he can choose between his ’51 Mercury or ’59 Chevy pickup. “The rest”, i.e. the making, “is elemental,” he says, and can be completed in four to six weeks. During this stage of creative flow, Sanders spins old records on a ’50s jukebox or plays old movies on a loop. “For the most part, I just listen to the old movies because I’ve seen them before and that means I don’t have to take my attention away from what I’m doing.” His is a tidy and soulful studio, which of course has neon artworks on its walls.

The journey of their creation begins as a hand-drawn design on gridded vellum—a type of tracing paper. “There’s a lot of pushing markers [pens] around to refine the sketch. I could go a lot faster if I worked on a computer, but that human touch is what people connect with; each piece represents a small portion of my life.” To see what a design looks like to scale, Sanders uses a projector to display it on the studio wall. From there, he’ll create a pattern for the neon sculpture as well as the metal upon which it’ll be mounted.

To shape the neon tubing into letters, lines, and forms, Sanders collaborates with a specialist glass blower—a bender, for those in the know. After being heated and set into position, a metal electrode is fitted, and air and impurities are removed using heat in a process known as bombarding. The tube is then filled with classic neon or alternative noble gases, such as argon, which omits a mesmerizing celestial blue. To achieve a full spectrum of colors, Sanders favors tinted glass.

What really ignites Sanders’ neon, however, is the 20-gauge (0.9mm) steel canvas upon which it hangs. “This is my art, made my way,” he says. Painted with a signwriter’s enamel and weathered using a technique involving Scotch-Brite, elbow grease, and a vinegar solution that he developed himself, the result is a new piece that looks authentically retro. It’s an aesthetic that pairs perfectly with neon’s nostalgic appeal.

“Neon has never stopped being magical,” Sanders says. I’ve been traveling down a neon road my whole life.” Sanders even used it to propose to his wife. “It was a 3ft by 2ft heart that said, ‘Sarah, will you marry me?’ in red and blue; the natural colours of neon and argon.” He even faked a power outage to amplify the element of surprise. “This place [the studio] is like a discotheque at night, it’s completely lit up. But I’d turned it all off, and when I plugged in the extension cord I got down on both knees rather than just one. I had no idea how I was supposed to do it, but she said yes!” Todd, you old romantic.

Their son Jack, aged 13, appreciates his father’s heritage craft, but there’s no pressure for him to take responsibility for Sanders’ neon legacy. “I’m 56, and I want to keep doing this for as long as possible,” Sanders says. In 2022, he released a book, and recently he’s been experimenting with collage in the painted element of his pieces. “It’s getting harder to find old signage on the roads, but I’m making things that are going to be around a lot longer than I am.”

Conversation meanders to Sanders’ hat. “I wear it every day, it’s how people recognize me.” Distinguished by the cattleman crease in its crown, the design dates back to the late 1930s, when Route 66 was just over a decade old. Handmade and styled with “just a little bit of an upturn,” it’s known as a Stetson Open Road. “I only set it down when I’m at home,” Sanders says, but who knows when that’ll happen next. When the working week is done, freedom for Sanders and his family is a car full of gas and an empty highway ahead. Leaving everything that’s familiar in the rear view, together, they go looking for neon on the horizon.

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A diaphanous mist is swirling inland from England’s Margate seafront. Street by street it creeps. The Rag and Bone Man is coming, too. You’ll hear him before you see him, but he won’t be calling out for your scrap; there’s no room for it on his motorbike. Shoulders down and elbows in, he sits deep in the seat of a long and low two-wheeler. A product of 1950, its BSA engine emits a full-bodied, well-matured rumble that reverberates through the Kentish town. It’s approaching nine in the morning, and with an open-face helmet he can taste the sea salt in the air.

With a composure that signals he’s an easy rider, he leans into each turn. To the left and to the right, he has a hypnotic rhythm with the road, but the mist can’t match his pace. He comes to a halt alongside a painted timber door, the entrance to his workshop. Dark green, it bears the number 4. Once inside, he puts on a flat cap and switches on the lights, but not always in that order. His trade isn’t typical of the traditional rag-and-bone man: Rather than buy unwanted items and resell them as they are, Paul Firbank, an artist engineer, returns them to the economy in astonishing reworked forms. It could be a golf club or a vintage car jack, wheel bearings or bits of an old digger. Once procured by The Rag and Bone Man, everything has the potential to be reinvented.

“I work in reverse,” Paul says. “I take something that’s already made and rethink it.” A single floor lamp, for example, will comprise multiple components, each with its own curiosity but at the end of its intended useful life. In the past, Paul’s pick-and-mix of cast-offs has included road sweeper parts, Land Rover radius arms, and a classic Mini brake drum. “It’s quite an organic process. I might do an initial sketch but that usually changes as I start playing around with different bits. I figure things out as I go along—even in my sleep.”

Paul’s workshop is itself a retrofit. Built as a depository in the 19th century to house the belongings of well-to-do Victorians on their summer holiday, it now heaves with vintage machinery—including a 1940s bandsaw he acquired at Chatham Historic Dockyard—and the hoardings of a “scrap-addicted madman.” There are wheel hubs that once belonged to a prewar car, clutch baskets (ideal for pendant lights), and miscellaneous lumps of cast metal. Right now, Paul is animated about a recent find. Hazarding a guess, he says: “It’s something from the inside of a boiler.” Colossal, cylindrical, and fabricated with a thick thread, the object, brutal and patina’d, is already an industrial work of art. “For me, this is a magical place.”

With over a decade in the business of repurposing often rare and one-off components, Paul has an established network of suppliers. If he’s looking for something specific, say, a radial engine—“I know a guy”—he has a little black book of numbers he can call. “I have to build up a lot of trust with fellow hoarders before they’ll let things go, because they understand the value and beauty of what they’ve got. I couldn’t bear to see the gorgeous shapes I see in scrap melted down, and they know that.”

To maintain a constant flow of new material, Paul brags rummaging rights in scrap bins up and down the country, but the most convenient is that which belongs to the motorcycle shop next door. “I’m very lucky.” The unpredictability of what he’ll discover gives rise to a heightened feeling of anticipation, but Paul has a particular penchant for items that have a compelling CV: “I’m inspired by scrap with heritage, hidden gems with an interesting story.”

Paul’s portfolio (and ambition) is anything but mediocre. Describing the gargantuan 1943 de Havilland Goblin jet engine he spent hundreds of hours transforming into a chandelier as “a proper piece of history,” it was, he says, so well made in its day that it was particularly arduous to take apart. “I had to make my own tools, including different types of pullers. As you dismantle something you realize and reflect on the craftsmanship that originally went into it.”

His wish is to work with an engine that has propelled a rocketship into space. With such sky-isn’t-the-limit ingenuity, it’s no surprise that Paul has been scouted by the makers of TV. “Yeah, I’ve done quite a bit,” he says casually. Appearances on the BBC, Channel 4, and Discovery Channel have made him a reluctant star—you can watch him remodel a 1930s Armstrong Siddeley Cheetah aircraft engine into a chandelier—but he hopes the fascination with his “waste not, want not” values and hands-on expertise will inspire others to find creative ways to rethink and repair.

Citing the gravity bike he built out of rubbish for Red Bull as the project that’s given him the biggest “kicks” to date, Paul displays a pragmatism even as he talks about the pinch-me moments. He is blown away, not boastful. The push bike “wasn’t like anything I’d ridden before,” and with no pedals, no seat, and aerodynamics tailored to make it go fast, very fast, down a hill, you’d be forgiven for thinking his invention sounds dangerous. Potentially deadly, even. “It had brakes,” he says in its defense. If you’ll forgive such a state-the-obvious spoiler, Paul and the bike—comprised of a frame that had been sculpted from a fly-tipped iron bedstead—survived their maiden descent in one piece.

At this year’s Goodwood Revival, a nostalgic three-day event that recreates the glorious days of motor racing, Paul plans to team up with apprentices from the Heritage Skills Academy—an organization that brings together experts from across the restoration industry to run courses—and refashion the wing of a Morgan motor car into a piece of furniture. “That next generation, I find them so inspiring,” he says. “Their passion is incredible. If you’re passionate about something, you’ve got to keep that going because you don’t know where you’ll end up.”

Occasionally, Paul is obliged to justify his actions; dismantling and repurposing historic items doesn’t always win votes from enthusiasts. “What have you done?” is a question, when tinged with accusation, that requires a tactful response. “I don’t butcher anything,” Paul says. “I use components as they are and add other elements. Rather than be in a museum for a select few, I give these things a new life, I bring them to different groups of people.” For provenance, each piece—“they’ve been called future heirlooms”—is given a serial number which Paul stamps on to a metal tag and attaches to the work.

The word “upcycle” is seldom used to describe the works of this modern rag-and-bone man. “Paul was doing what he was doing long before upcycling had its moment,” suggests Lizzie, his wife and partner in the business. After meeting in London and launching The Rag and Bone Man together at a design festival in 2011—“a wall of people were drawn to Paul’s work,” she says—they married on a fairground Wall of Death in 2017. Both blue-eyed and with a shared vision to design pieces that show how the characteristics and quirks of once-functional scrap can be reinvented, they are an effective and sought-after team.

Ongoing commissions include trophies that can weigh nearly 9 pounds for MotoGP, Moto2, and Moto3. “It’s nice when riders aren’t only on a mission to win, but to win one of our trophies,” says Paul, “especially when I make them a bit too heavy and some bloke who has just got off his super bike with arm pump [forearm pain that can develop after holding onto a motorcycle grip] is desperately trying to pick it up.” It’s an amusing thought, but Lizzie has a more diplomatic summation: “It’s so rewarding to see something that would be melted down become part of motorsport history.” They are well-scripted in finishing one another’s sentences.

The idea that a large proportion of the carbon fiber used in motorsport finds its way into landfill makes Paul uncomfortable. “It’s hard to get rid of and so it’s a menace to the planet.” Rising to the challenge of seeking a sustainable solution, he’s developing a way in which broken Formula 1 car parts can be shredded and metamorphosed into something useful.

“I like learning,” says Paul, whose skillset is largely self-taught. YouTube has been particularly enlightening. “I cocked up most of my school life, then I went to college and got into trouble; a mainstream education just wasn’t for me. I was destined to work with my hands.” The dirt trapped between the swirling ridges that decorate his fingerprints is a clue to the nature of his graft. “There’s a good deal of elbow grease involved in what I do.” Always on the lookout for second-hand machinery and tools, if it needs restoring, that’s not a problem.

The weathered hammer screwed to the workshop wall, you might suspect, has been taken out of service. There’s a “W” welded on its head. “For Wally,” Paul says. “My great-grandad was called Walter, and he was a metal worker in the East London dockyards.” It’s treasured rather than used. “I have all sorts of tools and machinery. I say the older the better, because they last longer.” With lathes, milling machines, bandsaws, spanners, and hammers, “lots of the kit does the same thing just in a slightly different way.” The couple have established an 1800 square foot of self-sufficient enterprise to house it all, and some of the equipment is more than a hundred years old, but there is a place for modern machinery, too. Presses, plasma cutters, angle grinders, drills—they’ve recently added a shot blaster to their assemblage and are also awaiting the arrival of a new old-style English wheel, a contraption used to fabricate compound curves in metal.

Lizzie, who had a more fulfilling relationship with academia, has an MA in fine art. Finding gratification in a less visible, more strategic role—business development, sales, and marketing, in other words±she has an intuitive understanding of The Rag and Bone Man aesthetic. “People have emotional connections to meaningful objects and to give them the opportunity to bring something that’s been stored in the corner of their garage back into focus is a really lovely thing.” Some clients, she says, like a surprise, while others appreciate a more formulated plan, but a budget is something that is always pre-agreed. A single pendant light could cost around £200 (~$240 USD), and a more complex piece of furniture in the thousands.

The midnight candle often burns at The Rag and Bone Man workshop, where the edge of the land meets the expanse of the sea. Sometimes it’s because of a workload needs must. “When I have a silly tight deadline and work 18-hour days, I’ll sleep on an old leather Chesterfield,” Paul says. But other times it’s because Lizzie is away. “It feels like home, so I’ll have the boys over and we’ll stay up drinking beer, fixing and modifying our motorbikes.”

“When you love something,” Lizzie adds, taking up the conversational baton, “you immerse yourself in it.”

Their son, Norton, at just five, is immersed in it, too, and is already and instinctually setting a similar course to his parents. “He has an amazing engineer’s mind. Designing and making is how he centers himself, and he becomes very calm,” says Lizzie.

“I don’t know how much longer I’m going to be here, but hopefully my work will be around for hundreds of years,” continues Paul. “What’s really cool is that Norton might nurture and hold on to these skills so that they can remain in our family.”

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Artist Daniel Arsham, known for his extraordinary “eroded” cars including Porsche, Ferrari and DeLorean, has teamed up with Mattel to make art on a smaller scale.

The Future Legends collection by Hot Wheels x Daniel Arsham will be released in four “laps” that will each feature a pair of 1:64 scale models, made, not from their usual steel and plastic, but Silkstone. This lab-made material is a simulated porcelain created from bauxite and polyester resin and allows Arsham’s trademark “contemporary archeology” eroded detailing to be recreated in miniature.

“Mattel Creations developed creative ways to deliver my vision by thinking outside of the box and experimenting with new materials and processes,” says Arsham. “This is the first time Silkstone has been used on a Hot Wheels model, and my first time working with this material, making it a historic moment for both of us.”

The first two models are a Porsche 930 Turbo and a Rodger Dodger Charger SE. Collectors will also be able to buy Arsham’s interpretation of the 1968 Hot Wheels Rally Case to store their models, plus assorted keychains, stickers and limited edition prints.

Each car comes in a presentation box with a pair of special gloves to avoid damage when handling. These definitely aren’t to designed to hurtle down a track!

The collection will be for sale starting October 27 at 9am PST on the Mattel Creations website and will be on display in a New York gallery as well.

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Ramón Cubiró’s story begins in the coastal town of Sitges back in 1923, before he was even born. The opening of Autòdrom Terramar, Spain’s first purpose-built motor racing circuit, brought glamor, innovation, theater, and danger to the seaside resort, and also enabled the country’s inaugural Grand Prix.

The steeply banked, 1.24-mile oval was used for speed-record attempts, tests, and races until it closed in 1957. However, almost 100 years later, the spiritual home of motorsport in Spain inspired Ramón, a painter and restorer, to set off on a mission to first restore, then create his own painstakingly miniaturized slot cars. He sought out “unknown models with a beautiful story behind them” from the ’20s and ’30s, a period he regards as the “Golden Age” of motorsport.

“The wonderful Autòdrom Terramar was a crucial find for me,” says Ramón, whose workshop in Barcelona is a 45-minute drive from the historic circuit. “Here begins my hobby and passion for the beginnings of the motor world, [its] personalities, iconic brands, and emblematic circuits.”

To accomplish his first release, a limited edition run of 250 faithfully reproduced 1922 Austro-Daimler Sascha slot cars, Ramón assembled a team of modeling artists who shared his vision for Velasor—the name of his busienss—and were impassioned to accompany him on “this wonderful journey,” no matter how many fiddly hours it involved. Working in their spare time and during the evenings, they took twelve months to complete the project. When photographed up close, the slot cars could momentarily fool the unwary into thinking they were the real deal.

Originally designed by Ferdinand Porsche as the car of his dreams, the Austro-Daimler Sascha was revolutionary for its time. Achieving a top speed of 89 mph, the high-performance four-cylinder vehicle was known for its maneuverability, fuel-efficiency, and detachable fender, which made it lighter for racing.

The 1:32-scale Velasor replica, known as VLM 1 ADR Sascha and released in 2017, weighs in at just 58 grams (more than ten thousand times lighter than the original vehicle) and measures 4.3 inches long by 2.09 inches wide. Four different versions were crafted, each depicting one of the Sachas that were entered into the 1922 Targa Florio road race, the event in which the Sacha scooped first and second places in its engine-size category.

Piloted by miniature figures sculpted to look like the motorsport aces that raced them—Alexander Kolowrat, Lambert Pocher, Fritz Kulm, and Alfred Neubauer—the cars are identified by the suits of a poker deck. “The little Sascha who gave life to Velasor took us to places and to meet personalities directly related to his history, such as the grandson of F. Porsche and Alexander Kolowrat,” explains Ramón. “With each car that we reproduce, we have a special bond and contact with some personality of the time, linked to a family member of the designer, driver or car.”

Meticulously fabricated with a minimum of ten functional and mobile features, Velasor models are a feat of quirky human endeavor. “Perhaps the most intricate part is the process of giving mobility and functionality to all the pieces with special characters that each model has,” says Ramón.

A closer look at the Sacha, which comprises 232 parts, reveals working front suspension springs, wheels that can be removed using a special key, and a toolbox that contains a full set of tools. Beneath the engine cover, which is fastened to the base of the chassis by a belt with four metal buckles, there’s a replica of the ADS-R engine. As fully functional slot cars, those are not only the “how do they do that?” aesthetic details that make Velasor models so distinctive.

“For me it is the charm of knowing that they have life on a track which many collectors like to do. We tune the cars to work and give them free after-sales warranties, with a wide assortment of replacement parts or repairs should they need it.”

The second Velasor release, a replica of the 1914 Peugeot L45 Grand Prix Racer, or VLM 2 Peugeot L45, features movable front and rear shock absorbers, a rotating starter handle, removable front drum brakes, and a tail box with two spare wheels inside.

To give Velasor models maximum credibility, Ramón and his team research and plan each project fastidiously. After all, when the worlds of slot car racing, miniature model making, and historic motorsport are combined, a knowledgeable enthusiast is likely to have particularly exacting standards.

“It’s difficult because I have to choose a model whose history, race, [and] driver, have a special charm. I’m always trying to surprise both the collector and myself,” says Ramón. “Once the model that we will make has been chosen, the process that I like the most arrives, that of collecting all kinds of documentation, contacts, plans (if any), photos, books. All of this is well studied by me and also by the designer, who at the same time begins to make sketches and drawings in 3D. Thus begins the construction of the prototype, through the pieces that are made in resin, until reaching the final modeling process. Once all these pieces are final, production begins.”

Measuring approximately 3.94 inches and weighing just 2.47 ounces, the VLM 3 Bugatti Brescia project is Velasor’s latest and most micro design. Ramón describes them as “little gems.” He adds: “With each model, we try to improve ourselves. For this new reference, we are working with the original plans provided by the Bugatti Trust, which implies a challenge in reproducing it even more faithfully.”

The materials chosen for each model reflect that which was used to build the original, full-size automobile and can include metal, wood, leather, brass, rubber, and resin. We use all kinds of precision tools and small machines such as lathes and milling machines, we are like a small watch shop.”

Since each car is assembled and painted by hand, to overcome fatigue during the process, Velasor modeling artists tackle different stages in turn. “A great deal of concentration is needed, but all the steps are so diverse until a model is made that we alternate between them,” says Ramón. On occasion, parts are manufactured outside the Velasor workshop due to their complexity and finish, but “it is in our workshop that we give life to the more than 250 parts that can make up each car,” Ramón emphasizes.

Fancy downsizing? Each model costs between roughly $560 and $680, inclusive of a wooden display plinth, an owners manual that tells you the history of the vehicle, a certificate of authenticity, and a specification card. It’s possible to buy the full set of each edition, but as collectors items, this depends on availability.

“Feedback is the greatest reward one can have,” says Ramón. “It is incredible how after the work and dedication that one puts into each car, one is rewarded with precious messages, calls, and visits to the workshop. The reaction that most moved me was that of an English collector who conveyed to me exactly what I felt about Velasor with his words. That someone, who did not know me, could see in my work all the effort, passion, and dedication invested and [for him to] admire it in the way that he did [was] very gratifying.”

When deconstructed and decoded by Ramón, the meaning of Velasor is as follows: “Vel” stands for velocidad (velocity), “as” represents aces of the steering wheel, and “or” is borrowed from the end of words including motor, honor, and valor.

When asked to reveal the subject of the next project, Ramón says we’ll have to wait and see.

“There are several models that I would like to make, but only two keep me awake and not because of their beauty, nor because of their prestige as a brand, but more as a challenge as a miniature. Those are top secret.”

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The room is bright and warm. Signwriter Terry Smith stands at an easel, his chest rising, pausing, and falling; each brush stroke is a breath held. He appears entranced, locked into an irregular but comfortable rhythm with his paintbrush, its once crimson-lacquered handle worn to bare wood. A prickly whiff of paint thinner hangs in the air.

Working from left to right, Smith supports his painting hand using a mahl stick, which he calls his third arm. Its round, padded head glides across his work surface, collecting chalk dust from the positional renderings he uses as a spacing guide. In signwriting circles, this known as the pounce method, but Smith doesn’t rely on it.

With the brim of his flat cap resting on the frame of his glasses, his eyes are cast in shadow, but I can see them darting, repeatedly, to his right. “I’m projecting the finished letter in my mind’s eye,” explains Smith, who has been signwriting, the traditional way, since the mid-’70s.

“I won’t follow the chalk marks—they show me where I need to start and finish, but it’s up to me and my brush to get it right. If you can’t freehand when painting lettering, you won’t earn a living out of it. It’s a sixth sense that’s difficult to teach.”

Using the inside edge of a paint pot as his palette, Smith manipulates the bristles of his brush with a series of strokes to find its “sweet spot.” All brushes, he says, have a point at which they perform their best because of the way their bristles have been laid and fastened. “When you use them day in, day out, you get to know what they’re capable of.”

From tip to tip, an artist’s paintbrush comprises three main parts; head, ferrule and handle. Each brush’s specific anatomy, such as size and brush shape makes it a character in its own right, says Smith. Once you know how to get that optimum chisel, he says, the brush give you what you want. “By making friends with them you can get the best result from them, but if a brush starts to shed its bristles, it’s had its day.”

Gradually, letters emerge from a mesmerizing sequence of swirls and curls and quick-fast flicks. With a lift and a twist, Smith adds a flourish to the foot of the final letter. He paints those impeccably straight lines with a tremble in his hand. Undetectable to the naked eye, it’s not an ailment but a deliberate and exacting technique that helps persuade paint to part ways with a brush; think of it like a singer’s vibrato.

Had life panned out a little differently, we might not have been on our own in Smith’s studio. Of his two sons, it’s the one who emigrated to Australia that inherited his creative flair. The final project they worked on together was a mural of the Brighton Belle electric train; it remains Smith’s largest single work to date. Spanning over 50 feet, it occupies three panels set into the arches of the forecourt in England’s Brighton Station. The project took five weeks for them to complete. “I miss bouncing ideas off each other,” says Smith, as he sets down his paintbrush. It’s time to take a break.

Over black coffee and chocolate biscuits, Smith pores over photographs of his signwriting accomplishments. They include scenes from Goodwood’s Revival—“I paint the ‘Gentlemen, start your engines’ kind of stuff”—and a restored 911 that was used as a promo car for Private Motor Club magazine. It’s a commission that he’s particularly fond of: “The livery was inspired by a Porsche that raced Le Mans in 1972,” he explains. “When signwriting a car, you have to ignore its curves because you want the artwork to be true to its original design and form; you don’t want to elongate anything whether that be lettering, a logo or an image.”

With steam rising from his cup, Smith recalls a “bitterly cold” assignment that took place in a dusty Dutch barn. On occasion, he admits, his paintbrushes have played second fiddle to his portable convection heater. Cold hands are not conducive to effective signwriting.

As he flips through this deconstructed portfolio of work, Smith explains why he refuses to post on Twitter, Instagram, or Snapchat in order to attract new business: “My reputation and word of mouth seem to do the trick and I’ve won more jobs doodling on the back of an envelope than any other way. Over the years I’ve walked into shops, picked the pencil out from behind my ear, roughed something up, and bingo, I’ve got the job.” He has no website or email address to his name: If you want to make inquiries you’ll have to contact Terry Smith Signwriting the old-fashioned way; by picking up the phone.

He eats lunch overlooking fields that fall away into the sea within four miles. Home, for the moment, is a bolt-hole in West Sussex, but fundamentally, it’s wherever Terry parks his VW camper van. Bearing the same sign-written name as his automobilia shop, “Old’s Cool,” the van is the place where he reacquaints with his nomadic self. In 40 years, Smith has relocated 13 times, but his current casa—a converted police traffic control office with a trio of outbuildings that once housed panda cars and are now in service as a signwriting workspace, garage, and store front—is ideal.

It was several studios ago, back in the ’80s, that a salesman first came knocking at Smith’s door with a vinyl cutter. “I said, I’ve got a project for us to do,” recalls Smith, his tone hinting at mischief. The mano a mano that followed, he tells me, was a civilized competition between craftsmanship and computer.

“After he’d set his machine up, we started at the same time and we finished at the same time. I then said, ‘Well, there you go bud, that machine is £10,000 and I’ve got to buy countless rolls of vinyl to feed it. I mix my colors by eye, in a thimble, for what I need to do the job.’” The salesman countered Smith’s appraisal with the argument that vinyl is more efficient because it doesn’t involve drying time. He didn’t convince Smith.

“I instantly decided I wasn’t going to subscribe to it. I wanted to keep going, hoping that there would be a nice little niche for me to inhabit.” He continues with a word of caution: “If you’re even thinking about vinyl, I’m not your man. This is a different thing, this is hand done. I also don’t price it per letter, this is not like putting an ad in the newspaper.”

For centuries, buildings, boats, and all forms of transport have been distinguished by hand-painted signs. Once upon a time, Smith says, “You’d see a signwriter in a high street, they were as common as decorators or plumbers.” He’s a stickler for period correctness. “If an object pre-dates vinyl, then it absolutely shouldn’t wear it. If it’s a vehicle I’m signwriting, I match its vintage to a typeface from that era. The vinyl boys often get it wrong, plumping for something they see on a screen that wasn’t even designed when the object they are working on was built.”

Smith laments the days when a recognized qualification in signwriting could be obtained at the City & Guilds of London Institute: “Now it’s just left to nutters like me to drum it into people.” Back then, he says, a true signwriter could distinguish subtle differences in the handling of lettering that made it identifiable as an individual’s work. “The process of vinyl printing is genius, but to call it signwriting is a travesty. That’s why I call myself a sign painter these days.”

To nurture newcomers to his craft, Smith runs courses and hosts workshops at the Brighton Fishing Museum, West Dean College of Arts and Conservation, and at home. He hopes to discover someone who has got what it takes to inherit his paintbrushes. If you sign up, be prepared to switch off: “I wouldn’t dream of having a mobile phone in my studio—the last thing I want when I’m in the zone is interruption.” Previous experience using small, fine paintbrushes, he says, is desired. Left-handed artists need only apply: “One of the tidiest workers I’ve ever seen was left-handed, she was fantastic.”

Before he lets me try my hand, he shares some basic principles: Typeface is the design of lettering; font refers to how a typeface is displayed, such as size, weight (e.g. bold), slope (e.g. italic), width (e.g. condensed). He lifts a practice board off the floor. On it, the alphabet has been painted in Gill Sans, one of Smith’s preferred typefaces. It was designed by the English artist and type designer Eric Gill, and he based it on Edward Johnston’s 1916 “Underground Alphabet”, which is used on London Underground signage. Its clean and rounded proportions, without extending features known as serifs, make it ideal for beginners.

“Any signwriter worth his salt has a repertoire of typefaces in his head that can be done without needing to reference anything, but by anyone’s standards, Gill Sans is straightforward to copy because it requires a minimal amount of brush strokes. With those perfectly round O’s, it screams 1930s—it’s such a lovely type.”

Smith is adept at defusing impatience in a student. “We’ll get on to that in a minute,” he says, knowing full well that without proper practice of the basics, dropped shadows or gold leaf are going to be an uphill struggle. Slowing down and cultivating an intuition for how fonts and effects can be applied to different typefaces is all part of the signwriter’s sixth sense: “You have to know how to play with them.”

I’ve assigned myself the task of painting a slogan on a chest that belonged to my grandfather. It’s going to be a surprise for my dad. We settle on a speedy to accomplish “one stroke” style named Flash before transferring the words using the pounce method. As I grapple with a mahl stick, paintbrush, and pot, Smith says: “My one Achilles’ heel is getting A’s, V’s, and anything with a diagonal line that needs to be symmetrical not to look like a tent that’s falling over. It’s easier when they’re italic.” His favorite letter? An S: “I love the free-falling sweep of its shape.”

Occasional mistakes can be wiped away with a dab of white spirit, but Smith says that imperfections will add personality to the sign written piece. Typically it takes four hours for the enamel paint that I’ve used to dry, but our time together has come to an end.

Before saying goodbye, we pause next to a Fordson van. It’s just a few shades of blue darker than Smith’s denim dungarees and the word “signsmith” is emblazoned on its side. When not parked in the courtyard that separates his living and work spaces, the van earns its keep as a mobile billboard. “It’s my trademark,” explains Smith. “Me and Ford, we’re inextricably linked—my mum and dad were employed by them, it’s how they met.”

As I drive home, away from the mist that’s rolling in from the sea, I think of Smith in his studio, now dark and turning cold, I hope that soon he will be joined by a protégé. Until then, it’s up to him to keep the craft alive.

Terry Smith: 01243 377948. Click here and here for more information about the courses Smith runs.

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U.S. Postal Service buys 9250 electric Ford vans, 9250 ICE vehicles

Intake: After a “competitive search,” the Postal Service awarded a contract to purchase a total of 9250 Ford E-Transit Battery Electric Vehicles (BEVs)” the USPS says. Delivery will begin in December for the Kansas City–built vans. The Ford E-Transit BEVs are manufactured in Kansas City, Missouri.

Exhaust: Read the USPS press release closer, though, and you learn that “a contract for 9250 commercial-off-the-shelf (COTS) internal combustion engine vehicles will also be concurrently awarded to fill the urgent need for vehicles,” so the USPS isn’t quite ready to go all-electric yet. Still, the USPS is heading that way, announcing also that it’s buying more than 14,000 charging stations “to establish an initial and ongoing Electric Vehicle Supply Equipment inventory.” —Steven Cole Smith

“Eroded car” exhibit opens at Petersen Automotive Museum

Intake: The automotive art of Daniel Arsham is being celebrated at the Petersen Automotive Museum in a new exhibit in the L.A. landmark’s ground floor Armand Hammer Foundation Gallery, which previously heralded Andy Warhol. Arsham’s unique work includes full-scale versions of a Porsche, a tribute to an iconic Ford Mustang, and a famous movie Ferrari, each of which has been transformed with an eroded look that reveals faceted quartz and iron pyrite. Automotive magazine covers, a vintage gasoline pump, and small-scale cars have also received the treatment.

Exhaust: The juxtaposition of familiar automotive shapes and the eroded, geological nature of Arsham’s work makes for a surreal experience. It’s absolutely not what you expect to see when you’re faced with the unmistakable silhouette of a Mustang fastback or classic Porsche. Once again, the Petersen Museum continues to give patrons reasons to return, as the main gallery on the museum’s ground floor has also been recently revamped with a Tesla exhibit. If you’d like to visit, tickets are available at the Petersen Museum website. —Brandan Gillogly 

VinFast makes first U.S. deliveries

Intake: VinFast, the Vietnamese maker of electric SUVs, delivered the first 45 VF8 City Edition all-electric SUVs to  customers at its nine stores across California on Wednesday, which signals the company’s official entry into the North American market. The City Edition vehicles will continue be delivered to customers at VinFast’s stores or through a home-delivery service in the following days. The VF 8 City Edition includes 999 vehicles which were imported to the U.S. last December.

Exhaust: It isn’t much, but it’s a foot in the door for the very ambitious company, which is contemplating building a factory in North Carolina and launching an IPO in the United States. Vinfast is offering a 10-year warranty on both the vehicles and batteries, mobile service, and 24/7 roadside assistance. —SCS

Formula 1 gets Aston Martin upgrade

Intake: It might always be the last car on the starting grid, but the new Formula 1 medical car has more pace than ever. For the 2023 F1 season the Aston Martin DBX707 will take its position on track behind the 20 of the finest drivers in motorsports, ready to provide emergency medical assistance. The 707 PS (697 hp) SUV can accelerate to 60 mph in 3.1 seconds and is kitted out with fire extinguishers, medical bags, a defibrillator, and monitors that display driver biometrics. It will be driven by Alan van der Merwe, who says: “The updated FIA Medical Car is an impressive step forward and ensures that we will keep pace in the high-speed world of Formula 1. It’s definitely going to allow the Medical Car team to fully focus on the job and respond quickly and safely during any on-track deployments. It’s great to be heading into a new season well prepared and well equipped.”

Exhaust: As well as bringing up the rear, an Aston Martin is also guaranteed to lead the field during 2023 as its Vantage FIA Safety Car returns to duty. There’s even a chance that the British firm’s F1 car could be near the front, as it was one of the stars of pre-season testing. Tune in to the Bahrain Grand Prix on Sunday (10 a.m. ET on ESPN) to watch all the Aston action. —Nik Berg

Tesla presentation a “huge tease,” investor says

Intake: The much-anticipated Tesla Investor Day, after rumors had suggested Elon Musk would show off a new $25,000 model or the final Cybertruck design or something specific detailing future products, turned out to be a “huge tease,” tweeted investor Ross Gerber, says Reuters. Musk showed a couple of future models that were shrouded, and he gave no indication of price. The headline for most financial outlets was that Musk said Tesla could cut manufacturing costs in half, potentially resulting in a much cheaper car. “It’s coming. They laid it all out. 50 percent less cost to build. Would get you a $25–$30K EV!” tweeted Gerber. Musk did confirm that the next Gigafactory will be built in Mexico, near Monterrey.

Exhaust: Musk has long played his cards close to his vest, and clearly he wasn’t ready to make a major product announcement. As it is, Reuters observes, “The automaker has only four models, all priced toward the higher end of the market.” The Cybertruck pickup is still coming this year, executives say. —SCS

Dodge recalls nearly 140,000 Durangos for spoiler issue

Intake: The National Highway Traffic Safety Administration is recalling 139,019 Dodge Durangos from 2021–23 model years for a potentially defective rear spoiler that could detach from the vehicle. NHTSA said that the affected Durangos have the spoiler mounted too close to the tailgate, which means that when the tailgate is being opened, it can come into contact with the spoiler, “which may result in the spoiler becoming partially detached from the vehicle,” or even detaching completely, which could cause following vehicles “to crash without prior warning.”

Exhaust: There may be early signs there’s a problem, NHTSA says: “Vehicle occupants may hear the spoiler hitting the body when opening or closing the liftgate, or a rattle from the spoiler being loose while driving.” It’s a voluntary safety recall, and if your Durango has the problem, Dodge will replace the spoiler. —SCS

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Leonardo da Vinci lived and worked more than five hundred years ago, but he became da Vinci—arguably the most famous and most valuable artist of all time—thanks to an early 20th-century robbery.

“The Mona Lisa was stolen in 1911. It was the first art theft that really resonated in the mainstream press worldwide, and became the first truly global art market news,” explained Darius Spieth, a professor of art history and art market specialist at Louisiana State University. “Before that, Leonardo was obviously well known and important, but he was one amongst others.”

Some of us at Insider are art enthusiasts; others can’t tell the difference between a Renaissance masterpiece and the stuff hanging in the hallways of the Hilton Garden Inn. But all of us love big datasets. The bigger the sample size, the better we are able to tell you what a car is worth and why. That’s why we constantly dig into Hagerty’s trove of insurance data and why we inspect hundreds of thousands of cars at auction.

The market for fine art is roughly the same size as that for cars in terms of dollars, but it utterly dwarfs us by another metric: time. The automobile is only about 150 years old, and although enthusiasts have been collecting them in some form or another since practically the beginning, the collector car market, as we know it, coalesced only toward the end of the 20th century. In contrast, art has been bought and sold at auction since at least the time of the Roman Empire, and some of companies we recognize today—Sotheby’s, Bonhams, Christie’s—were doing business some 250 years ago.

Spieth focuses on the history of art markets and how technological changes, among other things, have impacted it. We chatted with him about how art markets have (and haven’t) changed over the centuries and, maybe, caught a glimpse at what’s in store for cars over the long run.

We sometimes wonder what will happen to values of older cars as those who remember them new leave the market. What can art history teach us here? Obviously, no one alive today remembers when the Mona Lisa was brand new, and yet it’s still universally viewed as a great work of art.

If you go back in time, to the 18th or 19th centuries, Raphael was king, and Leonardo was a distant second. Today, we put Leonardo first because we’re living in a very technology-driven society. Leonardo did all of these drawings with flying machines, military equipment, and natural sciences, so he resonates much more with our own mentalities. Raphael painted lots of Madonnas and whatnot, and they’re amazing—they’re great—but who gets still excited about that? Taste is an interesting thing.

The list of who is considered famous and great is being reshuffled with time. I’d like to tell a story: There’s a small painting in the Louvre, by an artist called Gerrit Dou, who lived four hundred years ago. The painting is called “The Dropsical Woman.” Napoleon Bonaparte thought this was the greatest painting on the face of the earth. He moved heaven and earth to basically extort it from an Italian nobleman, succeeded, and it’s still in the Louvre. But it’s in the Netherlandish section, and hardly anyone knows the artist any longer. It doesn’t draw the crowds. If this were around 1800, it would be in a bullet-proof glass case and would attract millions of paying visitors every year.

I think every generation renegotiates these things. What constitutes greatness? Consider the change to electric cars. What will that mean if you can no longer have a gas station at every corner? Will that damper the passion for historical cars? I don’t know. Personally, I think it will be the unique craftsmanship that went into classic cars that will be the decisive factor; it will be what defines their endurance as aesthetic objects as well as their role as a storage of value.

That’s interesting. We often talk about how the electrification of the automobile will impact the classic car market from a practical sense—regulations, how we’ll get parts for them, etc. But you’re talking about something different—how electrification will impact desire for classic gas-powered cars. 

My thoughts in this discussion always seem to be circling back to issues of psychology. Economists will tell you that humans make rational decisions. I’m not so sure that’s always true. There’s a branch of finance called behavioral finance, which says we need to get away from mechanical models of how markets react to information and keep in mind that we’re dealing with human beings making decisions. Classic cars are a prime example because there are so many psychological—and ultimately irrational—circumstances that define their appreciation; this is what links their market to that of art.

Speaking of finance: To what extent do you think today’s art buyers are actually collectors driven by passion as opposed to investors, looking for financial gain? 

That’s a difficult question for me because, to some extent, my gut reaction is to reply from the vantage point of the collector who I am, which makes me biased. On multiple occasions, I’ve paid more than the rational market price for an object. I wanted to have it and I knew this would be the only opportunity in my lifetime. And the segments where I am active is not big-name art. I deliberately buy things that I find interesting, top quality, high craftsmanship, but that are obscure by today’s standards. I could take the same amount of money and invest it in, say, Andy Warhol (or at least prints by Andy Warhol). So, what I’m doing as a private citizen defies the purely rational investment perspective. If you’re really interested in very niche, little-knowns artists, it takes a lot of time to learn about these people—and courage to follow your own convictions. It’s also a major time investment to go down that road, which the busy lives of most people will not permit. So, they go with what the algorithms of a Google search delivers to them—they go for the big names. Real collectors are driven by passion. If you are looking to maximize return on investment, go to the stock markets. Don’t buy art or classic cars.

How important is craftsmanship? Even to a layperson like myself, it’s pretty obvious that certain Renaissance paintings require a tremendous amount of skill, in the same way that someone ignorant of cars probably understands that building a Delahaye or Bugatti required a lot of craftsmanship. But shift to some modern art or, say, a million-dollar muscle car that came off an assembly line and the craftsmanship is harder to see. Does that matter?

If you look at the art world today, “craftsmanship” is almost like an evil word—but not for everyone and not for me; I relish it. But ever since contemporary art came about in the 60s and 70s, the prevailing attitude towards craftsmanship has been, “No, no, no, it’s just about the ideas you have and that’s it. Never mind the execution or whether you know how to draw or paint a human figure.” But in the longer term what matters will be endurance—what people still want to look at, read, or want to own in 30, 50 or 200 years from now.

Interestingly enough, with the advent of computers and the digital age, even our definitions of craftsmanship have changed—especially so in the context of cars. For a long period of time, cars were not seen as “craft objects.” None of them were. But older cars are appreciated from this vantage point today, especially in relation to newer ones. All of the sudden, there’s this awareness that cars, especially from the middle years of the twentieth century, are really these handcrafted objects, they are part of the lure of modernism and the machine age and we need to preserve them because we no longer make them this way. Leonardo made a living as an engineer and many of his drawings are really engineering drawings, so why not look at some of the finest pieces of twentieth-century machinery as art?

What I’m hearing from you is: a lot of what we love and value may be ephemeral. But are there things in the art world that you can point to as more or less permanent?

A while back, I published this book about the art market during the French Revolution of 1789. And one thing that I found quite amazing is that, yes, there are changes over time but not that many after all. There are just some artists who are less known today. But nevertheless, if you look at it over a long period of time, it does not change that much. Auctions, for instance, the quintessential marketplaces for classic cars and art, work in the same way as they worked in the eighteenth century.

If you look at auction catalogs from about 1800, you read long lot descriptions, and wonder, where is this artwork now? What happened to it? And, unfortunately, probably a lot of it got destroyed over time. But then again, it is always surprising just how much is still here.

This whole time we’ve been circling around a very big question: What makes something valuable? And why do we like what we like? 

I believe it was Carl Laszlo, a great collector and Holocaust survivor, who said collecting is something that you do in order to overcome your mortality. You want to do something in your life that has a lasting impact. That is what gives purpose. And that has a lot to do with value. And of course, what is value? Ultimately, it is what endures. Even money may lose its value, but assets like land, gold, and art endure. But art still comes out ahead within this group because it has intellectual content. Intellectual content is socially constructed; it is what moves people emotionally. By this point in time, through literature, movies, popular culture, and the rose-colored glasses of nostalgia, this intellectual dimension is something that unites the market for historical automobiles and the art market. The quest for value, and the passion that goes into it, I think you need to have these two things come together.

Let’s talk briefly about NFTs. They’ve taken the art world by storm, and they’ve begun to creep into the car market. What’s your take on them, from the point of view of an art historian? Will they last?

Artworks are basically analog objects, many of them with long histories, because, you know, they have this tactile quality. Look at a painting: It’s a physical thing, you turn it around, and it’s a piece of canvas or a wooden panel with oil paint on it, and you feel connected to the person who did that. It may be crumbling or damaged. No matter how expensive it is, even if you have a $100 million Picasso or whatever, it’s still a piece of cloth with color squeezed out of a tube. The same is true for a $10 painting from the flea market. Right? With NFTs, I think their promoters try to cater to a different, immaterial world, to people with very different mentalities, who consider, like Plato or Kandinsky, the material world a burden.

The NFT marketing machine is piggybacking on the idea of art—they give people the illusion of the prestige that comes with owning original artworks, even cloning the idea of originality. They say, “Oh, here’s your file, but in order to ‘own’ it as something original, you need to pay a huge premium.” The truth of the matter is that the visual image that you get is the same as a JPEG. It’s intangible and infinitely reproducible and exists only on a screen reliant on electricity and software, etc. There are very basic technological constrains on accessibility and the aesthetic nature of the image, which in any case will always be electronically generated (and it shows). So, it’s very much a psychological mind game full of manipulation and self-deceptions. But if that’s what you enjoy, go for it. I doubt that it really appeals to the same people who populate the traditional art, antiques, and classic car worlds. Admittedly, by this point in time, way too much money has been poured into this enterprise, and the hype surrounding it, to pull the plug and say, “Never mind.” It’s going to be around for a while for that reason alone.

Before I let you go, I have to put you on the spot: Do you consider classic cars to be art? If so, where do they fit in the broader art world?

I think there’s a parallel to be drawn between art and classic cars. Believe it or not, I don’t even drive. I don’t own a car. But I love cars, and I appreciate them as both static and moving aesthetic objects.

I’m friends with painter Robert Williams in Los Angeles, who did the original cover art for Guns N’ Roses. He and his wife Suzanne have been part of the hot rod scene for decades, own vintage Ford Model Ts, and turn them into artwork. Of course, they invested a tremendous amount of effort into getting spare parts and going to the meets with other enthusiasts. So, like in the art world, you have the benefit of going to all of these social activities, and then, of course, they go out on the road and drive their cars, getting a lot of attention wherever they show up. So, there’s huge component of social interaction involved in all of that. That’s a much-underrated, added value.

I attended the Venice Biennale in 2022. And if you go to contemporary art events today, you see so many things that are interactive. People want to be engaged in some kind of activity. And that’s also another place where the collector car market overlaps with the art world.

***

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After 14 years in Formula 1, 10 years as a chief mechanic, 167 consecutive Grand Prix races and 668 pit stops, Alastair Gibson typed out his resignation. Disenchanted with a day job that’s one of the most pressurized but well paid and sought-after in motorsport, he hit send on the email without hesitation. Officially terminating his own employment to become an artist was one of the most “pleasing” moments of his F1 career, “because I did it on my terms.” It was time to sink or swim.

“I was tired,” explains Gibson, as he stares into the aluminum eyes of a 1.2-meter long Mako shark. Manufactured out of a pair fuel tank flap valve plugs, they are painted as black as the ocean’s abyss. “The passion was gone, I switched off to it completely, and if you haven’t got the passion you can’t do that job.” The race-to-race existence, which included stints with the Benetton and BAR Honda GP teams, combined with jet lag, politics and personal battles for supremacy (within and between race teams) had taken its toll.

“It was a real emotional drain spending all my effort and time making a beautiful race car that sometimes only lasted 5 laps before it got smashed off the track. I’d think it was such a waste of energy and enthusiasm,” says Gibson, a Sixties child born in Johannesburg, South Africa. Leaving his hometown to pursue his dream of becoming a GP mechanic during the apartheid policy era had been difficult. “Having that passport wasn’t great,” but a humble attitude and a lot of graft got him “to where I was,” and by the late-Noughties that wasn’t a good place. “I’d go to the check-in counter at an airport and not know where I was going. I’d be disoriented when the hotel alarm clock went off in the morning and then I’d go to the race track, stand in the garage and for a split second, and think: Where am I?”

Fortunately, Gibson could see a life beyond rebuilding race cars; he wanted to sculpt sea creatures—from sharks to sturgeons—using carbon fiber and salvaged parts. “My father thought I’d lost my marbles,” he says. “My whole life had been motor racing, preparing a vehicle to do a certain job, to win, to be safe, and to achieve what those people above you wanted to achieve, but dumping that responsibility was like a breath of fresh air.”

A decade and a half later, with a studio in Northamptonshire that employs six (known as Carbon Art 45) and with pieces sold to F1 glitterati including Jenson Button and Rubens Barrichello, evidence suggests Gibson’s risk is reaping its rewards. The business often attracts clients that have such a high-profile that non-disclosure agreements need to be signed. “I was naive to what it would take to make a success of it, I put all my money that I saved into it and sold a couple of cars. I’ve worked harder than I worked in Formula 1,” says Gibson. In the early days, the funds he raised building, designing and restoring motorbikes, including two Brough Superior land speed motorcycles for Jay Leno, helped keep his creative start-up afloat.

At the shallow end of the Carbon Art collection, a shark keyring or mackerel magnet, from £95 ($114), is an affordable way for a petrolhead to dip their toe, but venture deeper, and you can “get a bit groovy” for £585 ($704) with a red bellied baby piranha. Dressed in iconic seventies GP racing livery and suspended mid-air on a semi-flexible stainless steel stand, they make dinky but eye-catching decor, but so too does the 100g floating shark paperweight. The £185 ($221) piece has a base is made from a gear used by Sergio Perez during the 2016 season.

Each sculpture, which take months to develop, is available in three sizes (the biggest measures in at 3.5 meters) and all of them are produced to a limited run. Designs can also be given bespoke treatment but taking the plunge and investing in a larger, personalised, piece of work, will come with a five figure asking price. “The weird thing about it is if petrolheads have £15,000 to spare they’d rather buy another car or another engine for their car, so it tends to be art lovers that buy my pieces,” says Gibson. “If you buy a sculpture it’s got a lifetime guarantee. I’d hate to think one of my best pieces was in a loft because it’s got a piece of it broken off—bring it back and I’ll fix it.”

Nature and engineering, explains Gibson, are inextricably linked, and biomimicry, when a man-made product imitates nature to solve a design challenge, is a practice that’s widespread in automotive. Cooling vents that mimic fish gills to enable an engine to breathe is one such example, and when choosing the base material for his sculptures Gibson applied the same methodology. “My take on it is if god were designing them and he had free reign on materials he would have used carbon fiber because it’s light, it’s strong, it doesn’t rust, and it wouldn’t sink to the bottom of the salty ocean.” It also looks extraordinary when the light catches it.

“Carbon fiber in the sunshine is a religious experience, it’s beautiful, it’s mind-blowing,” he says, succumbing to a moment of near rhapsody. Baring three layers of titanium teeth, a two-tone tinted blue and charcoal grey mako shark has caught his eye. Shimmering in the daylight and coated in a UV protective lacquer to prevent fading, the finish is an intentional nod to a shark’s natural colouring. “When you’re swimming underneath a shark and look up, it’s grey, but looking down on a shark, it’s blue.”

There are two distinctive sides to Carbon Art 45. Upstairs, which is a production line of finishing touches, and downstairs which is a powerhouse of hardware including a milling machine and lathe. There’s also  “Margarita’s Dirty Room” with an extraction table where carbon-fiber pieces are prepared using a blaster, grinding wheels and a sander for the more delicate elements.

It’s at Gibson’s workstation where sculptures start their life as wood carvings with a center line that allows him to choose its “best” side. This half is 3D scanned and mirrored to create a perfectly symmetrical digital (CAD) version which forms the template for moulds and patterns. To decide which part of a GP car to incorporate into each piece, Gibson raids his cave of reclaimed components that are sourced from teams including Red Bull, Williams, and Aston Martin. “I’ve got another unit that’s just absolutely full of stuff,” he reveals. “The problem is I’ll spend a whole day there because I’ll look for one thing, find another, and another.”

Taking a flat sheet of carbon fiber, which looks and feels like a fragile sheet of nori (the dried seaweed that’s used to make sushi) but is actually five times stronger than steel, he manipulates it into the curve of a mould. Warm hands are a vital tool. “It’s a case of rubbing it to fit but you don’t want to stretch it too much because then it would look like a pair of laddered stockings.” Multiple layers are placed on top of each other, a process known as laminating, which enhances the structural integrity of each piece. “I learnt how to use carbon fibre in Formula One because we made a lot of our pit equipment out of it; water towers, car stands, that sort of thing. It was great because if you made a mistake, you chucked it in the bin, but it’s £40 ($48) a meter and we probably spend about £50,000 (60,220) on it a year, so I don’t do that now!”

Impregnated with a resin that cures at room temperature, the carbon fiber has to be stored in a freezer at -20°C to prevent it from going hard prematurely. When it’s ready to be cooked it goes into an autoclave that increases in temperature at a rate of one degree per minute, up to 120°C, then reduces it back down again just as gradually to prevent stress. To guarantee each sculpture receives a top-notch paint job, Gibson ships them to the Mercedes Grand Prix team paint shop, which conveniently, is next door. “A lot of the really cool paint jobs we’ve done in the past are thanks to them being able to experiment.”

If it hadn’t been for his late father, who imported vehicles into South Africa for Porsche Motorsport, “I would probably have been a marine biologist,” says Alastair, whose obsessions with automotive as well as what lives beneath the waves can be traced back to when he was a boy. During the South African motorsport season Alastair would help his dad prepare and test cars for events such as the Springbok Championship Series and spent time in the company of “big characters” such as Peter Sutcliffe.

“I’d come home from school and there would be beautiful 904 and 906 Carreras in the garage. We’d take them out to this open road and I was blown away by the technology.” Off-season Gibson and his parents vacationed in a holiday cottage, “Fisherman’s Rest,” on the coast. “My dad and I weren’t fishermen but we loved going down to the beach to see what local fishermen had brought up from the surf. Invariably they caught sharks, but this was the mid-’70s and no one gave a s**t about the planet, so they used to drag them onto the beach and leave them to die. They were seen as vermin in the ocean. I used to grab their dorsal fin, put them in the shallows and walk them round for a bit – some of them fired up again!”

Today, Gibson is a proud patron for the Shark Trust and finds himself humbled by the aspirant artists that come to Carbon Art 45 for work experience. “The world is a difficult place so it’s amazing when someone finds their thing,” concludes Gibson, who was brave enough to swim free from the F1 fishbowl to find his happiness.

***

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Tread quietly up the creaky staircase and don’t stop until you reach the roof. Where the steps run out you’ll find a workshop, tucked beneath the rafters, where classic cars made of precious metal are sculpted in miniature, often wearable, form. The space, compact and functional, belongs to goldsmith Wendy Roelofs, but its precise location will remain one of Amsterdam’s best kept secrets due to the precious nature of her work. Blow gently on any surface and the dust that’s formed out of silver shavings will swirl prettily into the air.

Lucky to be one of the trusted few invited to visit the canal house in which Wendy’s studio is hidden, it feels as though I have tiptoed into an alchemist’s laboratory.

Among the instruments laid out on her multi-level, antique work bench (some of which belonged to its former owner, a fellow jeweler), there are tiny screws, pins, and parts, as well as hammers, pliers, files, and saws. There’s also a loupe attached to a pair of protective glasses, the key magnification aid that allows her to see millimeter-minute details such as steering wheels, grilles, and headlights more closely. The contents of a glass jar in plain sight catch my magpie eye: fragments of old bullion awaiting their transformation into something new, evidence of her pledge to make only in recycled metal.

She is quick to quell a fanciful rumor about metalworkers that emerged in the Middle Ages. “In the old days jewelers, who sell the jewelry, and goldsmiths, who make the jewelry, were revered because of the myth that we were able to turn lead into gold, but unfortunately for me, that is not the case,” she says, mid-flow, in what appears to be an act of sorcery.

“Yes, the silver has gone cherry red,” Wendy confirms, as she prepares to combine the 1:160 scale chassis of a Morris Minor to a mechanism which will turn it into one half of a pair of cufflinks.

By annealing the silver (heating it in the flame of a gas-fueled soldering torch until it takes on a pinkish hue) she makes it “more workable,” explains Wendy, who uses chemical agent, or “borax,” known as a flux in metallurgy, to aid this part of the process. Once rosy, the silver parts are relaxed enough to be fused together using molten silver solder. It’s fascinating to watch. Before a final buff and polish, the piece is plopped in a specially formulated pot of pickle that will rinse off excess flux, oxidation and firescale. I’m enthralled.

At 13, Wendy knew goldsmithing was what she wanted to do. “I’d read a Dutch romance novel about a young girl who took over her father’s jewelry business when he died,” she recalls. “Of course, it was full of struggle and hardship, and of course a man came along to save her, but the thing that struck me was her knowledge. The one thing people can’t steal from me is what’s inside my head.”

Specializing in the appraisal of antique jewelry, Wendy’s career brought her to Amsterdam more than two decades ago. Disenchanted by the lack of freedom and creativity allowed when working for a large auction house, she went freelance in 2016 and discovered her niche in crafting classic car trinkets.

Her first piece, a “tiny, very simple necklace” she made as a tribute to her Citroën 2CV “Guv,” represented a culmination of all the things she loves.

“I always said I’m married to my car,” laughs Wendy, pausing her inspection of a Lilliputian-sized Citroën DS, to allow me a closer look at the 8mm gold ring on her finger. Engraved with the Guv’s tire tread, the idea for the design, which has become one of the most coveted in her collection, was born when a friend going through a divorce asked her to repurpose his wedding band.

“Jewelry is an emotional thing—you feel it, you are drawn to it, and I always think ‘wow’ when someone wants to wear my work.” The rings, which bear the distinctive pattern Michelin used for all Citroën Type A tires, are “hefty” by nature and built to last. “I work on my own car and I want to dive into the engine bay wearing things that can handle that,” she says, going against the mechanic’s rule of thumb that says to remove trinkets when tinkering with cars.

Wendy runs an online store to sell her pieces, which range from 1:87 or 1:43 toy-size scale models of the Renault 5 Turbo, Jaguar E-Type, and Porsche 356 (many of which have moving parts and some of which can be fully deconstructed “like a sort of puzzle”) to dinkier, vintage vehicle–inspired tie pins, espresso spoons, pendants, bracelet charms, and earrings. However, it’s when she takes her business, Truly Precious Vehicle Jewellery, on the road to car shows that she gets a true sense of how her pieces cast a spell on kindred vintage-car lovers.

“I pack my whole shop into a small trailer, attach it to the 2CV, and off I go,” she says. “The anticipation if I will sell or not is hard, but the people are so lovely, even if they just come to see me for a chat.”

With such a varied collection of pieces—“I probably give people too much choice,” she confesses—the processes employed to craft them are diverse. The little cars, for example, “that have taken over my life,” are made using an ancient technique called lost-wax casting, and start their life as 3D-printed models that Wendy sources online. She then uses them to form wax replicas (an incredibly fiddly process that requires patience, a steady hand, and a heat probe) that are cast in gypsum and filled with molten metal.

By nature, this traditional method doesn’t always deliver perfect results, which Wendy reveals by showing me a tiny Topolino that came out with only half a roofline and holes in its doors.

“The caster I use has the expertise but can’t control the process, it’s just how the metal behaves, and I’m OK with that because I can fill it all in with silver solder,” reassures Wendy.

“The trickiest job is always the job that’s on the bench right now,” she says, refocusing her attention on the dinky DS, a bespoke commission. “This has lots of opening parts, including the hood and the rear, and you see the steering wheel is not yet in the right position, it’s moving—but I’ll get there, I break through my own boundaries constantly.”

Is her range guided by what other people want? “No, it’s driven by what I want. It started with Citroëns, including the odd types like the Dyane and Acadiane, but I appreciate all old cars. I prefer classics to moderns, and I’ll not make it if someone asks me for something like a 2020 Mercedes SLK.”

Whatever your automotive persuasion, with so much skill and attention to detail involved in their manufacture, it’s impossible not to delight at the sight of a slender bookmark that’s topped with a silver 1:220 scale 2CV measuring less than a centimeter, or its 1:43 scale, 8.6-cm-long, deconstructible sibling that has been oxidized to emphasize the shape of its lines. These are keep-forever items.

Wendy has taken a particular shine to working with second-hand antique silver, “a reflective material that takes on the color of the environment it’s in,” but her favored material also represents a conscious choice, one that means her pieces are available to “people that love their classic car, or any classic car” at a more affordable price. A pair of stud earrings start at £25.00, key rings from £14, and miniature cars from around £60. Working the same designs in gold or platinum could multiply their value by tenfold, and less precious metals are less malleable.

“I’m not about making money,” explains Wendy, who draws her main income from appraising antique jewelry. “I have a job to pay the bills and provide me with security, but anything that’s left over I pour straight into this. In each piece I am putting a part of myself out there and I found it very hard to put a price on that. Perhaps I should charge more, but I want people to buy my cars, I want to see that joy.”

Hand-finished and hallmarked with her initials, EWR, with the addition of a single chevron beneath the W as a nod to Citroën, the appeal of Wendy’s precious metal creations also lies in their sustainable credentials. From base material to the packaging they are presented and shipped in, they are as kind to the environment as is possible.

“Almost everything you see here is recycled,” she says, gesturing towards reclaimed timber shelving and the containers filled with old precious metal upon them. “It’s important to me. I’m a big advocate of vintage and working with vintage, and it’s why I feel strongly about driving an old car. They’re not bad; let’s reuse more things please! We are keepers of it all for the next generation.”

Frustratingly for Amsterdammers who wish to acquire a parking permit for a newly purchased old-timer vehicle, their time has run out. “They’re not banned from the streets,” Wendy says, “but [the government] is phasing them out.”

Keeping to normal working hours at her one-meter-by-one-meter workbench in the loft is not an aspiration for Wendy. “I get my best work done at night. As soon as I’m in the flow I tend to keep going, sometimes until two or three in the morning.” Outside, the day is beginning to fade, and I suspect that once I’m gone Wendy will work by lamp light as moonlight pours in through the sky light above.

With a leather apron tied around her waist for protection should anything hot or harmful fall into her lap, she sets about warming the body of a 1:220 scale Land Rover which is held in position by her “third hand,” a manuverable pair of tweezers on a weighted base. “I can carelessly heat up the whole car to attach the eyelet when it’s made of silver, but if it were gold I’d have to be very careful and more precise because the switchover point of the metal is much quicker, and platinum is even trickier to work with.”

Theoretically, it’s this necessity for precision that qualifies trained jewelers to take on a more lucrative side hustle in dental work. The tools, Wendy tells me, are similar too, but the temptation hasn’t gotten the better of her. It’s here, in this humble attic, that she finds true happiness combining her practice and her passion by crafting tiny automotive treasures.

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Toyota teases new Grand Highlander

Intake: Toyota has been missing out on sales to manufacturers who build big SUVs capable of seating as many as eight people in comparative comfort, as so many three-row sport-utes have a third row good only for children or the Munchkin cast of The Wizard of Oz. That changes at Toyota with the all-new, extended-wheelbase Grand Highlander. “Equipped for family adventures, the Grand Highlander will be the perfect addition to the lineup,” Toyota says. Lexus will get a three-row version called the TX. Both are expected to be hybrids.

Exhaust: Sorry about the lousy photo, but that’s what Toyota gave us. Spy shots of the Grand Highlander show about what you’d expect, with a pretty significant rear overhang compared to the regular Highlander. —Steven Cole Smith

Enjoy the art of endurance with this full-size Porsche 917 sculpture

Intake: After The Race, a Belgian collective specializing in motorsports-inspired art, has unveiled a stunning 1:1 scale Porsche 917 sculpture. Just 12 will be made from hand-laid fiberglass with a welded aluminum frame to support the structure and allow it to be strung from a ceiling or mounted to a wall. Each example will be painted by street artist Edmond “Pogo” Thonnard, and four themes are being offered—each with a perfect post-race patina, just as the name suggests. Buyers can pick from the 1970 Daytona-winning number two Gulf-liveried car, the red Salzburg number 23 which won Le Mans in 1970, the Martin-clad number 22 1971 Le Mans winner, or the number 20 Gulf car which featured in Steve McQueen’s Le Mans. Art lovers can also commission a psychedelic look, should the idea of a 917 on the wall not be unusual enough. Founder Jean-Denis “JD” Claessens says, “This artisanal, handmade design is the culmination of research, development and production work that spans 4 years and 4,000 hours of work.” Each sculpture will take six months to make, and the price is on application.

Exhaust: If you don’t have room for a whole car, After The Race also offers artwork based on the frunk lid or door of a G-Series Porsche 911 or a McLaren F1 GTR nose, with prices from around $4000 to $25,000. —Nik Berg

Lightyear solar car production starts

Intake: Dutch startup Lightyear has begun building its 0 EV, fitted with enough solar cells so that, given ideal conditions, it might never need to be plugged in. The Lighter 0 has a 60-kWh battery pack and a range of 388 miles on Europe’s WLTP test cycle (closer to 300 miles on the EPA method). In direct sunlight the 53 square feet of solar panels can generate electricity at the rate of 1.05 kW, adding six miles to the battery in an hour. So if you live somewhere sunny and don’t drive more than a few dozen miles a day, you might never have to go new a mains charger. The car’s sleek shape has a drag coefficient of just 0.17 which is a production car record. The 0 weighs 3,470 lbs thanks to mass-saving measures such as using in-wheel motors and a structure that’s a mix of aluminum and carbon fiber.

Exhaust: Saving the planet doesn’t come cheap. The Lightyear 0 costs around $260,000 and is only available in Europe. The company does have plans for a more affordable model to arrive in 2025, but that will depend on wealthy early adopters buying into the debut. —NB

Honda will have a fuel cell electric vehicle in 2024

Intake: Honda announced that it will produce an all-new hydrogen fuel cell electric vehicle (FCEV) based on the recently launched  2023 Honda CR-V starting in 2024 at its Performance Manufacturing Center (PMC) in Marysville, Ohio. PMC is a small-volume facility that most recently produced the Acura NSX. The new CR-V-based FCEV will mark “North America’s first production vehicle to combine a plug-in feature with FCEV technology in one model, which enables the driver to charge the onboard battery to deliver EV driving around town with the flexibility of fast hydrogen refueling for longer trips,” Honda says. It replaces the Clarity, which was marketed in California through 2021.

Exhaust: The plug-in feature should help sales considerably, as it lessens the range anxiety felt when you can’t find a working hydrogen station, which has been a big problem in California. It’s getting better, we’re told, but buyers on the fence should be impressed with Honda’s innovation. —SCS

Ozzy Osbourne’s almost-killer Banshee sold at auction

Intake: One day in 2003, musician Ozzy Osbourne was riding his Yamaha Banshee ATV when he crashed, and crashed hard. Apparently, it has pretty much been sitting since and was available to the highest bidder. To wit: “Fitted with a powerful 350cc two-stroke engine the Yamaha Banshee has earned the title of King of the Dunes, due to this power and off-road-only nature it is not to be messed with, this was put to the test by the previous owners rather famously. The previous owner was, of course, Ozzy Osbourne, who fell from this very quadbike cracking a vertebra, breaking eight ribs and his collarbone, it left him unconscious, and he even stopped breathing. But this didn’t stop the Prince of Darkness. Over the past 20 years the quad has been left untouched as part of his Estate, today it still sits with several of the scars it gathered on that day in 2003.” It sold yesterday for $12,817.

Exhaust: These ATVs are pretty rare now, and this one appears to be in decent condition, despite Ozzy’s crash. We’d say well bought. —SCS

News flash: Loud music can be distracting

Intake: A British study of 1,004 motorists, commissioned by “the UK road safety charity, IAM RoadSmart,” suggests that loud music inside the car may not be commensurate with safe driving. The study “revealed that two-thirds (69 percent) of motorists believe that having loud music on while driving can be distracting. The survey also revealed that 36 percent of motorists believe that listening to music while driving has an impact on how fast they drive. Meanwhile, two-thirds (62 percent) of respondents said that they turn off music when confused or stressed. Despite drivers reporting such issues, nearly nine-in-ten (89 percent) of survey respondents stated they listen to music while driving – meaning potentially millions of UK motorists’ ability to drive is being negatively impacted by music.”

Exhaust: What are the odds Ozzy was listening to loud music when he crashed? —SCS

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Just as important as the shape of a race car is its livery. Graphics, colors, and typography complete the car’s personality, distinguish it from competitors, and provide instantaneous visual identity. Over many years, sponsoring brands gain worldwide recognition and become unmistakable icons for motorsport fans while also being readily recognized in the wider cultural realm.

Portuguese illustrator Ricardo Santos infuses his passion for racing into his art to create his own interpretations of his favorite racing liveries, and he explains why they have endured.

BMW M1 with BASF

The BMW M1 with BASF colors is a good example of a livery completing a car’s personality. The wedge-shaped M1 served as a perfect canvas for the spiral that was part of the BASF cassette logo.

In my artwork, I always like to bring out the decoration beyond the limits of the car’s form. The idea is to reinforce those shapes and to make the decoration a graphic representation of the movement and the vertigo of speed that motorsports represents. There’s nothing better than opening the BASF logo beyond the limits to hypnotize and involve us in this vertigo. This is the Procar Series BMW M1 driven by Hans-Joachim Stuck in 1980.

Tyrrell Formula 1

The blue used by the Tyrrell Formula 1 team is unmistakable. The idea in the illustration of Jackie Stewart’s 005 was to reinforce this blue by using it almost as a single color throughout the illustration.

One of the graphic points that fascinates me the most is the pure contrast between the blue and white of the Elf and Goodyear logos. It’s so direct and effective in the message and the opposite of what is done today, in which there is an exaggeration of colors and colorful stripes and shapes that often make it difficult to read and identify the sponsoring brands and even the cars.

The work above was made for a Racer magazine cover, and the concept was the same I used for the Tyrrell 005 illustration. For Jody Scheckter’s P34 six-wheeler, I just added more detail and some graphical contrast, with those background stripes, to reinforce the presence of the car.

 John Player Special

The simple black and gold of the John Player Special livery on the Lotus 97T is punctuated by Ayrton Senna’s iconic fluorescent yellow helmet (a color used only in 1985 and 1986, suggested by Sid Mosca, who painted the Brazilian driver’s helmet to maximize its contrast with the car).

This set of colors and pinstripe shapes is instantly recognizable even today. I tried to explore them in the simplest way possible, by just adding white stripes that represent the rain that fell at the Estoril Circuit in 1985 during Senna’s memorable first victory in Formula 1.

Sunoco/Porsche+Audi

The Sunoco/Porsche+Audi livery designed for Team Penske by artist Terry Smith is a good example of what makes an iconic race car. For this illustration for Racer magazine, it was enough to show a little bit of the Porsche 917/30 for it to be immediately recognizable. That’s what I tried to represent in this work, in the simplest way possible, using the car’s background color and highlighting the yellow and the logos.

Lotus 49

Before the advent of sponsorship, race cars were painted in colors associated with the country of origin. Lotus used the well-known British Racing Green for the first few years, to which a yellow stripe was added years later.

The Lotus 49 was the first car to use the most famous and successful engine ever in Formula 1, the Ford Cosworth DFV. In this illustration made for a Racer magazine cover, I tried to highlight and make a contrast between the British team’s 49 chassis and the Ford engine, using the car’s original colors. The graphic contrast reinforces the successful association of two technical innovations that revolutionized Formula 1 and provided the Lotus team with many victories.

Alitalia Lancia Stratos

A timeless design by Marcello Gandini, the Lancia Stratos boasted a Ferrari engine and the unmistakable colors of the Italian airline Alitalia. Perfect. This is more of a technical illustration than a graphic one. The idea was to demonstrate the technical aspects of the car, which allowed it to compete both on normal public roads and on forested dirt tracks. In the process, it became a rallying legend.

McDonnell Douglas DC-9F Lancia Stratos

This illustration is part of a work I did with some of the most important cars that used the Alitalia colors. Here you see the Lancia Stratos and the tail of the McDonnell Douglas DC-9F with the livery that was equally and masterfully used on the racing cars. There’s nothing more effective in terms of graphics and communication.

Martini Racing

Martini Racing stripes are probably the most famous racing car livery in the world. Immediately recognizable, the livery makes any racing fan delight. In my illustrations, it allows for a countless number of combinations, whatever the car, year, or competition. I love it.

This red Lancia Delta Integrale was used only in one race, the 1989 San Remo Rally. Normally, cars with Martini sponsorship were painted white, but the marketing department of the Italian vermouth brand wanted to try the red background. The idea didn’t work very well—at the time, many photos and publications were still in black and white, which caused the car to have little contrast between the background color and the Martini stripe colors. This idea was corrected at the next race, with the return of white as the background color of the car.

An unforgettable association, Lancia and Martini. So simple and effective, yet so strong graphically and in brand communication.

Martini was also linked to Porsche. Curiously, in this work, I thought the Martini stripes looked good inside the car’s shapes instead of extending them through the background of the illustration. I just wanted to highlight the simplicity of the graphic concept behind the Martini graphic image and the beauty of a Porsche racing car.

The Porsche “Moby Dick” is another iconic racing car. In this illustration made for Racer magazine, I wanted to highlight the huge tail of the 935 by using an angle that didn’t deform the car too much but which allowed for some exaggeration in the size of the rear. All this accompanied by Martini colors, of course.

Plymouth Superbird

The Plymouth Superbird is one of the most recognizable American car designs. It always reminds me of a rocket ship, so I did this exercise of having the Superbird in a kind of mirror to reinforce the idea of a car that could be launched into space. The fact that this NASCAR version, which was driven by Richard Petty, is painted in only one color makes it so simple and immediately recognizable.

Gulf

Graphically, the Gulf livery was not an example of creativity. They simply used a stripe in the middle of the cars, just like many racing cars of the time used the colors of their countries. But what makes the Gulf graphics line so special and recognizable are the colors. That contrast between baby blue and orange works perfectly.

In this illustration, I tried to represent this successful formula of color use, putting even more emphasis on the orange to try to reinforce the idea of how well a race car looks painted in baby blue, even though it is an unaggressive color for a race car.

***

Visit ricardo-car-artwork.com to view more of Santos’s art and to purchase prints.

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While Andy Warhol never drove a car, he was a fan of their design and immortalized several of them in his iconic pop art style. Now, for just the second time ever, his work commissioned by Mercedes-Benz has been reunited with the vehicles that he depicted. Seeing them in that context is truly a rare and wonderful opportunity.

In 1986, Mercedes-Benz commissioned Warhol to complete 80 controversial paintings to commemorate 100 years of the brand. Sadly, Warhol passed away in 1988 after completing 13 drawings and 36 silk-screen paintings depicting eight different Mercedes-Benz models. Warhol chose to capture the beginning with a Benz Patent Motorwagen and hit some fantastic highlights, focusing on the brand’s most beautiful and successful race cars finding their way onto his prints.

Besides the Patent Motorwagen, Dr. Renate Wiehager, head of the Mercedes-Benz Art Collection and co-curator of the exhibit, selected a pair of Gullwings and a pair of Grand Prix racers to fill the Petersen Automotive Museum’s Armand Hammer Foundation Gallery. If you’re unfamiliar with the museum’s floor plan, it’s easy to find, located on the museum’s ground floor adjacent to the Bond in Motion exhibit in the Mullin Grand Salon. Cars take up the center of the gallery, but the walls are nearly filled with Warhol’s prints and the space highlights the intersection of cars and art wonderfully.

It’s not often that the Petersen Museum includes two-dimensional cars. Take advantage of this rare opportunity and see this collection for yourself!

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Artists and cars have never had the best of relationships, but plenty have dabbled, and plenty of onlookers have been divided over whether a painting of a car, or indeed actually painting a car or working with it in a sculptural context, can ever be considered true art.

“Business artist” and Pop Art icon Andy Warhol, however, went further than most artists when it comes to having a relationship with the car. Many can recall the BMW M1 he was given to paint in 1979, followed by other BMW Art Cars from artists Roy Liechtenstein and Jeff Koons—but fewer remember the private commission from art dealer Hans Meyer to celebrate the centenary of the Benz Patent Motor Wagen, in 1986.

The collection that resulted, “Cars”, ordered by Mercedes itself after it saw that first work—of a 300 SL “Gullwing”, produced from a photograph—was intended to chronicle the significant models throughout its history. Though it remained unfinished at the time of Warhol’s death, Mercedes kept the 36 silkscreen prints and 13 drawings of eight iconic Benzes, displaying the whole collection on rare occasions. Warhol had planned to cover 20 models through 80 pieces of art.

Selected works from “Cars” are to be shown at the Petersen Automotive Museum in Los Angeles from July 23, including the W125 “Silver Arrow” Grand Prix Car, as driven by Bernd Rosemeyer. Other models involved the 35hp of 1901 and the C111 supercar from which a record breaking diesel prototype was developed.

It’s been more than a decade since “Cars” has been seen in any capacity; Mercedes kept the works as part of its corporate art collection and has displayed them three times in total: once in Tübingen, Germany, in 1988, partially in Milton Keynes, England, in 2001, and in full at the Albertina in Vienna, Austria, nine years later.

While Warhol was criticized by his peers, “Cars” was a notable high point in automotive art cross-overs; while worthy, the Citroën Xsara Picasso never quite left the same legacy.

If you happen to be in L.A. this month, this is a rare opportunity to see some of Warhol’s most divisive work.

Via Hagerty UK

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Buenos Aires is an overwhelming, vibrant, bustling city of 15 million people where passions run high and classic cars run hot. However, it’s in the Argentinian capital’s Avellaneda barrio that metallurgist and sculptor Mario Tagliavini finds his lust for life, making scale replicas of iconic vehicles in solitude.

Loneliness, he says, is something creatives are uniquely qualified to cope with: “I have ideas in my mind and only I understand how to manifest them.”

Smooth, but not seamless by design, his sculptures comprise a skin built from commonplace components such as hex nuts, bearings, gears, and piping that were formerly earmarked for scrap. From the Porsche 911 which sports a bicycle chain for its bumper, to the front wing of a Ferrari 250 SWB that’s been shaped out of wrenches, bolts, cogs and screws (some of which have had their heads decapitated from their threads) they are fascinating to visually deconstruct.

“We don’t all see things the same way,” says Tagliavini, who hopes his work awakens people’s imagination to the potential of using unwanted items as art supplies. “I don’t think of things as inanimate objects, I think they have a soul with the possibility for new life.”

Choosing a fifties F1 monoposto [single-seater car] as the subject for his first “basic” sculpture back in 2016, a piece that Tagliavini admits was built with impatient enthusiasm, “I shaped it quickly, but I liked it a lot”, it was dynamic in its presentation with two of its wheels suspended in mid-air. Created without the disciplines of scale or proportion (something which he is now fastidious about) Tagliavini treated it like any usual four-wheeled prototype and put it in front of the public at Autoclasica [an elegance competition in Argentina for classic and vintage cars] to see if it was acceptable to their taste. It sold straight away.

A year later, his sculptures came to the attention of exhibition organizers responsible for the Buenos Aires International Motor Show, and impressed by his aesthetic, they invited him to display his work. “It was the biggest and most rewarding surprise, I was called to present with some of the best automobile artists from my country at the event of the year. I still can’t believe it.”

Gaining such approval from his peers was a turning point for Tagliavini, “if you’re sure of what you want, you must go and do it”, but keeping a modest view of his own talent is important to the 56-year-old. “All that show of affection for my work is super gratifying, but at events I distance myself from my pieces and just stare at people’s true reactions.”

As a result, his models have become increasingly intricate, ambitious, and sophisticated. “I must see each new job as a challenge that forces me to study form. I try to demand myself with more neat finishes or more realistic details, each one is a new adventure.” To make a Maserati 300 GT’s interior upholstery appear plump, Tagliavini used an airbrush to create the illusion of shadow, and to authenticate his 1:5-scale representation of a Mercedes Benz 280 SE he stamped the iconic three-pointed star emblem on the wheel cups and radiator mask. It’s these touches, he says, that give his pieces a “delicacy” that sets them apart from other automotive and upcycled art.

Other recreations have included a “huge” 1930s Delage D8 120 crafted to a 1:4.5-scale specification, and a Chevrolet El Camino (both of which occupy his living room), as well as items that have gone to private collections such as a 1:5-scale Jaguar E-Type on stainless steel spoked rims, and a beautiful Royal Enfield 350—the only motorcycle Tagliavini has ever sculpted.

During Tagliavini’s childhood, cars were “always part of the landscape.” His father, a mechanic, fettled vehicles back to full health in a small workshop at the back of the family home, “I was almost forced to caress them when going out to play,” but it was his dad’s act of restoring a 1946 Ford Coupé for father-son adventures that left the greatest impression. “I wanted to make my own toys, and used everything that I could to recreate parts of a car. The materials I used had little substance, paper and glue, but when I got older and learnt how to weld, it all changed.”

Dismantling his process, there are two key stages; the first is to research, and the second is to manufacture. “I immerse myself in the web,” explains Tagliavini, who uses photographs, documentation (including original plans if they’re available), as well as diecast models to calculate the dimensions of his pieces and devise accurate, annotated templates.

Next, he bends and sculpts wire rods and mesh to create a three-dimensional frame, “a tedious job,” but a vital one. Get the shape wrong, paying particular attention to the roof, and it could ruin the entire representation. “It is what an observer generally sees at first sight and defines its silhouette to a great extent. So, if I do not get it right, I do not continue until I achieve it.”

To an untrained eye, choosing which consumables to use could be considered even more cumbersome, “it’s a matter that takes a lot of time” imparts Tagliavini, who uses his trusty welding torch to blast them into permanent formation. “I don’t always get scrap according to the size I need so trying to match them in such a way that the least amount of empty space remains can be tricky.” So too, he reveals, is manipulating pieces of 2mm-thick acrylic to take on the shape of a windscreen, set of headlights or windows. Patience, heat and more often than not, an awful lot of revisions are required. Forging, filing and mirror polishing bumpers is also an exercise in traditional, painstaking handmade techniques, but despite the hazards they pose, he is reluctant to wear protective gloves: “It makes me less sensitive to tools and parts.”

Turning wheels out of MDF or plastic is Tagliavini’s current method of production, and although he’s passionate about preserving heritage crafter skills, he’s looking to revolutionize their fabrication with a 3D printer. Their metallic rims, for now, will still be bespoke made using moulds and castings. To finish a sculpture, any sharp or “aggressive” edges are buffed away, but it’s only once a piece has received a client’s approval that Tagliavini will consider a job a job well done. “I get angry, I get happy,” he says. “It’s hard to be someone by my side so I don’t have an assistant, but all these steps, from first to last, I show on my social networks to encourage those who want to dare to be able to do them.”

During a heatwave, when temperatures can hit more than 40°C, Tagliavini’s workshop isn’t the obvious place to make a soothing escape, but it’s “phenomenal!”, he rhapsodies. Sketching, welding, milling and much, much more, it’s a hive of one man’s worth of activity, yet, it’s also a museum of machinery and automobilia. On the walls, there are car parts, road signs, paintings, posters and toys, and on the benches the tools of his trade – from hammers and clamps, to heat guns, lathes, an anvil, a grinder and a computer—promise the stirring inevitability of creation.

Almost apologetically, Tagliavini justifies his interior styling choices—“I spend many hours in there, and it’s hard for me to let go of things, a lot of the scrap I buy ends up decorating my workshop, I just can’t lose these items”,—but there’s something charming about the idea that his hoard of artifacts has grown so great he has to display them on rotation. “I have been collecting for years, I had an antiques business and bought more than what I sold.”

Despite imposing his own social distancing measures, Tagliavini is soothed by the company of low-level music, “it helps me to relax and concentrate, silence creates an emptiness in me that I don’t like”, and he’s always glad of a second pair of hands when the time comes to part ways with a piece: “yes, they are heavy, sometimes up to 50kg.” It’s a natural and gratifying step, but “letting go” of a car sculpture, which will have been his sole creative focus for months, can be a deeply moving matter. “I feel a very strong connection with them,” says Tagliavini. “And I’m not ashamed to say it, but with some, I feel I shed a tear.”

Via Hagerty UK

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Fluorescent yellow and wide open, its black-rimmed eyes stare back at you. Deep-set within a hollow, skeletal body, are they glowing, or are they glaring? It’s up to you to decide. Nose to the ground with its shoulders hunched, this spineless creature is poised to make chase, but it can’t come and get you because it can’t even crawl. Sinister sounding, but magnificent looking, this imposing yet motionless monster is the devil you do know, reincarnated. This is Jonny Ambrose’s “Monster 917”; a two-and-a-half meter sculptural interpretation of the 1971 Le Mans-winning Porsche.

Elongated and polygonal in form, its bones are made from 1000 pieces of tubular carbon fibre and aluminum that have been connected using more than 250 individually CAD designed 3D-printed joints. Described as a “ridiculously complex” construction by artist Ambrose, “I wanted to create it, so I found a way to create it, that’s just how my mind works”, the piece, which sits stationary on hexagonal wheels, is inspired by what Ambrose refers to as the original Porsche 917’s secret advantage—its super lightweight spaceframe chassis. Built from small magnesium-alloy tubes it played on the strength of a triangle.

Once you’ve stopped fixating on the Monster’s eyes, your eyes will “read” the black, stylized carbon-fiber framework from front to rear fin before noticing the half scale inner aluminum chassis. What you won’t see, Ambrose discloses, is the 4-mm piece of hardwood he’s hidden inside one of the tubes. Its exact whereabouts, “I’m not going to ever divulge,” says Ambrose. “I was being playful, but I like to incorporate wood in all my sculptures, even if it is a very minor fraction.”

In the market for a Monster? You’ll be required to part ways with almost thirty eight thousand pounds, a steal in comparison to the tens of millions it’ll cost to buy the real deal, but a pipe dream for most. “Its size and sheer cost is for a very small part of the population,” acknowledges Ambrose, who has produced a limited-run coffee table alternative; the 40-cm 3D-printed Skeletale 917. At £1790 it’s lighter on the wallet and weighs just 1 pound. “Even the palm-sized sculptures are sold with a wooden plinth,” he says, keen to bring the conversation back to his fancy for timber.

Nephew of a wood turner, and grandson to a man who found great pleasure in spending weekends showing his protégé how to use hand tools in the spirit of make do and mend, “I realized quite early on that wood is a very versatile material that you can cut, change, shape and mould,” Ambrose made his first “rudimentary” car sculpture at play school. “I remember being let loose with hammers at nails at the age of four, you know, health and safety went out the window in those days. I like to think the three blocks of wood that I randomly nailed together resembled the Lotus 72 F1 car, but I’ve still got it, and looking at it now, it really doesn’t.”

At home, pencil in hand, his childhood happy place was sketching the quick and colorful cars he saw fighting for the podium during Formula 1 and Rallycross races being broadcast on terrestrial television—a Brabham BT44 was an exciting contrast to the brown and rather bland daily drivers typical of the seventies. “It was a visual overload, the small front wheels and huge back wheels on Formula 1 cars create a really raw, extreme shape that just shouts power and speed. I was, and still am, fascinated by their form.”

Ambrose’s first “proper” wooden car sculpture, with roll cage, came to fruition in a design technology class at the age of ten. After sixth form, “university seemed the obvious step”, and he obtained a degree in Fine Art, but “making a living out of the way you express yourself creatively” hadn’t been part of the curriculum and as someone who has a tendency to be quite insular, Ambrose, like many artists, struggled to kept the wolf from the door. To cover costs, he spent many successful years designing and developing computer games before committing his undivided attention to creating automotive works of art.

The culmination of this potted history was the birth of Monster 917’s older sibling in 2017, a one of one wooden sculpture named Le Mans Langheck, meaning long tail in German. Inspired by the same iconic car yet incomparable in form and composition—“a lot of artists are known for their one particular style, but for me it’s all about experimenting, I never want to become pigeonholed”—it is one of the first works he produced after going full-time, and technically, one of his finest.

A streamlined composition of chromed steel, reclaimed Iroko hardwood and sustainably sourced English oak, it was a manifestation of Ambrose’s fascination with the aerodynamics of automotive design. Making the invisible, visible, he meticulously manipulated a single sheet of wood that rests on the top of the car to represent the airflow that rushes up, flows over and swirls away from a Porsche 917’s body when traveling at speed.

“It took a lot of effort and head scratching,” he says. “Of all the materials I use, working with wood is the most enjoyable, but it’s got a life of its own. It’s a natural material and as you cut, plain or bend it, the vagaries of its grain mean that it only takes a nick here or there, for a piece to no longer work. There’s no undo button so it can be a pleasure, but also a pain.”

Consequently, a single wooden element can go through three or four iterations before perfection is achieved, and the Le Mans Langheck’s imagined airflow adornment proved one of the trickiest. “When steam bending you design a jig to clamp the piece whilst it’s still hot and pliable, but you have to work quickly. The Langheck’s airflow feature had several difficult twists in its tail, but the hardest part was creating the bend in the wood that sweeps over the 917’s nose—all the while working against the grain.”

Working in 3D, says Ambrose, lends itself to making extraordinary vehicles, from the BMW Batmobile to the Morgan Aeromax, Lamborghini Diablo, Bugatti Atlantic, and the Formula E Gen 2 EVO car, appear even more extraordinary. The skill lies in making sure the overall form is recognizable and the magic lies in the illusion; circumnavigate the Monster 917, and the lines parallax against one another to create new, intriguing angles and formations.

Ideas will often arrive in the dead of night, so Ambrose has become accustomed to sleeping with a notepad at his bedside. Scribbled through bleary eyes, in daylight they can sometimes be difficult to decipher, but it’s when he begins exploring them digitally, that concepts resurface and evolve. “Using 3D modeling software, I’ll get the form together quite quickly and play around with the proportions, but then comes the practical part of designing the components and how they will fit together within the limits of the materials I plan to work with.”

To maintain good housekeeping, Ambrose tidies his various sculptural styles into series, including Aerodynamic, Airflow, and Streamlined, but his workshop is a maker’s haven of organized chaos. An eclectic hoard of materials, including rare hardwood offcuts, await their fate with Ambrose’s saws, drills and finishing machines (the metalwork and 3D printing is done off-site) but when the lights go off at the end of each day they disappear into the shadows. Only the eyes of Ambrose’s sleepless Monster glow in the dark.

Via Hagerty UK

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Mere days after Insider scooped the $142M record sale of the Mercedes-Benz Uhlenhaut Coupe, several editors received a link in a group chat to Andy Warhol’s Shot Sage Blue Marilyn, a painting of Marilyn Monroe that Christie’s had just sold for an eye-watering $195,040,000.

My initial reaction may have been similar to yours—astonishment coupled with some head scratching over the fact that someone would pay that much for, you know, just a picture. Of course, this thought existed in parallel with my ongoing justifications of countless hours and dollars I’ve spent on, you know, just a couple of cars (proportionate to my income, of course—I fall well short of the sequential zeroes necessary for a Warhol purchase). As a result, I don’t plan on casting any stones toward the happy new owner of the Warhol. Instead, my thoughts turned to wondering how closely the massive prices in other parts of the collectible universe—and the reasons behind them—mirror the unprecedented run-ups in the classic car world.

As I spoke to folks in other spheres, it became clear that reasons for why various collectibles cost what they do are as different as the items people collect. Yet the dramatic prices writ large, from art to NFTs to sneakers, clearly owe to some common influences. And nearly everyone shared a similar warning: we are entering a tricky time, when careless and/or profit-focused collectors can get burned.

On Warhols and Washingtons

In order to understand that big price for the 300 SLR, it helps to know something about motorsports history and a little about automotive engineering (enough, at least, to appreciate how bonkers a fuel-injected, desmodromic-valved eight-cylinder was in the early 1950s). In the same vein, to understand the record price for the Warhol, it helps to know a thing or two about art. For that, I reached out to just such an expert: Anita Heriot, president at The Fine Art Group, a company specializing in art investment, appraisal, and sales. Turns out art industry professionals were as shocked about the price of the Warhol as outsiders, but for a different reason.

“We expected the Warhol to easily clear $200M—we were amazed when it didn’t,” said Heriot.

Warhol’s blue-chip status as one of the late-20th Century’s greatest artists has long meant that any of his pieces fetch top dollar, and Shot Sage Blue Marilyn is one in a particularly valued series by the artist. However, there’s something afoot in the art market, and it’s beginning to create a shift in priorities, according to Heriot.

“As with the collector car market, the art world started to see profound changes last year during COVID,” said Heriot. “The record prices are one headline themselves, but combined with the increase of online art auctions, there has been a sea change of interest in next-generation artists as well as a dramatic increase in global Millennial interest in the art world.”

The resulting impact has been twofold: works from artists like Warhol may still break records, but with attention beginning to shift to a new era, those record-setting sales are impacted by more factors than in the past. Further, new-era artists are seeing parabolic trajectories, with prices far exceeding estimates and recent prior sales. The art industry appears to be in the midst of a significant shift of what it values.

Heriot pointed to Anna Weyant, an ascendant young artist who’s found tremendous success of late. According to Heriot, prior to the recent shift, one of Weyant’s pieces fetched a high of $37,000.  At a Christie’s auction on May 10, Weyant’s piece, Summertime, had a sales estimate of $200,000 to $300,000. It sold for $1.5M.

Ernie Eugene Barnes, Jr’s work is another example. Barnes’ Storm Dance, a 1977 painting depicting a basketball game against a stormy sky, shattered its $100,000-$150,000 estimate with a $2,340,000 sale. Heriot cited a lengthy list of other examples—these were not isolated occurrences.

I skeptically asked Heriot whether these values would hold. “Frequently, when an artist’s work begins to sell for dramatic prices, other people who own that artist will sell in an effort to get on the train,” she said, and the resulting oversupply drives the market back down. However, the long-term outcome is that the artist may enjoy a higher overall market status than when they began their upward valuation.

If there’s a near-equivalent in the car market, it’s the Skyline GT-R. For a year, Nissan’s monster has led the Japanese-market value charge, but we’re now hearing reports of the same R32 GT-R selling multiple times and appreciating as quickly as 7 percent per week. Such an aggressive increase often precedes a retrenchment, but there is no longer any question that Japanese-market collectibles have staked out a long-term presence in the collector car marketplace.

Heriot doesn’t expect interest in canonical works to dry up as a result of new focal points in the art world. If anything, an additional dynamic appears to have emerged: each is informing the other. She pointed to Christie’s sale on May 12 of Emanuel Leutze’s 1851 work, Washington Crossing the Delaware for $45M, which was originally estimated to sell between $15M-$20M. Heriot noted the limited audience for the museum-like piece and suggested that the sale far exceeded estimates due in large part to the excitement surrounding last year’s $15.3M sale of Robert Colescott’s parody piece, George Washington Carver Crossing the Delaware: Page from an American History Textbook to George Lucas’ Lucas Museum of Narrative Art.

In short, there’s a growing array of influences behind recent trends within the art world, and when those factors shock those within the industry, change is clearly in the air.

NFTs: Soaring, or Suffering From Primate Ennui?

Whether you see digital assets as the wave of the future or approach them with a more skeptical eye, there’s no discussing today’s collector market without checking in on Non-Fungible Tokens. At this moment, the market has lost some of its late-2021 frenzy. Ethereum, the blockchain behind most NFTs, has cratered to less than half of last fall’s value as of this writing, and as a result many new NFT launches have been delayed.

“Ninety five percent of NFTs will fail,” said Greg Adams, Digital Asset and NFT Specialist for the Fine Art Group. “That’s an accurate stat. It’s not for the faint of heart. A lot of people look at it as almost a gambling experience. Creators see a successful NFT minting as the equivalent of going viral.”

Nevertheless, Adams says digital assets are now a permanent fixture in the art world. He indicated there’s an ever-growing influx of established artists to the digital space, and traditional investors are slowly beginning to follow suit. “The original people getting into NFTs were those who had been in crypto for a while. As more artists come over, buyers are getting more comfortable with the concept,” he said. “The more an artist has a good cause or concept, the more buyers are willing to be a part of that.”

Meanwhile, Adams notes that no one medium has a monopoly on dramatic market fluctuation, pointing to his colleague Heriot’s comments about the traditional art market. He could just as well have cited a few volatile cars, too.

Adams also pointed out how marketing-reliant NFT projects can be. As with everything in our social age, influencers have played a key role in the rise of digital assets. Perhaps unsurprisingly, influencers in the collector world don’t silo themselves to one item, whether NFTs, art, sneakers, or cars. In fact, there’s quite the convergence among sneaker/streetwear trendsetters and promotors of digital art. DJ Steve Aoki is a known sneakerhead who has partnered with brands like Zegna and Vision Streetwear to create his own shoe designs. He’s also heavily involved in the NFT world, owning some “Bored Apes” and selling an NFT entitled “hairy” for $888,888.88 last year. Bobby Hundreds, founder of The Hundreds streetwear, has touted this year on NPR and other outlets how his company is integrating NFT use into their product line. Despite the early adopter fanfare, it’s worth pointing out that while the added interest generated by these entrepreneurs is no doubt lucrative to their own bottom lines, it hardly mitigates the risk to the average NFT neophyte.

“Wild West” remains the best encapsulation of digital assets at this point. Absent any steps toward regulation (nothing is on the horizon), NFTs aren’t going anywhere—in fact, they’re likely to continue to infiltrate into other collector segments. If you want to play in this world, our own Jack Baruth shares a note of caution, and Adams preaches the following: “take your time, do your homework, and your safest bet is to stick with known artists or creators.”

Speaking of Shoes…

We touched on the overlap between sneakers and other collector markets, and to further solidify the point, Nike sold a NFT of a sneaker this past April for $134,000. But for those who are interested in actual shoes, what’s going on in the sneaker market?

It won’t come as a surprise that the shoe market has seen its share of massive sales recently. A pair of Kanye West’s Nike Air Yeezys sold privately by Sotheby’s for $1.8M in April of 2021. Also at Sotheby’s, a pair of Michael Jordan’s game-worn Nike Air Ships became the most expensive shoes ever to sell at auction, going for $1.47M last October. More interesting, though, is what’s happening at a less stratospheric level.

Like the majority of the collector car market, people buy sneakers—even the special ones— to use. As with putting miles on cars, once you’ve worn a sneaker, it no longer has “as new” value. StockX, a marketplace for collector items like shoes, electronics, and, of course, NFTs, only sells sneakers that have not been worn. When someone makes a purchase, they’re keeping demand up for that given shoe, and when they step out in their new kicks, that’s one more pair removed from the supply. This generally keeps a floor on price volatility.

Oddly, it’s manufacturers that occasionally drop a bomb on the collector shoe market values by reissuing a particular model. Kanye West’s Yeezy brand leverages the interest generated by the secondary market by reissues via its Yeezysupply site. Nike and other brands have the same practice—it’s not uncommon, and enables companies to get a second bite at collector enthusiasm, even if it tanks values for those who already own the shoe. Personally, especially in light of recent values, I would love for Chevrolet to offer a reissue of “new” C2 Corvettes—I’ll take my L88 in Goodwood Green over a Saddle interior, please.

Checking into the latest listings on StockX, there’s a fair amount of similarity to some recent behavior we’ve seen in the car market: people still appear to be buying for high- and sometimes record numbers, and there are an ample amount of seller listings for large (perhaps excessive) percentages above prior sales. Like the car market, tracking prior sales (like shown above) and average length of listing can give an idea whether buyers will assent to these prices or bring sellers down from their dizzying heights in the coming months.

Compared to NFTs and art, the sneaker market appears downright straightforward. Yes, there are influencers who impact values, and on occasion a manufacturer will reissue a shoe, but this market appears to still accommodate buyers who want to enjoy their hobby by buying what they like at their price point and using it.

Collect what you love, and you won’t be disappointed…but be careful

After canvassing experts in the fields of art, NFTs, and sneakers, my main takeaway is that I don’t know nearly enough to become a serious collector of art, NFTs, or sneakers. That may sound trite, but it’s actually a key insight—and perhaps advice worth passing along to any car-agnostic friends who suddenly think it’d be neat to make a quick buck on Bring a Trailer. Macro trends matter—that’s why we talk about demographics and economics around here—but so do the details of what you’re buying. That’s doubly true in times of uncertainty. Unless you have the financial bandwidth to buy what you want whenever you want it, today’s collector markets require a good deal of research, time, and diligence.

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Action has always sold comic books in the United States, with the crash-boom-bang of justice-seeking superheroes creating a kinetic visual language that spawned not just a billion-dollar-a-year market for paper and ink, but a seemingly endless stream of multi-billion dollar movie franchises. And yet, despite the massive success of the Fast and Furious series alongside more traditional Marvel-sourced comic book movies, there has been relatively little cross-pollination from the screen to the page when it comes to depicting tales of cars and racing.

Car culture is seriously under-represented in American comics, with only a scattered handful of independents tackling the topic directly. Even major titles like Archie, set in a semi-timeless space defined largely by ’50s soda pop shoppe mores, typically employed the hot rods and jalopies driven by the main characters as more background dressing than subject matter.

Cast a gaze overseas, however, and you’ll discover a long-standing love affair between gear oil and comic geeks. The marriage has cultivated a number of critically-adored and hugely impactful graphic novel gems. More so than others, there are three countries outside of America that have had an outsized influence shaping automotive narratives in comics, each thanks to unique cultural circumstances that favor particular comic book traditions over the superhero genre.

Franco-Belgian BDs

For most of their history, American comic books struggled to push past their roots as inexpensive entertainment aimed almost exclusively at children and teenagers. There was even a massive movement in that 1950s that Mainstream acceptance of the medium’s capability of telling adult stories stretches back only 25 years or so.

In France, comics have enjoyed a very different appraisal from the cultural elite. Although the youth market was of course accounted for, from the 1920s onward, these Bandes Dessineés, or “BDs”, moved quickly from the magazines and newspapers that gave them their start into collected and bound editions that tackled adult-oriented story lines. Alongside Belgium, which gave the world the ultra-popular Tintin and Smurfs series, France’s post-World War II entertainment industry assigned almost equal weight to series like Lucky Luke and Asterix as it did the New Wave of cinema that was also beginning to emerge from within its borders.

It was from this crucible that the world’s most successful racing comic book was born. In 1957, Belgium’s Le Lombard published a new series from French writer and artist Jean Graton titled Michel Vaillant—the name of a man considered (within the universe of the comic book) to be the best talent in motorsports. Le Lombard was responsible for the wide-ranging Tintin magazine where Vaillant made its debut, and Graton’s art style and prose-heavy narrative made it a natural companion to the work of Hergé (the pen-name of Tintin’s creator, Georges Prosper Remi).

It wasn’t long before Vaillant’s on-track exploits had graduated from magazine strips to hardbound volumes of their own, where French and Belgian fans devoured the adventures of driver Michel, his Vaillante (translation: Valiant) family racing team, and his American driving partner Steve Warson. The books tackled series as diverse as Formula 1, Le Mans, IndyCar, and world rally. The action was set on real-life tracks familiar to any fan of motorsports competition, with the cars and racing faithfully depicted. Popular drivers (including Gilles Villeneuve and Didier Pironi) even made cameo appearances in several volumes, further tying Michel Vaillant to the automotive icons of its era.

“There was no better, more entertaining way to learn about the racing world,” says Michel Crépault, veteran automotive journalist and BD expert. “Jean Graton visited each track to make sure what appeared on the page was as realistic as possible. Jacky Ickx was a recurring character in several volumes, and Alain Prost even said that reading the adventures of this not-so-fictional driver helped lead him to his own F1 career.”

While the drama might have occasionally been over the top—the initial book in the series, “The Great Challenge”, deals with a private, globe-spanning contest funded by a Midwestern newspaper to determine the world’s greatest driver—the template was set for more than 70 successful books as well as both live-action and animated television series. The original print run lasted until 2007, when the writing and art passed from Jean Graton’s hands into those of the studio he had originally founded and his son Philippe. A second series arrived in 2012.

The influence of Michel Vaillant reflected back onto the very motorsports it glorified. In 1997, the Courage team ran a “Vaillante” prototype car in the 24 Hours of Le Mans. Bearing the famous comic book livery and number 13, its team of French and Belgian pilots took home fourth place in their class with proud Graton father and son in the garage. In 2017, Rebellion Racing entered a “Vaillant Rebellion” tandem in the FIA World Endurance Championship, winning the LMP2 title. Art imitating life, imitating art.

Tofu, Speed Racing, And Wangan

Japan’s manga tradition is even older than France’s BD, dating back nearly 800 years but popularized in the form most closely resembling its modern iteration in the late 18th century. As with Bandes Dessineés, manga surged post-1945 and was universally embraced at nearly every level of Japanese society as a legitimate medium for storytelling, regardless of the audience’s age.

Although the term encompasses a vast cultural phenomena, manga is known for its black-and-white aesthetic, as the tight schedules of the weekly storylines that drive its frenetic pacing allow no time for a colorist to work their magic. Given the rapidity of its production, it’s not surprising that a successful modern manga series can span dozens of volumes, making it almost as much of a challenge for readers to keep up with the plot as it is for publishing houses to churn out each title.

In Japan, the genres spanned by manga include everything from children’s stories to science fiction, domestic drama, and erotica. With such a mainstream reach, it’s no surprise that manga has also long celebrated car culture, a subject almost as important to that country as it is in the United States.

Three automotive manga series in particular stand out, two of whose titles need almost no introduction. Almost every American is familiar with Speed Racer,  based on a manga called Mach GoGoGo that first appeared in 1966 chronicling the titular driver’s global racing escapades (and a work that has lead to multiple adaptations in television and film). This was followed by the almost-as-popular Initial D, a drift-focused story of a Toyota AE86 Corolla-owning tofu delivery driver. Initial D spread across 48 original volumes as well as a vast array of cinematic, small screen, and even video game adaptations.

The third member of Japan’s car-centric manga triumvirate is lesser known outside of the island nation, but no less influential. Wangan Midnight was created and drawn by Michiharu Kusonoki, who had spent much of the ’80s as the writer and illustrator of Shakotan Boogie,—a chronicle of the Japanese lowrider scene. Beginning in 1990, Kusonoki turned his attention to the hardcore street racing that occurred along Tokyo’s Bayshore Route (otherwise known as Wangan), while also introducing a supernatural twist previously absent from Japanese automotive narratives.

The plot of Wangan Midnight centers not just around its characters, but rather the specter of the “Devil Z,” an S30-generation Datsun with a twin-turbo engine swap that has claimed the lives of several of its owners in mysterious racing accidents. The series begins with Akio Asakura pulling the Z out of a scrapyard—against the advice of everyone around him, who are convinced that the coupe is cursed. The Devil Z keeps its original plate (Asakura also shares the same name as its most recently deceased pilot) and is viewed as a ghost when it returns to Wangan action, where its demonic power provides it with enough speed to outrun the various Porsche 911, Nissan GT-R, and Ferrari Testarossa rivals it encounters.

Although overshadowed internationally by the exportation of drift culture that pushed Initial D to global recognition, Wangan Midnight ran to a similar length, with four additional manga series following its first run. Not only that, a baker’s dozen of films based on the Devil Z’s exploits were released from the early ’90s until well into the 2000s, with a television show and 15 distinct Wangan Midnight video games also appearing as recently as 2021.

The Future Of Car Comics

Unlike BD, manga has managed to make significant inroads among American comic book readers, particularly the fast-growing young adult demographic. It’s no surprise, then, that automakers have increasingly turned to manga and its on-screen counterpart, anime, as marketing materials.

Nissan created a manga history of the GT-R model that launched at the same time as the R35 generation reached U.S. dealerships. More recently, Toyota produced a Corolla history in the same format. Acura has also gotten in on the act with an anime series dedicated to its Type S performance line.

The limited translations available for BD, outside of heavy-hitters like Tintin and Smurfs, make that genre less likely to crack into the global mainstream with another racing-focused title. Manga is another story, and it continues to break sales records in the United States, thanks in large part to its ability to hook readers young and then carry them into adulthood with its extended storylines and accessible pricing.

To feed America’s obvious appetite for automotive content, something like a manga featuring the Toretto fam’s adventures feels poised to be the perfect delivery method for inspiring the next generation of gearhead artists to draw stick shifts and tire smoke instead of capes and tights. It’s high time for an American spin on the comic book style that originally celebrated Wangan midnights and Tokyo drifts to start living its life a quarter-mile at a time.

The post Looking for car comics? Europe and Japan are the champs appeared first on Hagerty Media.

Thinking in reverse; it’s a particular kind of logic that painter and lately-turned linocut printer Etienne Butterlin performs when conjuring up a new hot rod linocut design. Rendered in dark plum, deep red, and moody blue inks on brown paper made from wood pulp, they are striking, dynamic, and hand-pressed in limited runs.

To begin the process, Butterlin sketches a heavily simplified line drawing of the vehicle he wishes to depict. In contrast to the super-realist approach he applies when creating one of his acrylic on canvas automotive paintings, keeping the linocut form free from fussy details is key to success. It’s at this stage of composition that the backwards “brain gymnastics” commence, because Butterlin has to decide which parts of the car need to be carved out of the lino block. Once he’s committed to it with a gouge, there’s no going back.

“Everything I remove will be the color of the paper, and what remains of the lino will be inked and printed,” explains Butterlin, who must flip the image before transferring it on to the lino plate to ensure the finished print appears the same way around as his original drawing. Then, allowing elements of the design to evolve organically as he etches, Butterlin relaxes into the more organic and experimental act of engraving.

Bold and directional “speed lines” bring prints, such as his one of the iconic Pierson Brothers’ 1934 Ford coupe to life. With details such as tire tread omitted, other striking features of the car—most notably its sweeping laid-back windshield—are given permission to stand out.

Reminiscent of Gus Maanum’s ink drawings (a post-war artist who made his name in America producing illustrations of competitors’ hot rods for inclusion in souvenir racing programes and booklets) Butterlin’s prints are stylized to reflect the automotive artwork that emerged during the early days of land speed racing.

“Hot rodding had already started to grow before World War II, but the post-war era offered an incredible space for the development of this phenomenon,” explains Butterlin, who lives in France. “It was such an exciting period, there was so much creativity and empirical intelligence, everything seemed possible.”

It’s still in its infancy, but Butterlin hopes his linocut series will allow people to access his art at a more affordable price point. It’s his astonishingly realistic acrylic paintings (and charcoal drawings), however, that he is best known for at present.

Focusing predominantly, but not exclusively, on “poor boy vintage race cars” (that’s hot rods from the Forties and Fifties to you and me) Butterlin’s pieces have featured some of his favorite customized and classic car rides. There’s the Rolling Bones 232B, the Rolling Bones Hot Rod Shop’s famous 1929 Ford Model A—which had a starring role at the 2021 Goodwood Revival, and a vehicle which Butterlin had ridden shotgun with its owner on a 3100 mile pilgrimage across the USA—as well as the Mercedes-Benz and Auto Union Silver Arrows.

Each is a demonstration of Butterlin’s incredible trompe l’oeil technical ability, and he’s open to commissions that will allow him to expand his repertoire. But it’s his painting of the “Monkey Pecker,” a 1934 Ford coupe built by the famous Texan hot rodder Brian Bass, that puts a twinkle in his eye: “The metallic blue color was a challenge, and I think I succeeded in recreating it.”

At home in his dedicated studio-cum-office and library, Butterlin likes to paint and print to the rhythm of jazz, blues, Fifties Rockabilly or Western Swing, but he doesn’t find comfort in the familiar. Artistic technique, he believes, should evolve in response to the challenges that depicting different subjects presents.

“At the beginning, my paintings were darker, probably because I’m a fan of Renaissance painting, and chiaroscuro,” says Butterlin, whose apartment lies 18 miles from the Bugatti town, Molsheim. “I’m trying to bring more luminosity and complex lights into my paintings. My style has really evolved since working on a salt lake series a few months ago, but there is still a long way to go to get to where I want to be.”

Working from photographs, and often returning to images many years after he first captured them, Butterlin frequently combines several images that he has taken using Photoshop to compose the scene he has in mind.

“Sometimes I add what is missing, such as drivers and a background,” he says. “The photo is a starting point, on which I can rely, but from which I must escape. Once it is composed, I transfer it on the canvas, and start to paint. When the image is a composition from several photos, the light and the atmosphere is created while painting, as well as the speed effects.”

Butterlin hasn’t always lived for, nor tried to earn a living from, his automotive art. This journey began in 2019 when his ten-year tenure as editor-in-chief at the French hot rod and custom magazine, PowerGlide, came to an end in his mid-forties—an age he feels is particularly challenging in which to make a career change. It’s not been an “easy adventure” but with a degree from the Strasbourg School of Decorative Arts behind him, and years of experience working as a photographer and graphic designer, Butterlin channelled the same give-it-a-go attitude that compelled him to start drawing cars at the age of 14.

“In my teens, I fell in love with everything about the ’40s and ’50s and started to buy vintage and American car magazines. In a 1989 issue of the French magazine NITRO, there was an incredible article about the English Low-Flyers car club and the traditional ’40s hot rods they drove. It included a series of pictures that were shot at an airfield in the U.K.”

At this time, Butterlin feels, the hot rod scene was dominated by “’90s street rod crap,” which he says was characterized by garishly colored cars, digital dashboards, and billet aluminum wheels. “Seeing these guys with flat black flathead powered cars, low key in-progress hot rods, and wearing WWII jackets was a true revelation for me; I discovered the ’40s roots of hot rodding.”

Convincingly, Butterlin insists the act of building his own hot rods helps him to “paint them more easily”, and as he settles down to work on his current restoration project: a 1929 Ford roadster powered by a flathead V-8 that he keeps in a rented barn beside his Chevrolet-powered modified roadster. “I love the creativity that hot rodding offers,” he says, assuming a comfortable demeanor. “It’s a restoration job, like for any old car, but it leaves much more freedom and creativity.”

Whether it’s with a wrench, a paint brush, or a gouge, Butterlin will always find a way to channel his passion for these hopped-up ’n’ stripped-down cars.

Via Hagerty UK

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In Syd Mead’s future, everything is clean, sleek, and supersonic. The one-time car stylist left Ford in the 1960s to embark on a freelance career designing products and workspaces as well as envisioning mankind in a future state of harmony with technology and nature. Often resembling the lavishly rendered car ads of the 1960s, his early works of wedge-shaped sedans and levitating sportsters gliding up to structures comprised of glass orbs and soaring arches were advertisements themselves for a future that you want to be around for. They also served as inspiration to legions of car designers who followed.

“You absolutely believe it will happen,” said the late artist’s nephew, Monte Mead, who runs his own advertising and design firm in Denver and was attending the opening gala in California for his uncle’s works. “How could it not, it’s perfect.”

An exhibition of Syd Mead’s art, titled “Syd Mead / Progressions”, is on display through the end of March at the Laguna College of Art + Design gallery space in Laguna Beach, California. The exhibit is a rare chance to see 50 of Mead’s works up close. It features some of Mead’s earliest commissions for U.S. Steel in 1961, when the artist produced a portfolio of futuristic concepts highlighting potential uses of steel in transportation and construction. The exhibit also features Mead’s final work before his death in December 2019. It’s a painting called Shoulder of Orion which was inspired by the last words of the android Roy Batty in the 1982 sci-fi noir thriller, Blade Runner. Mead provided much of the design work for the film, set in a dark, techno-punk version of Los Angeles of 2019.

Blade Runner aside, Mead’s work was largely optimistic about the coming eras, depicting the genetically perfected (and often barely clothed) citizens of vividly rendered Edens enjoying the fruits of mankind’s ever evolving technology. “Nobody did chrome like Syd did chrome,” says Mead exhibition manager Mike Lund, referring to the artists fascination with highly reflective surfaces, such as in Hypervan-Crimson Plaza, painted in 2003 and depicting a sort of ultra-streamlined minivan seemingly finished entirely in polished chrome. Mead also often chose unusual perspectives for his vehicles, eschewing simple three-quarter views for angles from above and behind, sometimes to incorporate more of the “immersive scenarios” that Mead created around the subjects to accentuate the work. “It looks so simple,” says Monte Mead, “but it’s the hardest thing to do.”

The exhibit is hosted by the Laguna College of Art + Design, a private, 700-student school nestled in the canyon behind this sunny surfside village in Orange County, California. The exhibit was created to highlight the school’s entertainment design program, says gallery and collections manager Bryan Heggie. “We decided to choose Syd Mead because he was considered one of the eminent visual futurists of his time, and that fits well within the whole entertainment design field.”

The school’s gallery is at 374 Ocean Avenue, Laguna Beach, California, 92651. The exhibit is free, and the hours are Wednesday – Sunday, 11:00 a.m. – 4:00 p.m.

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With custom-bike culture exploding in recent years, the history and importance of early two-wheeled machines are often overlooked. Stock Stories tells the tales of these motorcycles.

Edward Turner is well known to the classic motorcycle fraternity as an ace motorcycle designer, primarily for his work during the golden age of Triumph. For this installment of Stock Stories, we’re going back to his first forays into engine design. These were by no means humble beginnings—from the start, the man who helped define the classic British motorcycle thought outside the box.

Turners first public venture into motorcycle design came in 1927, when he was 24. Engine drawings for a bike later known as the Turner Special appeared in an issue of the magazine The Motor Cycle. Turner’s work showed a single-cylinder powerplant whose overhead camshaft was driven by an arrangement of gears. Shortly after the magazine saw print, Turner decided to revise his design; the new layout used bevel gears driving a vertical shaft that fulfilled the role of a camshaft.

It’s not surprising that Turner saw the value of using a bevel drive. He was at the time running a Velocette dealership called Chepstow Motors, and Velocette used a similar arrangement. But the work that would come after was far more ambitious and forward-thinking. Like many motorcycle engineers, Turner wanted to build an engine that combined compact size and good balance with ample power. By the end of 1928, he had penned a novel four-cylinder whose bores were arranged square, two-by-two. This formation was essentially two twin engines coupled in parallel, with the whole thing timed by geared flywheels sat in the center of the crankcase.

These flywheels ran in opposite directions, so the gyroscopic effect of their rotation was effectively canceled, aiding smoothness. Turner also arranged the engine’s timing so that its pistons hit top dead center on diagonally opposite sides. Because no pair of cylinders was never allowed to fire on the same side of the engine, forces were evenly distributed front-to-back and left-to-right.

Turner is said to have approached various marques about producing his new engine, including BSA, but if these meetings happened, they were dead ends. With economic pressure looming—it was the late 1920s, after all—Ariel Motorcycles director Jack Sangster saw potential in Turner’s work. The engine’s compact dimensions would allow it to be installed into existing Ariel frame designs and use mostly stock ancillary components, saving the cost of engineering bespoke parts. In 1929, Sangster set Turner to work overseeing production of a running prototype in concert with the legendary Burt Hopwood, under the supervision of Val Page.

The Square Four was designed for a capacity of 498 cc, so those men used Ariel’s Sloper model, a 500-cc machine, for the rest of the bike’s parts. A prototype engine was built in time for the 1930 Olympia motorcycle show, where the Square Four starred, receiving more attention than even the revolutionary Matchless V-four-equipped Silver Hawk. The first production Square Four model was christened 4F.31 and can be seen at the top of this article. The keen-eyed reader will notice the hand-operated gear change, which featured on the Olympia prototype machine and other early 4F.31s. (The bike switched to a foot change the first year of production.)

On its release in 1931, the 4F cost £75 10s. The bike was well received by the press; the test ride published in The Motor Cycle noted that the Square Four was easy to start, with great acceleration, top speed, and road-holding. On top of this, the engine was nearly silent at idle. Ample low-end torque allowed the bike to easily pull away from a stop in second gear, and the editors discovered a fuel economy of 64 mpg at 50 mph. To add to this positive press, a Square Four sidecar rig earned a gold medal in the famed London to Lands End Trial, proof of real performance and reliability. As Ariel was aiming the Square Four at families and commuters, this bode well.

Ariel built 927 4F machines between 1931 and 1932—healthy sales for a new multi-cylinder motorcycle in Thirties Europe. Nor was the bike ignored by the speed crowd. In 1933, Ben Bickell took a supercharged, 498-cc 4F to Brooklands and attempted to cover 100 miles in an hour, pursuing a record. The bike saw consistent speeds of 110 mph in testing, but official attempts ended with either the cylinder head blowing apart or the cylinder’s base flange trying to escape from the block. Ariel’s Ernie Smith sought factory permission to make a stronger cylinder barrel for the attempt, but Turner insisted that the record could only be genuine with a standard engine. That same year, the 498-cc 4F was phased out; the recently launched 601-cc Square Four was deemed better for touring and sidecar hauling.

Whilst Bickell’s supercharged attempt was an extreme example of engine testing, the major problem with the engine was overheating rear cylinders. In addition to being shrouded from cool air, the rear pistons gained heat from the front cylinders. By 1936, Turner had become Ariel’s general manager and chief designer, and he made sure that efforts were made to solve the cooling issue, in order to secure the Square Four’s reputation as a reliable touring machine.

Val Page was tasked with redesigning Turner’s work. Page added cylinder fins and cool-air channels around the engine, and he reengineered the valvetrain, switching to a single camshaft and short pushrods. All these changes achieved greater reliability and performance in an engine that had already proved itself to be a durable and smooth powerhouse.

Consumers got their hands on the Val page engine in 1937 when the 1000cc 4G model was released, with the 4F being phased out by the end of the year. The Square Four continued to be a staple of the Ariel stable going into 1939 when they introduced an optional plunger style rear suspension that would be fitted as standard to all Square Fours after World War II.

Production paused for World War II, but the bike reappeared in 1945, now with telescopic forks. It changed little until 1949, when the engine underwent vital modernization: Barrels and heads were now cast in aluminum, reducing weight and aiding cooling.

The Square Four was now capable of 90 mph from a power output of 35 hp at 5500 rpm. This kind of sporting capability and pulling power proved attractive for family men with an eye for speed. One such customer was frequent Ace Cafe customer Dennis Norman, who met his wife Patricia on a blind date at that infamous venue. In lieu of an engagement ring, the couple bought a Square Four. In 1959 Norman built a sprint motorcycle from the remnants of another, damaged Square Four, plus some findings from the parts bin of his repair shop in Hemel Hempstead. He mounted the unit into a Norton featherbed frame and fitted four rather loud megaphone exhausts. Norman campaigned this machine successfully for nearly a decade, eventually nearing a 10-second quarter mile after supercharging the engine.

The final incarnation of the Square 4, the Mark II, was released in 1953. This model included separate exhausts for each cylinder as well as a redesigned head, all in the name of cooling the engine as much as possible. Production continued until 1959, when Ariel killed all of its four-stroke machines in order to concentrate on the company’s popular two-stroke models.

The Ariel Square Four carved its own niche motorcycle market for more than 20 years. Its creator went on to help build Triumph, that most British of marques, into a powerhouse, but Turner’s first engine has more than stood the test of time.

***

Martin Squires has just released a 2022 calendar featuring his drawings of various motorcycles, many of which have been featured in Stock Stories. To order your own copy, click here.

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It’s rude to stare, but that’s exactly what artist Heidi Mraz wants you to do. Her car collages, made from thousands of tiny fragments of paper torn from magazines and manuals, are puzzles of information that when pieced together tell the story of the vehicle they depict.

When seen from afar, they take on the guise of a complex cubist portrait, but up close, the organized chaos of cuttings (that can be as little as 3mm) reveal themselves to be both written and visual snippets of history. This transformation, as the viewer becomes “actively engaged,” is when the magic happens, teases Mraz. It’s when her art becomes artifact, and if the rumors are true, the first look can even give you goosebumps.

“The human mind has a great capacity for making connections, so a subject may release or trigger a memory,” explains the Virginia-based art director turned automotive artist. “I’ve always had a thirst for context,” she continues. “When I’m drawn to a car I want to know more; who designed it, what its purpose was, why it has certain characteristics and who owned it. My mission is to share what I learn with others, using art as the vehicle, so that those stories live on.”

Your challenge, she adds, is to find the itsy-bitsy self-portrait that she’s hidden in each of her intricate collages, and when her current work in progress is complete, which spans the width of small parking space, it’ll make for one epic “Where’s Heidi?” game of hide-and-seek.

Before she’ll even contemplate any cut-and-paste activities, more than half of Mraz’s time is spent investigating a car’s past in official archives as well as libraries and online. She also photographs and sketches the vehicle’s form from different angles in order to study the way in which its design responds to light and shadow. These observations—particularly useful if the vehicle is black—are then used to make sure she places certain colors and shapes in the right place to give her collages their realistic sense of depth.

With a substantial paper trail giving validity to each of her automotive assemblages, it’s the human stories that are woven into them that make them particularly fascinating. “I talk to anyone who had access to the car and tend to ask questions to conjure up visceral memories,” says Mraz. “I’m always humbled when people open their homes or garages to share their stories, my life is so much richer because of this part of the artistic process.”

It was while creating a bold, and slightly haunting, collage that pays tribute to the mythical “Lady of the Lake”, a 1925 Bugatti Type 22 Brescia Roadster that was lost to the waters of Lake Maggiore for almost 75 years, that Mraz experienced a life-changing encounter. Comprising over 1500 hand-cut clues, including a scuba suit and a photograph that was taken when the car was exhumed, it took her 18 months to complete.

“There was so much myth surrounding the vehicle, so I decided to visit Switzerland,” says Mraz, who discovered the Bugatti’s story was tied to the tragic death of a young man. To establish a charitable foundation in his honor, the Bugatti was raised from the lake in 2009 and auctioned off. In 2019, the boy’s father agreed to dive to the bottom of the lake holding an ink-covered canvas Mraz had prepared for her collage so that the water could wash away some of the color, as it had washed away part of the car.

“It was a very emotional and powerful moment when I handed him the canvas,” says Mraz.  “As he went under, the canvas swayed to and fro, like the dance of a prima ballerina, down, down, down until they disappeared into the depths. Mauricio, was under water for quite some time. When he finally came up and broke the surface, the clock tower chimed 10:00, which was the same time nearly 10 years to the day when the Bugatti had been raised. It was an honor to celebrate his son’s life on this day, and in my art. I hope that I have done justice to his legacy.”

It’s Mraz’s mother who highlighted her gift for storytelling when she was a little girl, and in the same way that the basic structure of a narrative consists of a beginning, middle and an end, so too do the layers of her collages—the first tells the story of the marque, the second the model, and the third, and final, the people.

Using a dot of glue or a magnet to temporarily position each piece until she’s happy with the overall composition—an unenviable task when nothing matches in color, shape, or size—Mraz then permanently fastens them with an adhesive that she feels “helps authenticate the story I’m trying to tell.” In the past this has included nails, rivets, resin, concrete, plaster and most recently, steel entomology pins. The latter was employed to fasten over 1000 paper butterflies in place “just as entomologists would do with real specimens” after Mraz chose them as her medium of choice to depict the iconic Porsche 917Ks, chassis number #022. Why? “Both the 917 and the butterfly are lightweight, and each needed to undergo a metamorphosis in order to mature,” she reveals.

It was driving the autobahn as a passenger in her father’s car at the age of seven “going faster than I knew cars could go” that ignited Mraz’s passion for automotive, and the opportunity to exhibit at a weekly cars and coffee meet two blocks from her home in Great Falls, Virginia, that inspired her to explore the art of snipping and sticking as a means of speaking to car enthusiasts in a unique and meaningful way. The result, she concludes is “part eye candy, part history and part hide-and-seek.”

Via Hagerty UK

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After over a decade at McLaren, and a career that had seen him work on the P1, 570, 720S, and the new Artura, things began to unravel for Paul Howse.

The high pressure of his job as Design Manager took its toll and in early 2020, Paul signed off work due to stress. Then, while his personal world was being turned upside down, the outside world followed suit as the pandemic hit. Initially he was put on furlough and, later in the year, along with 1200 other McLaren employees, he was let go.

Fortunately, by this time Paul had already begun his journey on the road to recovery by getting back to something he had loved doing since childhood—drawing cars.

Paul was born into the world of motorsport, often joining his father trackside, where he worked as an engineer on Spice’s Group C program and later assembled the ultimate road car: the McLaren F1.

“It was in my psyche as I was growing up. I knew I wanted to work with cars,” says Paul. Studying automotive design first at Newcastle and then the prestigious Royal College of Art, Paul soon found himself working where his father had, at McLaren in Woking, U.K.

“I graduated in 2008 just as the financial crash hit, which wasn’t ideal. I had a few interviews with various people like Jaguar, Lotus and a few other consultancies, but they all had hiring freezes. Then, early in 2009, I got a phone call from Frank Stephenson, who asked me to come for an interview at McLaren. It wasn’t a huge studio at that point. They were just finishing off the 12C, and McLaren was starting a new company, McLaren automotive. So I was really lucky to be there right at the beginning,” he recalls.

This dream start to a career continued when Stephenson picked Paul’s exterior theme for the P1. “I was obviously young, quite naive, green around ears, but I had a lot of ambition and creativity and I was very fortunate that my theme was chosen.”

Paul went on to design the interior of the 570 and the exterior of the 720. “With 720 it really felt like was starting to culminate in distilling that vision for what McLaren design language and what McLaren design and engineering should be. So I think that’s probably the car I’m most proud of, as a whole product,” he says.

Next came the Artura and the added pressure of being the design manager for the project, which would eventually become overwhelming.

“I’d been there 11 years and I had a bit of a breakdown. It was a lot of high pressure for a long time. Delivering at the highest level just got to me. The guys McLaren were really good with giving me time to recover, then with COVID and lockdown pretty much the whole studio was furloughed.

“I was having therapy which at the start I didn’t think really was doing much. I didn’t know anyone who’d had a breakdown, I didn’t know anyone who’d been in therapy. It was all new to me and that’s probably one of the reasons I’ve been so open about mental health. I thought I was just broken. I felt broken.  If you break a bone you get treatment and six weeks later it’s fixed and you carry on but with mental health it’s not like that and it takes a long time.

“I was told by the therapist to try and indulge myself, to do stuff that made me feel good. He said ‘You’re a good person at the heart of it all, you’ve been taking a lot of weight of other people’s problems on your shoulders and you need to do this stuff yourself for a while’ and that that did help massively.”

Paul picked up a photograph of a friend’s C2 Corvette Stingray race car, taken in the pit lane at Goodwood, and broke out his H3 pencils. Inspired by his grandmother’s love of watercolors he opted for this traditional medium instead of the car designers’ trademark marker pens.

“It was coming back to what I enjoyed doing and that really helped me recover massively. I started an Instagram page and a couple of people asked for commissions. And I started thinking, maybe I can use this as a supplementary income while we’re on furlough pay. Then there were mass redundancies at McLaren and I was one of them. But actually, it was one of the best things that’s happened because I just felt like this enormous weight lifted off my shoulders. I don’t regret my time at McLaren at all as it was it was an amazing time with amazing projects, but this next phase of my career is feeling really good at the moment and it’s just it’s very different.

“I hadn’t really done hardly any watercolor. The markers that I used to use and still do use when designing are AD Chartpak. They’re an American brand and they’re a very wet marker. So you put them on and they stay wet quite a long time. You can blend them really nicely, and I always thought it would be similar to watercolor in a way. The way I do my Photoshop airbrush renderings was again quite fluid and blendy and I always fancied having a go at watercolor but I just never had the time.”

The process starts with a pencil sketch where Paul concentrates on getting the proportions and perspective correct, positioning the wheels and windows first. “Everything is freehand. I just feel it,” says Paul. Next Paul places the horizon line for the body with a light wash, then works on building up the form and adding reflections. Finally the finest details are picked out with a super fine brush.

The result is technical, but beautiful. “I take a lot of pride in getting the details right but at the same time I know I need to keep them fluid and elegant and I pick the focal point of the painting and then fade out the corners almost, which is what we used to do with our design renderings.”

Depending on size each piece takes between two and four days to complete and bespoke commissions start at around $400, while there’s also a wide variety of prints from patinated VW vans to racing Porsches, hot rods, tractors and, yes, the odd McLaren available on his website, if you’re too impatient for the three-month waiting list.

Business is booming then, but it’s the impact on his health that Paul is most grateful for. “I’m much happier and healthier now than I was and I just feel very lucky to have found this this route.  There’s a lot of people still struggling out there. Eighteen months after it happened I’m only really starting to feel a bit more normal again so it’s a huge process. The painting really has helped me. I am doing something that I love and trying to take my mind off the bad stuff.”

The post The former McLaren designer whose automotive art gave him a new lease on life appeared first on Hagerty Media.

It’s been said you should never meet your heroes because they’ll never live up to your expectations. Rob Keil didn’t find that to be true. Instead, he learned that sometimes your heroes turn out to be bigger, better, and more fascinating than you ever imagined. Book-worthy, even.

“Fitz and Van are legends, the best of the best,” says Keil, author of the newly released, 200-page retrospective Art Fitzpatrick & Van Kaufman: Masters of the Art of Automobile Advertising, published by Advection Media. “You don’t have to love cars to love their work. A lot of people know their ads without knowing who they were.”

Keil used to be one of those people. He was only 10 the first time he saw one of the duo’s Pontiac illustrations while flipping through the pages of his dad’s old National Geographic magazines. Keil immediately fell in love with not only the cars but also the detailed backgrounds, which were set in exotic locations around the world.

“I wondered, who is AF/VK?” Keil says, referring to the initials at the bottom of each illustration. “At the time you couldn’t just jump online and find out. Clearly these guys were the best—their initials popped up on every one of my favorite ads. I just had no way to find out who they were.”

Fast forward to Keil’s first class on his first day of college: “Advertising Layout and Book Design.” The instructor spoke about the role of an advertising director, and Keil knew immediately that’s what he wanted to do. He still didn’t know who AF/VK were, but he certainly knew where his inspiration came from.

“The fact that I’m an art director in the advertising business is not a coincidence,” says the 52-year-old Keil, who lives and works in the San Francisco Bay area. “I realized there was a job that allowed you to work with people like that, and that was really exciting for me. I’m doing what I was meant to do, and I thank Fitz and Van for helping me find my way there. They’ve inspired generations of advertising designers and car designers. They made it an irresistible thing.”

Eventually Keil was able to learn the artists’ identities through Google. While Kaufman had passed away by then (he died in 1995), Keil located Fitzpatrick and sent him a letter describing how his work had inspired him and helped shape his career. “Fitz,” as his friends called him, wrote back, and the two kept in touch. Then Keil approached Fitzpatrick with the idea of making a biographical video about him. The first interviews were recorded in April 2010, when Fitz was almost 90.

The video was never produced, since the two could not agree on the format, but their time together was hardly wasted. “I knew how I wanted to do the video, but I also wanted to do it the way he wanted—he was my hero,” Keil says. “That didn’t work out, but it evolved into this book, which is the best way to present it anyway. I’d been cutting Fitz and Van ads out of magazines and saving them for years, and I’d created my own little album. The challenge became, how do I cull this down into a book?”

Beyond showing the duo’s masterful artwork, Keil wanted to answer the questions that he had asked himself for years: Who were these men, and how did they create the ads that became legendary? “We know the work, for sure—few of us know the people or their tricks of the trade.”

Fitzpatrick, who died in November 2015, just shy of his 96th birthday, painted and designed cars for more than seven decades. The son of an artist and grandson of an architect/artist, Fitz said he was born with “designer genes” and was immediately attracted to cars. He once told Hagerty, “I grew up in Detroit. What does a guy draw besides cars?”

At 17, Fitz lied about his age to get into The Society of Arts and Crafts and the Detroit School of Art, and a year later he was hired by John Tjaarda at the Briggs Body Company. Fitzpatrick moved to California at 19 to work with Howard “Dutch” Darrin, designing custom-built Packards. After serving in the Navy during World War II, he signed on to do Mercury ads in 1945.

Kaufman attended what is now known as the California Institute of Arts and, much to his father’s chagrin, he planned for a career in the arts. He was hired as an animator at Walt Disney Studios, working on Fantasia (1940) and Dumbo (1941), and during World War II, he directed several training films. Kaufman thought his future might be in the movie business until he visited New York City, fell in love with the atmosphere and the people, and found plenty of work in advertising.

Fitzpatrick and Kaufman shared an agent, and in 1950, when Mercury asked Fitz if he knew an artist he’d like to collaborate with, he suggested Van. With Fitzpatrick drawing the cars and Kaufman the backgrounds, it was the beginning of a history-making partnership. The two later collaborated on Buick ads from 1954–58 before moving on to Pontiac, where together they created 285 memorable illustrations from 1959–71. They also produced Opel ads from 1972–73.

Keil admits that prior to his friendship with Fitz, he had no idea the duo had worked for other automakers before and after Pontiac.

“The Mercury stuff was good, but they had mostly white backgrounds,” Keil says. “The Buick stuff was inspired—it elevated Buick to the height of 1950s glamour. The places they put the cars seemed very cosmopolitan. They created an image that said, ‘A glamorous lifestyle begins with Buick.’ It became a status brand, and Van’s backgrounds really had a lot to do with that.”

But it was Fitzpatrick and Kaufman’s work for Pontiac that turned them into superstars.

“Pontiac was at the bottom of GM’s lineup when they came onboard, and they made it a really exciting brand in the ’60s,” Keil says. “Of course, the cars were good too—Grand Prix, Firebird, GTO—but they took those cars and gave them an aura of style and sophistication.”

Keil says he stepped away from his book project for about five years to devote time and attention to his advertising job and to raise a son, but when he dove back into it, he was determined to see it through. It took three years of evenings and weekends to finish the job.

Keil says he found plenty of surprises along the way. First, while seeking out original artwork to photograph for the book, he didn’t anticipate finding a “small network of people who own those paintings and who were willing to share them. I spent a lot of time getting on planes and going to see this stuff. And a lot of it had never been published before—like the thousands of (photographic) slides that were used to create the backgrounds.”

The author was also surprised to learn about three artists—Dale Gustafson, Roger Metcalf, and Al Weston—who played prominent roles in Fitz and Van’s success, creating images to help ease the workload. Keil says in one year at Buick, the team produced 47 print ads plus a dealer brochure with dozens of illustrations. “I had no idea the degree of their involvement and how fantastic their work was,” he says of Gustafson, Metcalf, and Weston. “They were not in the public eye; they were totally behind the scenes. But their work was a huge deal.”

Learning the technical aspects behind Fitz and Van’s images was like pulling back the curtain and seeing how the secret sauce was made.

“Nothing was left to chance,” Keil says. “They carefully photographed the cars and the places they wanted the cars to be. It gave me some very interesting insight into how it was all done—it was kind of a wow moment for me.

“Fitz also explained that ultimately the color of the car doesn’t matter—or shouldn’t matter. He said, for example, don’t think of it as a black car. Think of it as a car that has black surfaces and white surfaces, depending on the lighting and the angle. Look at what it looks like in the photograph. That’s the truth. Show that in the illustration.

“Fitz found that putting a black car or a white car in the shade with colorful surroundings made the cars look the shiniest, and it really does look like a mirror. How the images reflect off the car, how they change depending on the contour … He paid attention to everything. He learned a lot of tricks over time.”

Keil explains how Fitz once illustrated a 1970 Tempest in the rain.

“He took a hose to his own car to get the droplets right and to see which direction the rain would roll off the hood,” Keil says. “Then he added every individual rain drop. He never did another one like that. It was like he said, ‘OK, I did it,’ and he was done with rain.”

Keil was also surprised to learn just how small the actual paintings were. “I thought they’d be bigger, like 2 x 3 (feet), but they’re just about the size of record album. And the reason for that is speed. Every square inch takes a certain number of hours. So, to get them done on time they had to work small.”

With that said, “The amount of detail is astounding. I’ve looked at these under a magnifying glass, and every little thing is perfectly done. It’s just incredible—right down to adding a tiny yellow reflection in the bumper of the road’s center line, when there’s no way that was in any photograph. Fitz just knew it belonged there. Few people would notice that stuff, but he insisted on doing it right.”

Keil used the endpapers of the book to emphasize that point, doubling the size of Fitz’s painting of a 1965 Pontiac 2+2 to illustrate the tiniest of details.

He explains that since each image was a collaboration, there was a lot of back and forth.

“With Fitz producing the car and Van the background, things had to happen in a certain order,” Keil says. “Fitz couldn’t add the reflections in the car until he knew exactly where Van wanted the people and buildings and everything else in the background. And the one of the last things that Fitz did was the windshield. It was complicated because of the layers you could see through the glass.”

Although Keil says he appreciates automobiles and loves the world of advertising, he has never worked on a car ad. “Nor do I have a particular ambition to. The car business is so different today than it was in the ’60s. That was a more glamorous era. It’s hard to find anything new to say about cars or new ways to present them in print.”

With so many automakers reaching into their past and reviving once-popular models, might the Fitz and Van magic be recreated in advertising? Keil doesn’t think so.

“Not because it isn’t technically possible, but because we’ve moved on to a different place,” he says. “People are used to seeing things in a photograph or created on a computer. Could the best artists in the world do something like this? Maybe, but it will never happen. Sadly, that era has passed. Fitz and Van were yesterday’s news by the time they were finished. People don’t believe illustrations like they do photographs, and Fitz and Van manufactured reality with paint and colored pencils.”

And they did it beautifully.

“They were not mere mortals. Their work was out of this world,” Keil says of AF/VK, whose ads inspired him long before he ever knew their names. “You’d be hard-pressed to find a bad one … There’s no such thing.”

The post Automotive ad legends Fitzpatrick and Kaufman “were not mere mortals” appeared first on Hagerty Media.

Ramón Cubiró’s story begins in the coastal town of Sitges back in 1923—before he was even born. The opening of Autòdrom Terramar, Spain’s first purpose-built motor racing circuit, brought glamour, innovation, theater, and danger to the seaside resort, as well as the country’s inaugural Grand Prix.

The steeply banked 2-km oval track was used for speed-record attempts, tests, and races until it closed in 1957, but almost 100 years later, Spain’s spiritual home of motorsport inspired Ramón, a painter and restorer, to set off a mission to first restore, then create his own painstakingly miniaturized slot cars that revived “unknown models with a beautiful story behind them” from the twenties and thirties, a period he regards as the “Golden Age” of motorsport.

“The wonderful Autòdrom Terramar was a crucial find for me,” says Ramón, whose workshop in Barcelona is a 45-minute drive from the historic circuit. “Here begins my hobby and passion for the beginnings of the motor world; personalities, iconic brands and emblematic circuits.”

To accomplish his first release, a limited edition run of 250 faithfully reproduced 1922 Austro-Daimler Sascha slot cars, Ramón assembled a team of modeling artists who shared his vision for Velasor and were impassioned to accompany him on “this wonderful journey” no matter how many fiddly hours were involved. Working in their spare time and during the evenings, the project took twelve months to complete, and when photographed up close, the slot cars could momentarily fool the unwary into thinking they were the real deal.

Originally designed by Ferdinand Porsche as the car of his dreams, the Austro-Daimler Sascha was revolutionary for its time. Achieving a top speed of 89 mph, the high-performance four-cylinder vehicle was known for its maneuverability, efficient use of fuel and the detachable fender which made it lighter for racing.

The 1:32-scale Velasor replica, known as VLM 1 ADR Sascha and released in 2017, weighs in at just 58 grams (2.04 ounces, or more than ten thousand times lighter than the original vehicle) and measures 11.1 cm long by 5.3 cm wide (4.4 x 2.08 inches). Four different versions were crafted, each depicting one of the Sacha’s that were entered into the 1922 Targa Florio road race—where it scooped first and second places in its engine size category.

Piloted by miniature figures sculpted to look like the motorsport aces that raced them—Alexander Kolowrat, Lambert Pocher, Fritz Kulm and Alfred Neubauer—the cars are identified by the suits of a poker deck. “The little Sascha who gave life to Velasor took us to places and to meet personalities directly related to his history, such as the grandson of F. Porsche and Alexander Kolowrat,” explains Ramón. “With each car that we reproduce we have a special bond and contact with some personality of the time, linked to a family member of the designer, driver or car.”

Meticulously fabricated with a minimum of ten functional and mobile features, Velasor models are a feat of quirky human endeavor. “Perhaps the most intricate part is the process of giving mobility and functionality to all the pieces with special characters that each model has,” says Ramón.

A closer look at the Sacha, which comprises of 232 parts, reveals working front suspension springs, wheels that can be removed using a special key, and a toolbox that contains a full set of tools. Beneath the engine cover, which is fastened to the base of the chassis by a belt with four metal buckles, there’s a replica of ADS-R engine, but as fully functional slot cars, it’s not only the “how do they do that?” aesthetic detail that makes Velasor models so distinctive. “For me it is the charm of knowing that they have life on a track which many collectors like to do. We tune the cars to work and give them free after-sales warranties, with a wide assortment of replacement parts or repairs should they need it.”

The second Velasor release, a replica of the 1914 Peugeot L45 Grand Prix Racer, or VLM 2 Peugeot L45, featured movable front and rear shock absorbers, a rotating starter handle, removable front drum brakes, and a tail box with two spare wheels inside.

To give Velasor models maximum credibility, Ramón and his team research and plan each project fastidiously. After all, when the worlds of slot car racing, miniature model making and historic motorsport are combined, the knowledgeable enthusiast is likely to have particularly exacting standards.

“It’s difficult because I have to choose a model whose history, race, driver, have a special charm. I’m always trying to surprise both the collector and myself,” says Ramón. “Once the model that we will make has been chosen, the process that I like the most arrives, that of collecting all kinds of documentation, contacts, plans (if any), photos, books. All of this is well studied by me and also by the designer, who at the same time begins to make sketches and drawings in 3D. Thus begins the construction of the prototype, through the pieces that are made in resin, until reaching the final modeling process. Once all these pieces are final, production begins.”

Measuring approximately 10cm and weighing just 70 grams, the VLM 3 Bugatti Brescia project is Velasor’s latest and most micro design. Ramón describes them as “little gems.” He adds: “With each model we try to improve ourselves, for this new reference, we are working with the original plans provided by the Bugatti Trust, which implies a challenge in reproducing it even more faithfully.”

The materials chosen for each model reflect that which was used to build the original, full-size, automotive, and can include metal, wood, leather, brass, rubber for the tires and resin for the body and chassis. “We use all kinds of precision tools and small machines such as lathes and milling machines, we are like a small watch shop.”

Assembled and painted by hand, to overcome fatigue during the process, Velasor modeling artists take it in turn to tackle different stages. “A great deal of concentration is needed, but all the steps are so diverse until a model is made that we alternate between them,” says Ramón. On occasion, parts are manufactured outside the Velasor workshop due to their complexity and finish, but “it is in our workshop that we give life to the more than 250 parts that can make up each car,” Ramón emphasizes.

Fancy downsizing? Models cost between €500 – €650 each ($590 – $770), inclusive of a wooden display plinth, an owners manual that tells you the history of the vehicle and a certificate of authenticity and specification card. It’s possible to buy the full set of each edition, but as collectors items this depends on availability.

“Feedback is the greatest reward one can have,” says Ramón. “It is incredible how after the work and dedication that one puts into each car, one is rewarded with precious messages, calls and visits to the workshop. The reaction that most moved me was that of an English collector who conveyed to me exactly what I felt about Velasor with his words. That someone who did not know me, could see in my work all the effort, passion and dedication invested and admire it in the way that he did is very gratifying.”

When deconstructed and decoded by Ramón, the meaning of Velasor is as follows: ‘Vel’ stands for velocidad (velocity), ‘as’ represents aces of the steering wheel and ‘or’ is borrowed from the end of words including motor, honor and valor. When asked to reveal the subject of the next project, Ramón says we’ll have to wait and see.

“There are several models that I would like to make, but only two keep me awake and not because of their beauty, nor because of their prestige as a brand, but more as a challenge as a miniature. Those are top secret.”

Via Hagerty UK

The post Hard Craft: Ramón Cubiró’s marvelous miniature slot cars appeared first on Hagerty Media.

Cars do not exist in a vacuum. They are pieces of design that function as part of a larger landscape, whether it be rolling country hills, concrete urban jungle, or suburban sprawl. But what if you could drop your very own car in an architectural dreamscape of your own imagination? That’s what Douglas Peterson-Hui is up to at The Architect’s Garage, a custom-order online art shop that will place your beloved set of wheels in the digital environment of your choosing.

Want to see your Jaguar Mark II parked in front of Stonehenge? Your FD RX-7 cutting a silhouette in the shadow of Osaka Castle? Your Jeep Comanche braving the elements on a frozen Montana lake? Just say the word, and Peterson-Hui will get to work harnessing pixels to make your vision a virtual, two-dimensional reality.

The Architect’s Garage started as a hobby webpage to share artwork. Fresh out of an architecture master’s program in Canada, having graduated during the thick of the COVID pandemic, Peterson-Hui needed an outlet for creativity while his job hunt was on pause. He brings a meticulous, Modernist, almost Bauhaus-esque aesthetic to these digital prints, thrusting what is often an ordinary vehicle into a surprisingly colorful, complementary environment.

“It’s been a way for me to combine my passion for architecture and cars into something I can share with others,” Peterson-Hui says. “How popular it’s become has been a really pleasant surprise.”

After he posted some of his artwork on Instagram, people started reaching out asking for commissions. What started as a few orders per month has now escalated to twenty or thirty a month.

To make these custom car-scapes, Peterson-Hui takes somewhat of an unconventional approach that stems from his architectural training and digital toolkit. “I use CAD and a 3D modeling program called Rhinoceros to start drawing the linework. It’s software really meant for industrial design products. From there I import to Adobe Illustrator,” he says. Each image takes two to three hours on average, but potentially more for a detailed cityscape with lots of detail. Base price ranges from $120-$160, approaching $200 for more labor-intensive projects.

The finished product is a hi-res digital file that gets sent directly to the customer’s email. Though The Architect’s Garage will sell a physical print, it’s (obviously) more expensive and involves the added wrinkles of shipping and any applicable international customs fees. If people want a physical print, Peterson-Hui encourages them to print it locally in whatever format they deem best. Of course, custom art of your car also makes for a kick-ass desktop wallpaper or phone lock screen. Print it on a t-shirt, slap it on a mug—the world’s your oyster.

 

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As for the environment in which the car will be depicted, clients vary in their vision, but essentially all reach out concerning their own car, or perhaps a family member or close friend’s.

“Some people have a clear idea, and it doesn’t always involve architecture,” Peterson-Hui says. “Maybe they have a specific location in mind. The rest of the time people just tell me to do whatever I want. I might base it off of where they’re from or something like that. I tend to like the full creative freedom and bring in architecture.”

One look at The Architect’s Garage Instagram page makes it clear enough that its creator has an affection for American and Canadian buildings of the 1940s and 1950s. It’s no coincidence these are very same buildings that were constructed amid a booming automobile culture, and designed around that expansion in personal mobility.

“Modernist and mid-century architecture has a real cleanliness, and that just makes for a great backdrop for cars, ” Petersen-Hui observes.

The artist’s personal taste skews in the direction of European cars, primarily Volvo 240s, of which he owns two real-life examples. Sweden’s famous “brick” styling lends itself way to geometric city scenes with lots of contrasting pops of color.

“I love the simplicity of the 240—like Modernism, it’s quite basic and utilitarian. They’re durable and easy to work on. I’m a fan of anything accessible to a wide variety of people. But I also like quirky French cars, or really anything with crazy styling that you don’t often see.”

Peterson-Hui’s architecture and industrial design ambitions haven’t disappeared. Following up on a university project in which he built and managed to sell a micro-home as a way of meeting demand for affordable housing, he is currently working on a teardrop trailer he can tow behind his Volvo. The design includes a built-in kitchen, polycarbonate doors, and a huge moonroof for stargazing. “It’s another way to stay busy, to keep building things,” he says.

Regardless of where his career goes, Peterson-Hui intends to continue making art for The Architect’s Garage. “People relate to ordinary cars, and what I do is an art project that anyone can be a part of.”

Speaking of, I wonder what my Z3 would look like at the foot of the Philadelphia Museum of Art…

The post Let “The Architect’s Garage” make your car the star of a stunning art print appeared first on Hagerty Media.

The 1979 BMW M1 painted by Andy Warhol is undisputedly a work of art. Yet knowledgable car enthusiasts might wonder if the M1 wasn’t one already. After all, it was supercar penned by Giorgetto Giugiaro, one of the most influential car designers of all time and, it’s worth adding, an artist from a long line of them (his grandfather painted church frescos). The question of whether a classic car can be art may seem an idle one, yet there’s a lot more riding on it than that. Consider that a concours condition M1 is worth somewhere in the neighborhood of $600,000, whereas the one with Warhol’s brushstrokes is widely thought to be worth tens of millions.

Indeed, for the relatively young market for collector cars, the art market is something like an older sibling. However, as the car market matures—by some measures it is more than 50 years old—it begins to draw some parallels with the much older art market. Does the evolution of the art market illustrate how the car market will evolve in the years and decades to come? The similarities and differences between them may provide an answer.

From Antwerp to online auctions

Although auctions have existed since ancient Rome, and as long as there has been fine art there have been connoisseurs and collectors, it wasn’t until much later that a widespread market in Europe began to take shape. Patronage from the Catholic church and families like the Medicis produced some of history’s most significant works, but the thing about the Sistine Chapel ceiling is that it isn’t exactly portable. A public marketplace like we might recognize today draws its roots to 15th century Antwerp and the Northern Renaissance. A burgeoning middle class and merchant trade business drove demand for paintings and prints depicting everyday subjects, many of which were smaller and more easily traded than large sculptures or tapestries. Guilds and art dealers vied for power over prices and distribution, and in the 18th and 19th centuries art auctions rose to prominence on the world stage. You know some of the big names: Sotheby’s (established 1744), Christie’s (1766), and Bonhams (1793).

Total auction sales suggest the art market is not only much older than that for cars but is also vastly bigger at a reported $10.1 billion in 2020, according to the Artnet News Intelligence Report. By comparison, classic car auctions earned approximately $1.4 billion in the same period.

Yet auctions, as we’ve noted before, account for only a slice of classic car sales—maybe 10 percent—whereas for art they’re about half. Combining both segments of the respective markets, the picture flips: The car market has some $20 billion in annual sales, versus some $20.2 billion for art.

The car and art auction market carry different weights in their respective markets and likely play different roles, too. Whereas in the car market, auctions may be seen as a way to discover the price of a vehicle, in reality this may only be true for some segments. The very best vehicles often trade privately and when one similar example does sell at auction, the price merely reflects what has already occurred in the private market. The art auction market, representing a larger share of all sales, plays more of a leading role setting the tone of the market.

Both markets deal with considerations such as condition and provenance of the work of art or the vehicle; however as pieces of art are often unique (excluding prints), comparing the sales of different pieces of art over time is challenging. As vehicles often number in tens, hundred, or thousands of very similar examples, measuring the change in prices over time for a particular make or model is much more straightforward. Some vehicles trade so often at auction, and are so numerous and homogenous, it is possible to construct a repeat sale index of those sales.

Today, auction companies in both realms are experimenting with an increasing focus on online auctions. In the pandemic-ridden first half of 2020, sales of art via internet auctions increased nearly 475 percent, to $186.4 million; in the collector car world, online sales jumped 75 percent in the same period and grew even more through the summer. And of course, let’s not forget that in many cases, art and car auction houses now often operate as one, with the likes of Bonhams, Sotheby’s, and Artcurial pitching tents at major auto events.

Paul Russell SLs, Gagosian sharks

The private sides of the car and art worlds also look relatively similar from afar. Certainly, galleries in the art market have a similar counterpart in the car world: dealers. Dealerships with rows of shiny metal neatly arranged on equally shiny floors can be found all over the world. In the art market, galleries often represent living artists and act as a gatekeeper between the artist and collectors. Galleries often expect the collectors to refrain from flipping new works for a profit or else face being cut off from the opportunity to buy further works. Does the car market possess any such similar mechanism for managing supply and demand? Of course! The most in-demand automakers often have waitlists, favored collectors, and rules against flipping the hottest new models. Added dealer markups on the sticker price are another way the market reaches an equilibrium.

Yet car dealers can only dream of matching the influence of their peers in the art world. Although certain dealers specialize in particular marques and have a reputation among those in the know—say, Paul Russell’s association with the 300 SL—this dynamic is considerably more stark in the art world. Elite galleries like Gagosian, titanic brand names in their own right, wield enormous power in contemporary art spheres, anointing artists so their star might rise and in turn shaping tastes and trends. No vintage car dealer today can claim that kind of power. Remember, this is a world where a dead, stuffed shark can sell for $12M and many critics nod their heads in knowing approval. That’s not hyperbole, either. Gagosian famously sold one such Damien Hirst for that much in 2005. (The buyer eventually faced a Great White of a conundrum when the wretched thing began to rot in its tank.)

You say Old Masters, I say Prewar

Just as the car market is really a constellation of smaller segments, so too does the art market fall into many categories. These categories span centuries, versus a measly 150 years or so for cars, yet a car enthusiast can easily spot the similarities. In the table below are the six major categories of the art and car market. The years in the parenthesis represent when an artist in that category was born or when the vehicle was produced.

Both markets typically value the second chronological period highest, but in 2020 there were some exceptional prewar cars that sold at auction. Prewar Bugattis actually represent the top five sales at auction last year. In more routine years, a 1950s or 1960s Ferrari, Aston Martin, or Porsche would likely hold the top slot. The car market also mirrors the art market in the growth in sales of newer work.

Impermanent collections

Events

The differences in the values of the similar categories in the art and car markets can be partly explained by the collectors and what they do with their collections. Although the car world has numerous private collections with hundreds of vehicles, much as the art world does, the number of art museums in the U.S. is approaching 1600, which vastly outnumber the 100 or so car museums in the country. Those art museums can retain works of art in perpetuity, and risk public outcry when selling works for reasons other than funding collection acquisitions. In contrast, car museums tend to have more precarious funding, and sale of prominent vehicles into private collections is depressingly common. That affects the demand calculus of what people are willing to pay for scarce works of art when compared to similarly scarce automobiles.

Although the transience of vehicles hurts their values relative to art, the very fact that they can move is their biggest advantage. A collector car, simply put, is a car, which means its owner can engage with it ways that simply aren’t possible when it comes to most artwork. That’s not to say art can’t be appreciated in multiple ways: Art museums work with collectors to hold exhibitions; top-flight art fairs like those held in Basel, Switzerland, offer wealthy art collectors a social outlet much as Monterey Car Week does for deep-pocketed car enthusiasts. But car collectors have vintage races, rallies, tours, cars and coffees, and concours, not to mention the option to take their pride and joy to the beach on a sunny day.

Fundamental to this reality is that cars are industrial objects. Although a handmade Ferrari is a long way off from the comparatively throwaway Chevy Bel Air, the nature of the machine is such that cars are closer to precise craft work than fine art. It’s in this manner that modern art museums like MoMA and the Guggenheim have recognized particular cars like the VW Beetle—for their influential design—the same way such institutions might immortalize the Bakelite rotary telephone for future generations to admire.

An important outlier that recently came to market are the three Alfa Romeo B.A.T. cars, sold by Sotheby’s in October 2020 for $14.84M. This trio, or “triptych” as they were aptly dubbed, of handmade, functional 1950s concept cars sold at the auction house’s Contemporary Art Evening Auction—a fine art sale that ordinarily does not include vehicles. Why the exception? “The B.A.T. cars are possibly the best examples of cars as works of art,” says Nick Cinque, vice president and director of private sales at Sotheby’s. “They truly exude a sculptural elegance. Each car is a one-of-one with a unique artistic vision, which is more akin to traditional art than cars, where the majority are mass produced and can be owned by a vast number of people rather than one collector.”

Rarity, provenance, uniqueness of artistic vision—these are all measurements by which the art market has long regulated what is valuable. That these measurements all factor into car values is not mere coincidence. Neither is the fact that top-tier car collectors increasingly prize originality and preservation over restoration. Like it or not, the subjective tastes of the art world play into what car enthusiasts like and are willing to pay for.

What separates cars from art, in many ways, is their functionality and performance. That a Mustang Mach 1 is more rare than a convertible six-cylinder with a three-speed auto is one thing, but the fact that the Mach 1 can dust the ordinary pony from a stoplight and carve circles around it on a road course is something definitive, something concrete and quantifiable. And it’s why a successful motorsport pedigree carries so much weight in our world. Winning races is incontrovertible proof of prowess.

Naturally, cars come with their own caveats. Storage, transport, and upkeep for cars and art are very different propositions. Whereas art is perfectly content to be tucked away in a climate-controlled room, cars need to be regularly exercised to remain in working order. Even outdoor sculptures exposed to the elements may only require annual cleanings, while vehicle maintenance for specialized models can be considerably more involved. Of course, the tinkering and detailing also represent ways in which car enthusiasts engage with their objects of desire.

For love and for money

Many of us are involved in classic cars because we love them. Others see cars as an investment opportunity. Writ large, art buffs are no different, in that the long-term, serious collectors tend to buy what they like rather than what’s trending up and can be flipped for a profit. It’s all fair game, but even the most savvy collectors in either field would rather share their home with a meaningful pursuit than a stock share that hangs on the wall or sits in the garage.

Where does the car market go from here? Does it continue to follow the art market? While there will likely continue to be some convergence, given the differences in the collectors and the nature of the assets, the two will likely remain distinct. We should strive to keep it that way, too. Compared to the enormity of the art world, ours is a niche sector whose predilections are still somewhat distinct from the general public. The unenlightened may raise their brows approvingly at someone’s acquisition of a Warhol print only to then roll their eyes at the vintage Aston Martin in the driveway. And really, we shouldn’t mind when this happens from time to time. More for us, right?

This story originally appeared on Hagerty Insider.

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There are many ways to turn the contents of your garage (your car or bike, rather than old washing machines and misshapen bits of wood) into something you’d be pleased to hang on the wall. Painting, sketching, photography … digital art’s big these days too.

One approach you might not have considered, but a pair of enterprising and talented individuals by the handles Stitchy_Mumma and C for Craig can supply, is to have your automotive sculpture rendered with needle and thread. And if it sounds anachronistic, the results are actually rather beautiful.

C for Cross Stitch custom-creates the artworks so it’s not a quick process, but that’s to be expected. Your chosen vehicle, created from reference photos, is first replicated in pixel art (charming in its own right) and the results are ready for review within five working days.

 

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If you give it the green light, then stitching itself takes eight to ten hours—but with a volume of orders to work through, there’s around a two-week wait before stitching can actually begin.

The company’s website says each artwork is framed on a 10-inch square canvas, meaning the vehicle itself ends up around eight inches long. And looking at the example artworks, that seems like plenty—each piece includes a surprising amount of detail, from alloy wheels to racing stripes and light dancing across the paintwork.

 

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Best of all, you’re buying from gearheads; the red hot-rod pictured above is Craig’s own 1930 Ford Model A Coupe nicknamed Old Red. Other enthusiasts have already got their requests in early by the looks of things too, with a couple of Porsche 911s and even a Ferrari Breadvan making an appearance.

Far better than hanging up a cross-stitch of a country cottage, we’re sure you’ll agree.

Via Hagerty UK

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If you love race cars, then you probably loved the evocative artwork of Bill Neale—even if you didn’t know him by name.

A prolific Dallas artist who died last week at 95, Neale painted the portraits that once identified the columnists in Car and Driver and Automobile, and his car images regularly appeared in Road & Track and Cavallino. His artwork formed the basis of posters for races and car shows, and his highly prized canvasses used dramatic details to capture the essence of racing without ever being slavishly realistic.

“He was one of the top four automotive artists in the country,” says BRE founder Peter Brock, who saw several of his cars—most notably the Cobra Daytona Coupe—memorialized by Neale. “His watercolors had such a fresh quality. But his paintings were never just pictures of cars. He was always telling a story because he was a historian of the sport.”

Gracious and charming, with a sly sense of humor, Neale was a longtime boon companion of Carroll Shelby. Both grew up in East Texas (and never lost their accents), both were pilots during World War II, both raced during the early years of the SCCA, and both loved to tell a good story. According to legend, Shelby—who was a serial divorcé—once asked Neale to fly out to California on short notice to serve as his best man.

“Shelby, I’ve got a card game,” Neale drawled. “I’ll be best man at your next wedding.”

Neale studied art at the North Texas State College, then earned a master’s degree from the prestigious Chouinard Art Institute in Los Angeles. After working his way up the ranks at the Tracy Locke advertising agency, he created his own firm, Point Communications, and was ultimately enshrined in the Southwest Advertising Hall of Fame.

Even while running his own company, Neale found time for painting. “He would stay up all hours of the nights working on something,” says fellow artist John Austin Hanna. In 1982, Neale was one of the six cofounders of the Automotive Fine Arts Society, which helped establish the art form as a legitimate (and commercially viable) discipline. For three decades, he regularly held court in the AFAS tent on the lawn at the Pebble Beach Concours d’Elegance alongside his vivacious and indomitable wife, Nelda, whom he affectionately called “Scrap Iron.”

From the start, his art was informed by a passion for racing that took him all over the world. He was at Reims in 1958 when Shelby and Phil Hill entered their first World Championship Formula 1 race, and he was at Le Mans the following year when Shelby won the biggest race of his career. Neale was also friends with another racing Texan, Jim Hall. It was Neale who hand-painted the distinctive black “66” that’s forever been associated with the Chaparrals. “It just looked right inside the circle,” says Hall, who owns a Neale painting of a high-wing Chaparral 2E—bearing number 66.

This particular image displays several of Neale’s signature touches—an ominous sky framing the car, flying gravel giving the impression of speed and, above all, authenticity. “He understood how the wheels looked when they were spinning, how caster and camber worked, how the car loaded up in a corner,” says fellow AFAS member Charles J. Maher, who was one of many colleagues mentored by Neale. “His paintings looked like photographs—but better.”

Neale was one of the merry pranksters behind the creation of the Terlingua Racing Team, a fanciful operation, ostensibly located in a Southwest Texas ghost town near the Mexican border, devoted to fast cars and motorcycles, cold beer and hot chili. He also designed the team’s famous logo, which appeared on everything from Cobras and Trans-Am Shelby Mustangs to Indy cars. Asked why the jackrabbit on the shield was holding up its right foot, Neale said, “He’s saying, ‘No more peppers in my chili, please!’”

 

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Neale once gave Shelby an elaborate explanation for the other symbols on the coat of arms. The three feathers represented the three Indian tribes whose three languages, or tres lingues, gave the town its name, while “1860” referred to the year of the first race in the region, between mercury-ore wagons pulled by six-mule teams. “Neale,” Shelby said, “that’s a hell of a story. Where did you find it?”

“Shelby,” Neale said, “I didn’t read it in a book. I made it up!”

On a personal note, Shelby introduced me to Neale in 1984, saying he was somebody I ought to get to know. How right he was. Neale was a generous man and a gentleman—and funny as all get-out. Bill, we’re going to miss you.

The post Remembering Bill Neale: Artist, prankster, gentleman appeared first on Hagerty Media.

Nineties kid Florian Weber idolized the Ferrari F40 when he was growing up. The sound, the smell, the form—everything about the F40 left a lasting impression, and eventually, it became the inspiration for his DIY paper car sculpture concept, Paperlegend.

“The F40 is very edgy and so lends itself well to paper crafting,” says Stuttgart-based Florian, who launched Paperlegend in 2019 as an antidote to the dissatisfaction he feels towards the “complex” nature of contemporary car design. “I really admire the simplicity of ’90s cars, and working with their proportions I reduce that simplicity further in my sculptures to make something really beautiful and yet easy to build,” he explains.

Made from lightweight FSC-certified metallic paper, there are currently six paper car models in Florian’s build-it-yourself Paperlegend fleet. This includes the “Geländewagen Verteidiger” which is inspired by the Land Rover Defender 90, the “Whale Tail”, inspired by the Porsche 935, and of course, the “Wild Horse” which is based on the Ferrari F40.

To customize the experience, most models are available in a choice of ten colors, with glossy black windows as standard to give the sculptures a sense of depth and realism.

“People desire these cars, they are childhood heroes, but they cannot be afforded because some people with money just park them in garages for investment, pushing up the price and taking the opportunity of owning them away from true petrolheads,” says Florian.

“With the sculpture kits I wanted to give everyone the possibility to have at least a resemblance of such legendary cars in their living environment. People love that they can create it themselves and using paper meant it was affordable, and therefore accessible.”

For those who haven’t used lockdown to hone their crafting skills, Florian’s paper car models, which cost from €29.95 (less than £22, or $36) are devised to make the build as straightforward as possible. Pieces are pre-cut and pre-creased to ensure a neat and tidy finish, and the step-by-step assembly instructions can be accomplished with a little patience and a bit of glue (the former isn’t part of the package, but thankfully, the sticky stuff is).

In order to assign each build a difficulty level between one and five, five being the hardest, as well as an estimated completion time, which ranges from two to nine hours, Florian gets friends and volunteer test-builders to try out each model before it goes into production. This process also allows him to identify any particularly tricky bits and rectify  mistakes. “I think a lot of people think, ‘Oh that looks cool, but can I do it?’ Well, yes you can,” he says.

Mindful that a one-off piece can be considered art, but when something goes into production it becomes a product, Florian wanted to make his business as sustainable as possible: “I’m trying to improve, not destroy the planet, with cars.” That’s why, for each kit sold, he offsets its carbon footprint by planting a tree. Any waste that’s created, which he calculates at 500 g of paper per 1:8 scale DIY sculpture, is recycled.

“I wanted the sculptures to have a small as possible impact on the environment, so I did some research before I started the project,” he says. “If you plant a tree for each sculpture, within one year of growth it will have collected more CO2 than was used to produce the model. It will keep growing and absorbing CO2 for decades, so my conscience is clear.”

His desire to protect the environment was further enforced when he made the move from Berlin’s “concrete jungle” to Stuttgart, where he has worked for Porsche. Whilst studying Transportation Design at Pforzheim University, which lies north west of the city, he previously completed internships at McLaren and Volkswagen.

“I think a lot of people admire a nice drive on curvy roads, whether it’s in the mountains, through the hills or in the woods, so we should protect that environment. There’s a deep and strong connection between cars and the freedom they give you, and the nature you escape to. Stuttgart has the best surroundings for driving your car, in the Black Forest for example. For me, paper also has that link to nature.”

Despite their characteristic polygonal styling, ’80s and ’90s cars carry curves—but doing them justice using a material that responds best to being folded rather than manipulated into an arc, is a difficult, but not impossible task. The first prototype Florian tackled that presented this challenge was the Porsche 935.

“I started bending and twisting the paper to see how it would behave. The limitation with paper is that you cannot bend it in two ways, like you can with something like metal, but thankfully it worked.”

In the same way that he will design a vehicle in real life, Florian begins each sculpture project with a sketch to study a car’s lines and shapes. This helps him to understand how each element will come together, and what composition—for example top, side or drifting view—will do it the most justice.

He then uses a piece of software called Autodesk Alias—a computer aided design (CAD) program favored by those who work in automotive design—to create a variety of 3D visualizations.

“That’s the program I work with as a car designer and that’s why I chose it for this project as well. It has great control of lines,” he says. “It’s important to define the car accurately; most importantly the proportions of the car, the stance (how the car sits on its wheels), how much tension each curve has and finally what details to highlight and which to consider to leave out.”

He then shares these visualizations on social media and asks followers to vote for their favorite. Once the model is chosen, and the CAD model is complete, Florian “unwraps” it in another piece of software—effectively separating the car into pieces and creating a template. This data is then entered into a knife plotter which cuts and creases the paper accordingly. Over the course of several test builds he will work out the best and easiest way to assemble the sculpture, a laborious but essential part of the process.

In time, Florian would like Paperlegend to become his full-time job, but for now, as well as increasing his line of DIY car sculpture kits—a model inspired by the BMW E30 M3 is up next—he’s juggling freelance car design with bespoke projects and a few exciting collaborations.

As a child, Florian imagined his toy cars were fantasy drives. As an adult, he’s now building them out paper. His biggest hope for the future? One day he’d like the opportunity to drive one of them.

Via Hagerty UK

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Mere mention of Woodward Avenue accelerates the heart rate of enthusiasts itching to burn rubber and speed shift their way through Detroit’s northern ‘burbs. Unfortunately, traffic lights are still flashing yellow on the hallowed Dream Cruise route because of the pandemic. Fortunately, we have this side trip to recommend: a visit to the Detroit Institute of Arts at 5200 Woodward Avenue, three miles due north of the Detroit River.

Through June of 2021, DIA is proudly hosting Detroit Style—Car Design in the Motor City, 1950–2020, consisting of a dozen remarkable concept and production cars supplemented by paintings and sculptures created by local artists. One show star is GM’s 1959 Stingray Racer which inspired second-generation Corvette design. To awe Ford fans, the 1956 atomic-powered Nucleon is here along with its modern counterpart, the 2017 Ford GT. Mopar enthusiasts will relish the 1970 Hemi Barracuda flaunting its muscle.

According to DIA Director Salvador Salort-Pons, “The automotive industry and the city of Detroit are synonymous with one another, so it seems only fitting that the DIA be the museum to showcase the rich history car design in the city. This exhibition will showcase the similarities between the art of car design and the creative process sculptors of the past used to create their masterpieces.” Exhibition curator Ben Colman adds, “It is a privilege to share some of the stories of the Detroit designers who transformed the modern world with their work.”

The Beaux-Arts Italian Renaissance style DIA museum was built nearly a century ago using white marble for the exterior. Two black granite expansion wings were added later. This 100 gallery, 658,000 square foot facility houses 65,000 works of art worth over $8 billion. The Encyclopedia Britannica called the DIA “the perfect modern art museum.” Whether your personal tastes lean toward Rembrandt, Degas, Cezanne, Van Gogh, or Picasso, you will receive an exceptional art fix here, in addition to a steady diet of automotive fodder courtesy of Rivera’s Detroit Industry Murals.

Admission is free for those residing in one of the three counties surrounding Detroit. Everyone else must purchase a $6-14 ticket. Reservations are required. To schedule your access day and time, visit the DIA website at www.dia.org.

The post The Detroit Institute of Arts celebrates 70 years of American automotive style appeared first on Hagerty Media.

Anthony Schmidt is a photographer. An artist. An encyclopedia of automotive information who can tell you the make and model of every car he has ever seen. He’s published a book and a calendar, and his growing Facebook page has more than 140,000 followers.

Anthony Schmidt is a 12-year-old who is also autistic.

“So, autism… The things, the thoughts come into your mind fast,” he tells Eric Johnson, news anchor at Seattle’s ABC affiliate, KOMO 4. “And their brains … they like numbers. And even things.”

And details. Lots and lots of details.

Johnson hosts a weekly KOMO feature called “Eric’s Heroes,” in which he celebrates “little acts of sweetness and decency that go unnoticed.” Johnson recently spent time with Anthony and was amazed at not only the breadth of his knowledge but the depth of his creativity. Anthony doesn’t just collect miniature cars and trucks—and there are hundreds of them on the shelves in his bedroom at the family home in Woodinville, about 20 miles north of Seattle. It’s what Anthony does with those vehicles that creates awe and appreciation.

As Anthony sifts through a stack of canvas prints, Johnson explains that his favorite images show cars and trucks in their “natural setting. Except (this) is not a natural setting.” We learn that all the photographs were taken by Anthony, and they do not depict real cars; the automobiles are from his collection of scale-size models. Sitting in a small workshop that doubles as the family’s laundry room, Anthony builds miniature buildings and scenes, and then he photographs the cars outside in a way that creates the amazing illusion that they’re life-size.

With his mother’s help, Anthony maintains his own website, where he sells prints, a calendar, t-shirts, and a 132-page coffee table book that he created through Kickstarter,  Small Cars, Big Inspiration, which has already sold 1000 copies.

“It’s truly because of the autism …” says his mother, Ramona. “It’s not despite autism, it’s because of it.”

Anthony also maintains a popular Facebook page, which led to an unexpected request for assistance from a police department in New York. Unable to identify a car that fled the scene of a crime, the police sent a blurry photo to Anthony, who recognized the vehicle’s wheels and the “scoop” of the rear windshield. “I said it was a 2002 Mercury Montego.” Armed with that information, the police solved the crime and arrested a suspect.

To conclude his story about Anthony, Johnson arranged for him to meet a kindred spirit in a nearby town, an older gentleman named Ron Nardoney. “The results,” Johnson tells us, “were magical.” Nardoney loves the 1950s and created a tribute to the era, a place he calls Nardoland. Like Anthony, Ron has created “scenes”—life-size ones—and also collects miniature automobiles. Anthony asks which one is his favorite.

“That’d be hard to pick, I guess,” Ron says.

“Same deal with me,” Anthony adds. “I can’t choose favorites.”

We can safely say that Anthony Schmidt is one of ours.

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Britain’s Royal Automobile Club has unveiled an exhibition of automotive art that you can view, and buy, from home. The club’s annual Art of Motoring event has moved online instead of being held in its swanky London clubhouse.

The show gathers works from 22 artists and sculptors, working with a diverse range of media from traditional etching to state-of-the-art 3D printing.

In a rather meta moment, former Le Mans winner and Formula 1 driver Stefan Johansson took up residence in Los Angeles to create abstract works based on famous race track corners, and the portrait of Sir Stirling Moss pictured in the gallery below.

Other highlights of the show include the stunning exploded drawings of “the cutaway king” Tony Matthews and silk screen prints by Ella Freire.

“The Club has been collecting motoring art for over a century,” explains Jeremy Vaughan, Head of Motoring at the Royal Automobile Club, “ we are very proud of the collection at our Pall Mall clubhouse, which complements the collections of both the library and extensive archive. Britain has more professional motoring and motor-racing artists than any other nation and the club is delighted to showcase and help promote such talent.”

The exhibition runs until November 6 and everything on show is for sale.

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Italy is home to some of automotive history’s most expressive and impactful designs, but even among the nation’s best-remembered concepts and productions cars there is a trio of masterworks that stands apart. Bertone built three concepts for Alfa Romeo in the mid-1950s—the Berlina Aerodinamica Tecnica 5, 6, and 9,—as a show of artistic vision at the 1953, 1954, and 1955 Turin Motor Shows, respectively. These jet-age marvels inspired an entire generation of designers, particularly in Detroit, to explore ever-more aspirational and creative heights for the vehicles that moved us. Reunited under single ownership in the early 1990s, the Alfa B.A.T. cars are headed to Sotheby’s Contemporary Art Auction in New York on October 28.

The B.A.T. “triptych”

Nuccio Bertone and Franco Scaglione were the dynamic duo behind the B.A.T. cars. With the prestige and pedigree of Bertone’s namesake design house, alongside the aeronautics-inspired technical know-how that Scaglione brought to the table, the pair made their first big splash in 1952 with the gorgeous Abarth 1500 Biposto concept. The car’s combination of aerodynamic-focused styling and dramatic flair prompted Alfa Romeo to wade into similar waters, tapping Bertone to deliver the goods.

First came the B.A.T. 5, shocking onlookers at the 1953 show in Turin. It was the final iteration of Scaglione’s full-sized models, following four prior attempts. Although it was based on the Alfa Romeo 1900, the 5 looked like nothing else on the planet. Scaglione’s dedication to minimal drag through study of laminar airflow and stability yielded a form that pushed boundaries in every sense. The wide front end featured a two prominent pontoon fenders flanking a pair of massive grilles, which had hideaway headlights and horizontal slots directing cooling air to the radiator. Under the rounded hood and two rounded vents was Alfa’s four-cylinder tipo engine, here modified with dual side-draft carburetors and making about 43 hp. The humongous fenders (with front brake vents) directed the eye along the side body and to the rear wheel skirts, topped by a pair of towering tailfins. The elegant curves of these fins framed the tapered split-window rear and dome-shaped wrap-around glass cockpit. The car’s coefficient of drag was roughly 0.23—a mind-blowing figure for an actual running, driving car given that even today’s super-slippery Toyota Prius and Tesla Model S have slightly more drag with a Cd of 0.24.

For Turin’s 1954 show, the B.A.T. 7 got even more outlandish. While all of the same basic elements remained, including the 1900 running gear, Scaglione exaggerated several key components to even greater effect. The front air intakes became narrower and the hood two inches lower, accentuating the protruding nose. The hood lost its two vents, creating a more harmonious transition to the glass and roof. And then, of course, the fins, which extended and pitched more aggressively inward over a spectacular split rear-glass with a more prominent center spine. Not only did this evolution of the B.A.T. 5 render a more impressive drag coefficient of 0.19, but Scaglione and Bertone managed to also trim 200 pounds of weight for a total of 2200 pounds.

At long last came the B.A.T. 9. Premiering at Turin’s 1955 show, the ultimate realization of Scaglione’s vision resembled an actual road-going car more than its two predecessors. The enlarged and covered headlights play a big role in that effect, as do the familiar Alfa Romeo triangle grille and crest. 9 arrived without the rear wheel skirts, and the tailfins were simplified to allow for a semblance of rear visibility. The grille was once again slimmed, and the hood is visually lowered to further enhance the slope of the front hood.

Works of art

In art history, a “triptych” is a traditional three-paneled painting that was widespread across Europe in Christian art of the Middle Ages. Often, the three distinct elements of a triptych tell a story. While were plenty of influential design concepts in the 1950s, the story of the B.A.T cars is special for several reasons. First, their sheer adventurousness put them in an entirely different league than any prior concept car. As former General Motors designer Robert Cumberford remembers it, they had a big influence in Detroit and particularly on Harley Earl: “I remember them being put up on the wall at GM’s Styling Section. They were so dramatic—way over the top compared to the GM Firebird or any of the other Detroit show cars. But what was truly astonishing was that such beautiful forms and surfaces could be made by hand, and flawlessly. These were masterpieces of metalwork,” he said. “We looked at the B.A.T. cars closely while we were working on the C2 Corvette.” The extreme surfaces, Cumberford notes, had an enormous influence on the technology of metalworking as American automakers sought to replicate such results on an industrial scale. The 1959 Chevrolet is one example.

Beyond their envelope-pushing design, however, was the fact that each of these three unique concepts was a running, driving vehicle that could drive on the street. In fact, Bertone came so tight up against its deadline for the B.A.T. 7 in 1954 that Nuccio and Scaglione personally piloted the car to Turin in time for its reveal to the public.

Just one vehicle of such import and impeccable craftsmanship would be significant, but for all three to be together offered as a single lot is a major moment that even those outside traditional automotive spheres have to take notice. It’s no surprise, then, that RM Sotheby’s is presenting the three B.A.T concepts for sale at its Contemporary Art Evening auction in New York City, where they will be treated as fine art in the purest sense. New York’s own Museum of Modern Art set the precedent for including particularly worthy examples of industrial design in its own collection, but Scaglione’s “triptych” is different in that these vehicles are true examples of rolling sculpture. As RM Sotheby’s Chief Marketing Officer Ian Kelleher puts it, “Each of these vehicles is totally individual but designed by the same man, according to the same principles,” Kelleher says. “When you look at how they fit into the realm of 1950s design and the jet age, it’s clear they deserve to be treated as art. When people unfamiliar with cars see them in person, the first thing they tend to ask is if they can even be driven. In this case, yes, they’re all functional.”

Cumberford, for one, agrees that the trio deserves this sort of reverence. “Like Brancusi’s Bird in Space, these are objects to look at, to consider. It should be not at all surprising that we regard them as works of art.”

Of course, high-end art generally does not come cheap. For these Italian triplets, RM Sotheby’s is estimating $14M–$20M.

***

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Every morning, setting off from a village outside of the city, Manu Campa commutes to his downtown studio in Madrid. He appreciates the three-mile cushion between home and the hustle-bustle of Spain’s largest city, where he spends his days painting cars. By now, the locals recognize his golden 1931 Ford Model A Roadster. “It has to be only the one in the whole city, and they’re in general very rare in this country,” Campa says. “Everyone knows it’s me, so the car is like a rolling advertisement for my art.”

Although he started his career after art school by painting portraits of people, he quickly discovered that he’d rather put to canvas a subject that fascinated him—cars. Campa has found considerable success with his highly realistic automotive scenes, which often zero in on the gorgeous details and visually interesting angles of classic vehicles. With his masterful rendering of curves and glossy, reflective bodywork, Campa’s acrylic paintings have a distinctive, cohesive style. He’s become a particular favorite among the air-cooled Porsche community, and the bulk of his roughly 50-60 commissions per year feature vintage models from Stuttgart.

Campa’s popularity kicked off in 2014, right around the time he began daily-driving a 1953 Volkswagen Beetle. He’ll always love that car, but the idea of something pre-war was always lurking in the back of his mind. When the opportunity arose Campa couldn’t say no.

He first drove about four hours away to see a Model A being advertised, didn’t like it, and instead pursued a lead that came to him from one of his Instagram followers. This second, yellow-colored car wasn’t quite the dark-colored Model A with a rumble seat that he wanted, but eventually the seller lowered the price to the point that Campa had to take it. It was left-hand-drive, after all, which was harder to find than the right-hand-drivers more common in Spain. “These cars are hard enough to drive on our small roads. I wasn’t trying to complicate it even more,” Campa says, laughing.

Campa’s friends already thought he was out of his mind, so when he began tearing apart the Ford’s exterior they just couldn’t understand it. The artist, of course, had a vision in his mind’s eye for a pre-war dream machine. The aesthetic of American hot rods and belly tank racers had always inspired him from afar, and for that look his ’31 Ford was going to need a lot more than a fresh coat of paint. He started by removing the top, windshield, and hood sides. Next was replacing the painted wire wheels and whitewall tires with a set of ’35 Ford wheels he got from Norway. He sandblasted those, fitting them with tires he sourced from the U.S. After paint, the final touch was the “53” on the door—a nod to the departed Volkswagen that gave him his start.

https://www.instagram.com/p/CBgDY8qjSTi/

“Something of my old car is now in my new car,” he says.

Now that the Bug is gone, however, he does not miss its temperamental approach to reliability. The Ford has been rock solid from the get-go, and he has no plans to perform any significant modifications. Most mechanical changes would require the car be subject to a bevy of more stringent government inspection tests, something he is keen to avoid. The only items on his radar right now are some high-compression heads and perhaps an overdrive unit.

At first, just the starting procedure for the old beast was baffling, but before long it became second nature. Now, he loves driving it and never tires of how it stands out on Spanish roads, especially in the city. At car shows in particular, the Model A’s sheer height compared to most European cars makes it impossible to ignore.

For someone with such a passion for old cars, Campa is thrilled to be able to provide his art clients with something that enhances their love of their machines. Some clients are very specific about exactly the type of work they want, while others trust the artist the creative license to surprise them. “Most people have a story, and they want something that speaks to that memory,” he explains. “It’s super satisfying to provide that happy ending.”

The most amazing part of his artistic journey, however, have been the connections he’s made with fans and admirers of his work. These interactions manifest primarily over Instagram, a platform which has allowed him to showcase his art to a massive audience that no physical gallery could ever replace. “You build these friendships; it’s mind-blowing. I get messages in my inbox all day long, one from a tech billionaire and the next from some 14-year-old kid from Pakistan who is obsessed with cars.”

Normally, Campa would be traveling all over the world for art shows and automotive events where he can network and spend time around vintage cars. With most of those opportunities on hold for the foreseeable future, it’s meant a lot more time driving the Roadster, something his two kids take every opportunity to enjoy with him.

Orders, however, continue to come in, which means many long days painting in the studio. And what does he like to tune into in the background while he works? “I am constantly watching Barn Find Hunter and Redline Rebuilds,” he confesses. When we point out that our new series, Kyle’s Garage, dives deep into Kyle’s own Ford Model A, Campa is ecstatic. He can’t wait to wrench on his own soon, even just for regular lubrication service. After all, the hot rod Roadster of his dreams isn’t hanging on his wall—it’s parked in the garage.

Explore and shop Campa’s art here.

The post Manu Campa paints cars for a living, but his ’31 Ford Roadster is a work of art appeared first on Hagerty Media.

This livestream originally aired at 1 PM ET on Monday 15 June – you can view a recording of the broadcast here.

In this livestream, we speak with automotive artist, Kelly Telfer, who has spent a lifetime capturing the cars that bring our imaginations to life. As the official artist for the Werks Reunion Monterey and Amelia Island events, he creates motorsports original paintings, fine art prints, and more.

For Hagerty Drivers Club members – receive 23% off automotive art at Telfer Design through Monday 23 June. Join the club today here: https://www.hagerty.com/drivers-club to enjoy this benefit and so much more!

The post In Conversation with Kelly Telfer, Automotive Artist appeared first on Hagerty Media.

In an auction chock-full of amazing automobiles, is it possible that some 1:32-scale slot cars might just steal the show at RM Sotheby’s Abu Dhabi auction? Definitely. It isn’t just the cars that are getting attention, either—it’s the track that they call home.

Built for financially secure adults who never want to grow up, the large and ultra-detailed Formula 1 slot car track at RM was custom-built by Slot Mods Raceways near Detroit. Shipped from venue to venue during the 2018 Formula 1 season, it was used at each event by patrons of the Formula 1 Paddock Club.

RM says proceeds from the auction on November 30 will benefit the Reaching the Last Mile Fund, an organization “inspired by His Highness Sheikh Mohamed bin Zayed’s global health campaign to eradicate preventable diseases” and a joint initiative with the Bill Gates Foundation. Offered without reserve, the track carries a pre-auction estimate of $20,000-$30,000.

If it sells that low, Slot Mods’ David Beattie says the buyer will get a bargain. “This track would cost me $125K to build today,” he told Hagerty.

Beattie is clearly proud of the brand he has created, and rightfully so. Slot Mods dates to 2008, when Beattie turned to one of his childhood hobbies after being laid off from his job as a printing company manager. “Out of fear can come a lot of creativity,” Beattie told CNBC in 2017, “and you’ve got to be open to those vibes that are coming through.”

Beattie tried selling do-it-yourself slot car kits at a hobby store on weekends, and although he had just one buyer, Beattie’s hard work wasn’t for naught. A Ford executive looking for something fun to do with his son saw Beattie’s cars and reached out, and after seeing the raceway that Beattie built in his basement using 170 feet of track, he commissioned one of his own for $4000.

Encouraged, Beattie began contacting automotive magazines to drum up publicity. Several stories about his detailed creations led to more orders—Pebble Beach officials were among the first to call—and the more tracks that Beattie built, the larger and more expensive they became. Slot Mods’ staff and work space grew too, and these days Beattie and a team of four artisans build about six tracks per year.

Slot Mods’ base-model Standard Scenic Raceway, which measures 6 x 12 feet, costs $50,000. Each is made to order and takes 3–4 months to complete. Custom Scenic Megatracks—limited only by space and budget—start at $75,000. Beattie’s largest creation was commissioned for more than $300,000.

Among Slot Mods’ clients is racing legend Bobby Rahal, who ordered a 22-foot exact replica of his favorite track, Wisconsin’s Road America Raceway. Jay Leno also commissioned a track, as did McLaren CEO Zak Brown.

The F1 raceway on offer at RM’s Abu Dhabi auction measures 7 feet by 16 feet.

Beattie refers to his 1:32-scale wooden creations as “interactive works of art,” which is an apt description since all are built with meticulous attention to detail—from smaller items like people, trees, hay bales, tire barriers, fencing, and cars, to larger objects like signs, buildings, pit row, spectator seating, and the track itself.

“I could say that we just make slot car tracks, but when I say that, people think of the old-school plastic out of the box, and that’s really worlds away from what we do,” Beattie tells CNBC. “Each piece that we create has to be unique for that person who has commissioned us to build it.”

That person could be you.

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In 1978, auto journalists enthusiastically cheered Porsche’s addition of a grand touring machine to its lineup. In stark contrast to its past sports cars, Porsche’s 928 was powered by a 4.5-liter water-cooled V-8 driving the rear wheels through a rear-mounted five-speed manual or three-speed automatic transmission. Four occupants enjoyed luxurious accommodations inside distinctive coachwork. The $26,150 base price may seem like peanuts today, but four decades ago, this was a major climb up the luxury ladder for Porsche.

Car and Driver heralded the 928 as the best car it had ever tested. It was the first sports car to win European Car of the Year laurels. Originally intended to replace the 911 in Porsche’s lineup, the 928’s role was redefined by Peter Schutz, Porsche’s President and CEO from 1981–87. While the 928 expired in 1995 after a long and fruitful life, the 911 now shows signs of immortality.

Michigan-based artist and Porsche enthusiast Paul Grusche, 49, bought his 81,815-mile 928 in 2011. This 1978 Euro-spec five-speed model was originally delivered in Nebraska and no longer had factory paint or interior trim. Except for worn-out synchros, it drove well and had its original engine and transmission. Grusche gave the driveline a thorough service, including new head gaskets, and had the seats reupholstered in his favorite shade of red.

Because he was annoyed by the lack of respect devoted to the 928 in recent years and the fact that his example wasn’t the best candidate to preserve in stock form, Grusche embraced the Art Car theme for his Porsche. Instead of explaining his 928’s place in the cosmos via stump speeches, Grusche fastidiously wrapped his GT with the major magazine articles published in 1977 and ’78.

The process began with more than 300 pages from car magazines which were scanned, retouched where necessary, and converted to black and white digital files then printed onto Orajet vinyl bumper sticker material. Other images from movies that featured the 928—Weird Science, Scarface, and Risky Business—and two 1978 European Car of the Year stickers (one per side above each marker light) were added to the mix.

More than 80 hours over seven months were required to hand lay more than 300 8.5 by 11-inch vinyl stickers. The 928’s pop-up headlamps were chrome-plated to contrast with the black and white body surfaces. No clear coat was applied over the vinyl skin to facilitate repair of scrapes and scratches.  Grusche conscientiously garages his prize during foul weather.

Grusche hopes that his art work might someday be displayed at the Porsche Museum in Stuttgart-Zuffenhausen, Germany. He cites four other Porsche art cars, including the 1965 356C Cabriolet owned by Janis Joplin adorned with a psychedelic “History of the Universe” mural.

Proving that he’s onto something, Grusche’s Art Car was the rock star at the first-ever Cars and Caffeine gathering held recently at Hagerty’s Ann Arbor, Michigan, editorial office. If you stop by at the next one coming up on October 12, you just might see it in person.

The post This magazine-clad Porsche 928 art car can go 144 mph appeared first on Hagerty Media.

When it comes to automotive art, “art” often refers to the cars themselves, but more than five decades ago, every Canadian motorist who filled their tank at a British-American service station received a miniature masterpiece to take home. From American and European classics to muscle cars and race cars, the “B-A Gallery of Great Cars” collector card set lived up to its name, both in the automobiles that were featured and their glorious depiction.

Released in 1967 and measuring 3 1/8 inches square, the 24-card set is an exquisite collection of color drawings that belong on the walls of automotive enthusiasts in Canada and beyond—if only they were larger.

While most collector car sets in the 1950s and ’60s targeted youth (we’ve already written about Mother’s Cookies’ 1955 Sports Cars set and Jello-O’s 1961 Famous Cars plastic coins), B-A aimed at both adult drivers and their children, since many of those cards likely ended up in the hands of those little passengers in the back seat. No doubt plenty remained right up front, too.

British-American Oil, which was in operation from 1906 until it became Gulf Oil Canada in 1969, was a petroleum powerhouse north of the U.S.-Canada border. At its height in the 1960s, B-A owned and operated some 9300 service stations—about one-quarter of all the service stations in Canada at the time. In other words, it distributed a lot of these cards, which means there should be a lot of them out there. Oddly enough, you don’t see them as much as you’d think, certainly not in top condition, possibly because B-A also distributed black-and-white fold-out posters with a spot for each card and suggested that patrons paste them in. As you can imagine, the posters are even more difficult to find.

Individual cards are available on eBay (and occasionally on Amazon) at prices that are both reasonable ($5–$10 each) and ridiculous ($50–$90).

Among the most attractive are sweet rear-end views of a Corvette Sting Ray, an MG TC, and a Shelby Mustang GT500; profiles of a Ferrari (GTO) Berlinetta, Ford GT Mk II, and Studebaker Avanti; and a front view of a 1966 Plymouth Hemi, poised to punch it on the track. Sadly, the artist—or perhaps more than one—is unknown.

A description of each car is on the reverse, and sprinkled among the technical information are some amusing lines like “A legendary great among American cars, the Stutz Bearcat is as much a part of the flapper era of the early ’20s as the raccoon coat.” Only five of the cards include a specific model year.

None of the 24 cars represented is specific to Canada—no Frontenac, no Parisienne, no Acadian. Of course, the set is called the “B-A Gallery of Great Cars.” In consideration of French-speaking Canadians, however, the set was released with two different backs. The most common cards are written completely in English, while rarer versions are in both English and French, with abbreviated descriptions and smaller print.

Considering B-A owned 25 percent of Canada’s service stations in the 1960s, it clearly didn’t need to incentivize drivers to purchase petrol. Collector cards likely wouldn’t have moved the needle much anyway. Instead, they were issued through a game called “Cash Carnival” and were attached to a contest entry, which explains why they’re perforated at the bottom. Good luck finding a complete, untorn card. They’re virtually non-existent.

Since the game ended a long time ago, maybe we should just look at the “Gallery of Great Cars” as a simple “thank you” from B-A to its patrons. Fifty-two years later, it’s our turn to say thanks to British-American for these miniature works of automotive art.

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1967 B-A GALLERY OF GREAT CARS CHECKLIST

24 unnumbered cards; Released in English and French-English bilingual versions

• Auburn 852 Speedster
• Bugatti Type 35
• 1967 Cadillac Eldorado
• Chaparral
• Citroën “Traction Avant”
• Cord
• Corvette Sting Ray
• 1930 Duesenberg Phaeton
• Facel Vega
• Ferrari Berlinetta
• 1955 Ford Thunderbird
• Ford GT Mk II
• (Jaguar) SS 100
• Jaguar XK-E
• Lincoln Continental MK II
• Mercedes-Benz 540K
• MG TC
• 1966 Plymouth Hemi
• 1928 Red Label Bentley
• Rolls-Royce Silver Cloud
• Shelby Cobra
• Shelby Mustang GT 500
• Studebaker Avanti
• Stutz Bearcat

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We like to tinker, tune, and fix, but these art cars witness to something else we love about the automobile. They’re lightning rods for fashion statements, celebrity history, racing heritage or just plain old aesthetic mastery. Well, the same goes for trucks if you consider the colorful monstrosity of a Volvo doctored up by graffiti artist Banksy in 2000, now up for auction on Bonham’s block this September.

Banksy’s truck got us thinking. Art cars come clad in many schemes—Sharpie, airbrush, and spray paint—but we grabbed six that, besides being cool to look at, boast connections to celebrities, to racing history, and diverse artistic talent.

The beauty of these art cars lies in their honesty: they sit at the intersection of artistic and automotive ley lines. Beyond the pricetags, these art cars capture both the artists’ creativity and the pure cool factor of done-up rolling metal.

That said, this list in no way claims to be exhaustive—it’s only a small collection of our favorites in the vast color scheme of wild art cars. Drop us a comment below and let us know your favorites.

Janis Joplin’s 1964 Porsche 356 C

Jellyfish and pine trees and The Eye of God, oh my. David Richards wasn’t only the road manager for Big Brother and the Holding Company—he was a carpenter and a sculpter, and taught himself the tattoo trade before taking pen and brush to lead singer Janis Joplin’s Porsche 356. In 1968, this 1964 356 C transformed “The History of the Universe,” as Richards titled his piece. Richards didn’t stay with the band for long, but Janis remained, fabulous and feather-clad, behind the wheel of her custom-painted Porsche after the disbanding of Big Brother and until her death in 1970.

RM Sotheby’s oversaw the first sale of the car on behalf of Joplin’s siblings in December of 2015, for a hammer price of $1.76M—a touch above the pre-sale estimate of $400,000–$600,000. After all, it is the entire history of the universe… on a Porsche. That doesn’t happen often.

Banksy Volvo 1988 FL6 truck

Laugh now, if you wish, at a graffiti-splattered Volvo truck projected to sell for over $1M. Self-described “quality vandal,” graffiti artist Banksy has been on an antiauthoritarian crusade, spiked with dark humor and subversive satire, since 1974. He’s adorned walls of major museums (fully disguised), loosed live rats in a display of his oil paintings (including “Show Me the Monet” in imitation of the same), and painted live elephants.

So the irony of this chaos-embracing artist flinging flying monkeys and TV-smashing policeman on a Volvo, the steady, safe Swedish stereotype, is rich—and entirely intentional. The piece is titled “Turbo Zone Truck (Laugh Now But One Day We’ll Be In Charge),” which pretty much gets the message across.

In case this Volvo’s provenance weren’t colorful enough, Banksy’s creation toured with a circus famed for its pyrotechnics. Lit. Banksy completed the project in 2000, but it’s just now coming up for auction courtesy of Bonhams, which is calling this Banksy’s largest artistic project to date.

BMW Art Cars

How much do we love the BMW Art Cars? Let us count the ways… or at least, scratch the surface. Andy Warhol’s rough-edged, paint-brush-style streaks of red, yellow, green, and blue on an M1. Alexander Calder’s original 1975 design on a 3.0 CSL, glorious and broad-shouldered in swaths of primary colors. The 1979 M1 gridded by Frank Stella in an art marker, sketch-style web of M branding: blue, purple, and red. Jeff Koons’ kaleidoscopic streams of color on the M3 GT2 race car. We could go all the way through the BMW Art Car lineage, so instead we’ll count the whole decades-long project as one.

The Beatles’ 1956 Bentley S1

We’d hate to label a car purely as fashion, but this psychedelic 1956 Bentley S1 was originally owned by a fashion label. Then the Beatles bought Dandie Fashions and took this fabulized Bentley clubbing around London, wafting around the likes of Jimi Hendrix and Brian Jones. The colors are electric and the car is undeniably cool—and if it looks like an acid trip, well, yeah.

Nearly 60 years later, it’s hard to appreciate just how mind-blowing this Bentley’s flamboyant curlicues were on a canvas of dignified British tradition. In an age where Internet memes may well appear on a baby-blue-wrapped 458 Ferrari Spider in downtown Miami, the Beatles’ Bentley seems almost tame. In its own day, though—talk about bucking Buckingham tradition.

VW Polo Harlekin / Golf Harlequin

We’re back to planet Earth with these eccentric and charming special edition Golfs. When VW rolled out a multicolored Polo show car in 1995, the audience fell in love with it and VW started a small production run. That run ended up at around 3100 cars because of positive feedback, and VW generously thought that North America would enjoy having a quilt piece of the fun. Golf Harlequins followed suit.

You can identify the “original” color of a Harlequin by either the roof, C-pillar, or rocker panel; the rest of the Pistachio Green, Ginster Yellow, Tornado Red, and Chagall Blue panels were hand-swapped for a total of around 264 Golf Harlequins.

John Lennon’s “Sgt. Pepper” 1965 Phantom V

In case you worry that the Beatles left a single British feather unruffled, here’s John Lennon’s Phantom V. Even before this Phantom became “Sgt. Pepper,” it arrived in plain Valentine Black loaded with a television, refrigerator, and telephone. And, of course, a record player.

After it went under the paintbrush of coachbuilders JP Fallon, “Sgt. Pepper” arrived on Lennon’s doorstep May 25, 1967, a new coat of yellow paint overlaid with Romany-style floral designs evocative of gypsy caravans. For good measure, the roof got a zodiac sign. The whole paint job cost £1000—about £19,000 today.

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They may not be $90-million stainless steel reproductions of twisted balloon bunnies, nor high-concept installations of decaying dead sharks, but classic Ferraris are now considered to be fine art, according to a ruling the Ferrari company received from an Italian commercial tribunal.

Ferrari initiated legal action when a Modena company announced that it was planning to make 250 replicas of the Ferrari 250 GTO, generally considered to be the most valuable collectible car model today. Just 36 of the original GTOs were made in the early 1960s and one sold for more than $48 million last year. The V-12-powered 250 GTO was not just one of Ferrari’s most beautiful cars, it was also one of the firm’s most successful racers.

The ruling said that not only is the 250 GTO a classic car, it is an original work of art that cannot be imitated or reproduced. Acknowledging the “numerous awards and official testaments” that the GTO has received for its “artistic merits,” the court said that “the customisation of the car’s lines and its aesthetic elements have made the 250 GTO unique, a true automobile icon.” Thus, the tribunal ruled, all production, commercialization, and promotional rights belong to Ferrari alone.

“It’s the first time in Italy that a car has been recognized as a work of art,” a Ferrari spokesperson told the Daily Telegraph. The ruling likely is only in force in Italy, though the legal action is a warning shot to any replica makers, whether in Italy or not.

The case raises some interesting questions. Why is Ferrari worried about protecting a 50-year-old design? Did Ferrari take action just to protect its intellectual property, or does the Maranello company intend to secure its own plans to join Jaguar and Aston Martin in making “continuation” reproductions of classic cars? Either way, there’s no question that if any car deserves to be called a work of art, it’s the 250 GTO.

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If you’ve ever wondered what the rear of an Audi R8 would look like if it exploded with magnificent precision, wonder no longer. Like a blown-apart blueprint diagram, this unbelievable image created by Swiss artist Fabian Oefner showcases the extraordinary detail and engineering of a supercar. And even if the moment is something the artist creates, its hyper- accuracy and clarity shows us a shade of reality we’d never see in real life.

Oefner has been working on his “Disintegrating” series since 2013, deconstructing scale models of vintage cars and taking thousands of photographs to assemble with Photoshop into one coherent moment. In this case, though, Audi offered to take apart an R8 for real, in order to celebrate a decade of the mid-engine supercar’s majestic V-10 engine.

“When you go from model cars to real cars, the challenge, of course, is that you’re literally working on a way bigger scale,” Oefner says. “The beauty with real cars is that it’s an experience, and you discover so much more about the car. But also just being in a space, being in a workshop, you smell the petrol in the air. The piece really comes alive.”

For the type of people who love to take things apart just to see how they work, Oefner’s R8 image is something that you could stare at for hours.

“Even the mechanics sometimes told me, ‘We’ve never actually seen inside the transmission or looked inside into the A/C compressor unit, because normally when something goes wrong with a part like that we just exchange the whole part,’” Oefner says.

The R8 was evidently used as a prototype during hot-weather stress tests, because a lot of the parts were still sandy and dirt-covered. For Oefner that’s even better, because it shows a bit of honest real-world wear and patina.

For more of the “Disintegrating” series, head to fabianoefner.com. There you’ll find some exceptional visuals, including an Auto Union Type C, Bugatti 57C, Porsche 956, Maserati 205F, and Ford GT40.

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Car of the decade. Supercar of the century. The GOAT. Every possible accolade that can be heaped on a car has been heaped on the McLaren F1.

You know the story: The F1 was the brainchild of Gordon Murray, who had become bored with Formula 1 racing because the cars he designed for McLaren just kept on winning. He wanted a new challenge: to create the ultimate road car. Bold, yes, and maybe even a little arrogant. But he actually did it.

Unveiled in Monaco in 1992, the F1 carried a price tag of £520,000, which is equivalent to about $1.3 million in today’s dollars. For that sum you didn’t just get the greatest, fastest car the world had ever seen, you also got the world’s most exquisite automobile owner’s manual.

As you’d expect, the hardcover F1 Owner’s Handbook displays the same perfectionism and analog sensibility that makes the F1 still so tantalizing today. Sadly, since only 106 F1s were ever produced, only a wealthy few have ever seen these books up close, but legend of their beauty has spread in McLaren circles far and wide.

We recently spoke to Mark Roberts, a founding member of the F1 design team, and the man responsible for the manual’s look, who agreed to share some of his art gallery-worthy illustrations.

“Gordon [Murray] basically said, ‘Go out and look at what the competitors are doing for the owner’s manual and do something significantly better,’” says Roberts. He was employee number nine at the fledgling McLaren Cars operation, hired as a technical illustrator.

“The owner’s manuals for other supercars at that time were pretty conventional; it was just like you were buying a normal car,” says Roberts. “I thought, since these cars are hand-built, we should do pencil sketches, we should do watercolors and make the handbook like art.”

No expense was spared. The hardcover manual is like a small coffee table book you’d find in the penthouse suite of a five-star hotel. “I almost shouldn’t say, but it kind of makes no sense to do,” says Roberts. “It was so expensive, [made] with every single printing process known to man.”

The illustrations inside bring to mind Bob Ross if he drove a BMW V-12-powered supercar with a gold-lined engine bay, rather than the old paperback tome in the glovebox of your jalopy.

“The watercolors [pictured above and below] were pencil drawings sketched from the car, and from Polaroid photos. Polaroids gave a slight fish-eye perspective that suited the subject matter. These were transferred to heavy stock watercolor paper, then gouache color-washed,” explains Roberts.

“They typically took half a day to sketch in pencil, then, if it went well, the other half of the day to color wash them.” Roberts only used a ruler occasionally. A mistake in the painting meant starting the whole thing over; there was no “undo” button.

The crash test dummy in these illustrations was actually Roberts’ friend, an avid cyclist. “The skinniest guy, bald as well, wearing Lycra so he actually already looked like a crash test dummy. I got him to get in and out of the car a few times and took photos, then did the sketches based on that. Every time I look at those pictures, I can see his face.”

“F1 was the last kind of analog car, even in respect to the way it was designed,” Roberts says. In 1990, Computer Aided Design (CAD) software was still rough. “Clunky,” is how Roberts describes it. Photoshop 1.0 only launched that year. “That makes me feel incredibly old now,” he laughs.

Above is a hybrid illustration, created from many, many layers of pencil illustration on transparent paper. “The overlaid pencil drawings were either highlighted or minimized,” he says. “The final illustration was then digitally ‘inked’ in an early version of Illustrator software.”

McLaren Cars being such a tiny company, Roberts ended up doing much more than drawing. He went out and bought drafting tables for the office. He came up with the parts numbering system for the car. He helped orchestrate the launch event in 1992. And, he designed the “functional jewelry,” including the pedals, handbrake, and photo-etched aluminum instruments. He still gets carried away even now, more than two decades later, talking about the typography.

“Gordon just left me to do [the 260-mph speedometer]. That design was all Letraset—rub-down letters, like temporary tattoos. It was pen artwork, scribing the circles and sub-dividing all the little chaplets (as we call the lines). These Rotring pens could get down to zero-point-whatever of millimeter. Then with a scalpel blade, I’d be taking the edges off and just making everything crisp and absolute perfection.”

It’s miraculous and almost frightening that such a small team designed a 240.14-mph supercar using, by modern standards, not much more than pen and paper.

Roberts is still with the company, now McLaren Automotive, as head of design operations.

The reborn firm makes some excellent cars, but the owners’ manuals have become, sadly, rather ordinary.

“We all knew we were doing something special, but we had no idea how legendary [the F1] was going to become,” says Roberts. “It was such a special moment in time that I feel I was really lucky and privileged to be a part of. It would never happen again.”

While values of the McLaren F1 have skyrocketed to $21 million for a 1993 example in Excellent (#2) condition, the owner’s manual remains (somewhat) more affordable. For around $4,000 you can get yourself this nice original copy, which came with the car delivered to the ex-Sultan of Brunei. Naturally.

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It was a stroke of genius. Actually, two strokes of genius. When Pontiac placed its new “Wide Track” advertising campaign in the capable hands of artists Art Fitzpatrick and Van Kaufman in 1959, it was the start of something special. Or the continuation of something special, since the two had been working together since 1949—Fitzpatrick drew the cars, Kaufman the backgrounds and people.

They were magic. Together they created 285 memorable advertisements for Pontiac from 1959–71. Each is a masterpiece, whether you love automobiles or not. For those who do, the ads are legendary.

Fitzpatrick, who died in November 2015, just shy of his 96th birthday, painted and designed cars for more than seven decades. The son of an artist and grandson of an architect/artist, “Fitz” said he was born with “designer genes” and was immediately attracted to cars as a subject. “I grew up in Detroit,” he told Hagerty in 2013. “What does a guy draw besides cars?”

At 17, Fitz lied about his age to get into The Society of Arts and Crafts and the Detroit School of Art, and a year later was hired by John Tjaarda at the Briggs Body Company. Fitzpatrick moved to California at 19 to work with Howard “Dutch” Darrin, designing custom-built Packards. After serving in the Navy during World War II, he signed on with Mercury in 1945. He brought in Kaufman four years later.

Kaufman, a world traveler and former Disney animator, placed Fitzpatrick’s cars in exotic, romantic locations with beautiful, happy people. The partners would trade each image back and forth until they agreed upon a final draft. The collaboration worked to perfection.

The Pontiac images are the duo’s most memorable.

“We were told that our job was to change Pontiac’s image, which for years had been that of a third grade school teacher’s car,” Fitz told Hagerty. “Pontiac was last in GM’s lineup, and we had to make it socially acceptable.”

The Fitzpatrick-Kaufman collaboration was timed with Pontiac’s revamped 1959 lineup. The two emphasized the new Pontiacs’ bolder, wider front design. “The front end on the ’59 Pontiac was the most important thing Pontiac ever did because it was so different from anything else they’d ever done—totally, off-the-deep-end different,” Fitz said. “It established the identity of the car.”

You could find the Pontiacs in beautiful locations—France and Monte Carlo, on beaches, at sporting events, and at big-city black-tie affairs. Fitz said that although the cars were always the focal point, there was a subtlety to their presence in each scene. “The whole idea was that the car fit into the situation in a natural way,” he said.

Fitz and Kaufman wandered the world in search of inspiration for the landscapes that served as enticing backdrops to the cars. “As Van and I used to say, ‘I can’t believe they’re paying us all this money to have so much fun,’” Fitz said.

They shared their joy each month in the Pontiac ads that were featured in both automotive and general interest magazines throughout the 1960s. Each highly anticipated advertisement would take the reader on a journey, selling the lifestyle that Pontiac ownership promised—more than the car itself.

Fitz and Kaufman enjoyed a 24-year partnership and remained lifelong friends. Kaufman died in 1995.

In addition to his work for Mercury and Pontiac, Fitzpatrick also created ads for Nash, Lincoln, Plymouth, Kaiser, and Buick—more than 700 in his career—as well as two sets of automotive stamps for the U.S. Postal Service.

After poring over most of the 285 Pontiac ads created by the Fitzpatrick-Kaufman partnership, I made an impossible (foolish) decision to select my five favorites. After an hour, I had narrowed the field to 25. Then I cut it to 17. Let’s face it, five isn’t happening. So, with a couple of Advil on board, below are my seven… no, 10… favorite Fitz-Van Pontiac ads (today, anyway). Don’t agree? Share your faves in the comments section.

1962 Grand Prix, Monte Carlo

The magic of Monte Carlo—and the way Fitz and Van depicted it—is that when you close your eyes, you envision the unforgettable combination of blue waters and sandy beaches… yet neither can be seen in this image. The artists knew that, so why should they go for the obvious? Instead, they played up the automotive side of Monte Carlo by placing us at the Monaco Grand Prix… in a Grand Prix. Fun, fast, festive. What auto enthusiast wouldn’t want to be right there?

1964 Bonneville, Barbados Sunset

Now, there’s the beach—in Barbados, no less. Yes, there’s a great looking car in the image. Raise your hand if your eyes went to the background first. This is a holiday vacation you imagine the well-to-do of the 1960s might take. Nope, no third grade teachers here.

1964 Bonneville Safari, Ski New England

After enduring a long and hard Michigan winter, I vowed there was no way I would choose an image that included even the slightest hint of snow. Then I saw Fitz and Van’s “Ski New England.” The Bonneville Safari, the bright colors, the sunshine, the deliriously happy people. I’ll wear long johns. Where are my skis?

1965 Grand Prix, Rive Gauche

While it may not seem like the most exotic of locations, look closer. The 1965 Grand Prix is paused on a street on The Left Bank of the River Seine in Paris. La Rive Gauche was the hangout of choice for writers, artists, and philosophers, amazingly creative people with names like Hemingway, Picasso, Fitzgerald, and Matisse. To step into this fabulous image and spend just one day there would be as priceless as one of their original works of art or fiction.

1966 Tempest, The Good Life

Come on, now, do I really have to explain what makes this image so alluring? The thing is called “The Good Life,” for goodness’ sake.

1967 Catalina, Kona Foursome

I can only imagine what it would be like to step out of a new Regimental Red ’67 Catalina, pull my golf clubs from the trunk, and chat with two lovely blondes while I wait for our tee time in Kona, Hawaii. At this point, I can only imagine getting out of anything and chatting with anyone before doing anything in Hawaii.

1968 GTO, Horsepower II

In a clever play on words, “Horsepower II” refers to the power under the hood of this ’68 GTO and the majestic power of race horses. Toss in the power of imagination. Let’s go to the Derby!

1969 Firebird 400, Surfers

I’m not a big swimmer. My relationship with the ocean is basically from a distance or, on a good day, a short swim while on vacation. But even I, the landlubber, would challenge the surf if I could be magically propelled back in time and into this image. Yes, I’m wondering where that surfboard is supposed to go. Think I can wedge it behind the front seats? I’ll figure it out. Hang ten!

1969 GTO, Beach at Hydra

This is more my speed. Beautiful day, beautiful people, beautiful beach, beautiful car. And, Greece! It doesn’t get much better than this. In fact, speaking strictly about the cars depicted in Fitzpatrick and Kaufman’s work, I’ll take this one.

1970 GTO Judge, Thrill Seekers

Much like my previous comment about swimming, I generally have a problem with small planes, although it hasn’t kept me from accepting an invitation to climb aboard. I really want to be like these “Thrill Seekers.” I do. Perhaps they’ll allow me to be the thrill seeker whose thrill-seeking amounts to driving this ’70 GTO Judge above the speed limit?

The post Fitzpatrick and Kaufman’s 10 best Pontiac ads appeared first on Hagerty Media.

Don’t let the name fool you. Piotr (Peter) Jędrzejuk may be Polish, but his heart is all-American. So is his art.

The son of Polish diplomats, Jędrzejuk spent 10 years of his childhood living in Washington, D.C., and he admits to quickly falling in love with America—including the car culture. The mostly self-taught artist, who turns 31 this year, recently released an ambitious 18-month project.

Accurately titled “The American Dream,” the collection includes 55 art deco travel posters that depict a classic car in each of the 50 United States and the District of Columbia (some have two versions). Jędrzejuk claims the project is “America’s first and largest travel roadside art series.”

“The American Dream” is a triumph of cars and color, more so when you consider that Jędrzejuk had no formal art training, although he says he received help and advice from an experienced artist while producing the series.

Among the highlights are a Porsche 911 in the Alaskan snow; a Chevrolet Impala beneath San Francisco’s Golden Gate Bridge; several Amphicars circling the lighthouse in New London, Connecticut; a Tucker in Chicago; a Dodge Superbird “dual” in Dodge City, Kansas; a ’58 Corvette in Cape Elizabeth, Maine; the Buick LeSabre concept car in Detroit; a ’59 Cadillac in Las Vegas; GM’s Firebird III concept in Seattle; and President and Mrs. Kennedy in a Rolls-Royce in Washington, D.C.

It all started innocently enough when Jędrzejuk made a discovery while browsing in a store a couple of years ago. “I stumbled upon two small aluminum boxes with cover images based on the famous illustrations of the fifth (1933) and eighth (1936) Monaco Grand Prix Automobile, by Geo Ham,” he says. “I appreciated the illustrations so much that I purchased both, although I did not have a real purpose in mind for using them. I just thought they could make good mini gifts for car fans.”

Jędrzejuk says found that he “could not take [his] eyes off them,” and he went on the internet to search for more Monaco Grand Prix illustrations. “I couldn’t get enough of the vintage thing, and I have continued to explore the world of vintage prints—prints of not only cars but everything. The discovery phase lasted about a month, and I realized that there were very few vintage prints of America from the automotive perspective. I thought it would be cool to show America and cool cars all together. I didn’t know the term ‘travel poster’ at the time, but later I realized that’s what I was creating—to be more precise, these were ‘roadside posters’ with cars.”

Jędrzejuk says some of the illustrations had been started but hadn’t been completed due to the time that such a project requires, but he ultimately decided to dive in.

“Due to my passion for America and automotive design, I had to go all in and bring the project to life.” It turned out to be a huge undertaking.

“I was pretty much on my own, and had to discover the cities, streets of America, as well as some of the unique cars which even car enthusiasts, Americans, and most of the world had never heard of,” he says.

In his spare time, Jędrzejuk, who works as a project manager for an international digital marketing agency, browsed hundreds of photographs before narrowing his choices. Then he requested the permission to use them. “I did my best to find the best locations, as well as the car which would go with it nicely,” he says. “Some of these projects were redone five times just because I found a better spot or car. Only about 10 illustrations weren’t altered from the beginning.”

There were some hurdles to clear, as well as a few stumbling blocks. For instance, multiple attempts over several months were required to gain permission to use some of the reference photos, and one German manufacturer first gave permission and then recanted; Jędrzejuk was forced to use other marques in their place. “I know that U.S. copyright law is friendly to car art to some extent, but I just didn’t feel like dealing with such BS, so I got rid of their cars.”

Jędrzejuk calls his company Grand Touring Art and is selling the posters online. Individual prints are $9 (5.83 x 8.27 inches), $25 (11.7 inches x 16.5 inches), and $40 (23.4 inches x 33.1 inches). There is a significant discount for purchasing the prints as a set.

Jędrzejuk says he wanted the series to appeal to the general public, not just car people, so he took extra care to get each one just right. “I called the series ‘The American Dream’ because it presents America from the best possible perspective,” he says. It’s a perspective that Jędrzejuk appreciates, all the way from Poland.

The post These gorgeous old-school travel posters show a worldwide love for American car culture appeared first on Hagerty Media.

It’s been 36 years since the sci-fi cult classic film Blade Runner foretold a future of homicidal synthetic humans called “replicants” and flying cars known as “spinners.” That future was supposed to be 2019, and today’s cars, though much faster than 1982’s, are still on the ground. Maybe next year.

The spinners and the remarkable backgrounds were designed by Syd Mead, a “visual futurist” who began his career as a car designer and is still envisioning anti-gravity cars. The official poster Mead designed for the 2017 Eyes on the Classics Concours d’Elegance in Detroit anticipates that event in the year 2047 and featured 1930s classics alongside floating cars. He received an EyesOn Design Lifetime Design Achievement Award at the 2017 event.

In Mead’s long career, he has also designed futuristic spaceships, and, back on Earth, he occasionally drives something close. It’s a 1972 Chrysler Imperial that he says floats down the road. He bought it seven years ago with just 4000 miles and has added another 9000 since.

“It was basically a new car,” says Mead, who explains that the Imperial found him, not the other way around.

“I was interviewed online, talking about cars I’ve owned since high school, and I mentioned that the ’72 Imperial I used to have was one of my favorites. I got an email from a man in Fowlerville, Michigan who said he had one for sale. I asked a friend, retired from Ford, to go see it. He said, ‘You should buy this.’”

Indeed, the Imperial LeBaron four-door hardtop was like a new car, black with a black vinyl roof and a very-1970s gold leather interior. The reason for the low miles, Mead learned, was that the woman who bought it new had developed rapidly advancing arthritis shortly after taking delivery. Her husband kept the Imperial stored and maintained in a garage. Mead bought it from a family member, becoming the car’s third owner.

Designer’s designer

While attending the Art Center School in Los Angeles (now the Art Center College of Design, Pasadena), Mead designed his vision for the Imperial, with big curving tail fins. In 1959, he was recruited for Ford Motor Company’s Advanced Styling Studio under Elwood Engle. Mead left Ford two years later to illustrate books and catalogs for large global companies and in 1970 launched his own design firm in Detroit.

When he moved back to California in 1975, Mead drove the 1972 Imperial LeBaron sedan he’d bought new through a Chrysler executive. The car was loaded, including the dual A/C system, power sunroof and trailering package. He later sold it to a friend who took it to Germany to use for weddings and airport service.

Luxury

Mead has owned a string of American luxury cars over the years. His new Cadillac CT6 is his ninth car from the brand since 1961. He’s also owned several Lincolns, but fond memories of the Imperial never faded.

Mead still admires the clean “fuselage” design done under direction of his friend, Dave Cummins, who was design chief of the Chrysler-Imperial Exterior Studio. The design debuted for 1969, with the Imperial based on the Chrysler but with distinct front and rear treatments. The extra three inches in wheelbase over the Chrysler was all ahead of the front door to yield a longer hood, but not increased cabin room.

“It’s quite horizontal and very plain, and that’s what I like,” says Mead.

Other details that caught his eye in 1972 and still please his aesthetic sense today include the front end with the hidden headlights and the peaked fenders with raised hood section.

“The design is more organized than modern cars,” Mead says. “A lot of new cars look like they’re diving or in a permanent panic stop. Car designers worldwide tend to use a formulaic styling cue. If you took the badges off, you wouldn’t know who makes what.”

Monthly voyages

Mead drives his Imperial once or twice a month, and not just around the block. “We’ve been out to Palm Springs a half dozen or so times, and I’ve taken it to Imperial Club meetings, out to Bakersfield,” he says. “It gets 17 miles per gallon at 70 mph on a flat road. You can hear that faint rumble of the V-8 going through the exhaust.”

Mead’s Imperial lacks the dual A/C and power sunroof of the one owned back in the ‘70s but has the original automated temperature control. “The air conditioning works, though not as well as in a modern car. If it ever goes bad, you have to take apart the whole dash panel,” he says. Mead has a Mopar expert maintain the car regularly. He’s replaced the car’s exhaust and shocks and added Coker tires with the correct-width double-whitewalls.

Uncommon luxury

The 1972 Imperial four-door started at $6800 and was powered by a 440-cu-in. V-8, rated at 225 net horsepower for 1972. That year, the name badge added “by Chrysler” under “Imperial.” The company gave up the pretense that the Imperial was a separate marque like Cadillac or Lincoln. Imperial sales in the 1970s remained quite low; just under 16,000 for 1972 versus nearly 268,000 Cadillacs. (For 1976, Chrysler simply dropped the Imperial name and put the New Yorker Brougham badge in its place.)

Still, Imperial could match luxury with the best and in some ways exceeded competitors’ technology. For example, the 1972 model got electronic ignition. The year before, the Imperial had introduced the world’s first four-wheel electronically controlled anti-skid brakes, a system called Sure Brake. The option cost $344 in 1972 (around $2000 in today’s money), and few customers ordered it, yet it was more than six years ahead of Mercedes-Benz introducing Bosch ABS in Europe.

“Getting out of the Cadillac [CT6], you appreciate 45 years of advances in technology, braking, handling, and safety,” says Mead. “I love driving the Imperial, though. It’s a boat. It’s two and a half tons, six and a half feet wide and 19 and a half feet long. You have to sort of ‘pilot’ it, once you’re used to driving a tight-suspension modern car.”

Mead enjoys using the Imperial for special occasions, and the car was being prepped for ferrying a VIP as Mead was interviewed for this story. “It’s outside waiting for a hand washing. My sister is in town, and we’re using it to go to dinner.”

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Big names like Shepard Fairey and Banksy have long-dominated the conversation around street art. But for car lovers, the name on your lips should be Mitchell Schorr. For roughly the last eight years, the New York-born street artist and muralist has splashed urban landscapes with his childhood fantasies of colorful racecars, ice cream trucks, police cars, and a never-ending chase. 

Titled Da Race, Schorr’s playful racing streetscape series started as a way to reach out and involve people in his world. So why cars?  “Everyone has a memory about a car, something from their childhood,” says Schorr. “It was about making that kid-like fascination interactive.”
 
For Schorr, the ice cream truck that’s always vying for position in his scenes is his link to that feeling of being a child. When he decided to combine his early ice cream truck paintings with his race-car paintings, Da Race was born. Schorr has a fast and loose visual style, forced into action by the, let’s say, hasty nature with which he sometimes works. Some of his works are commissioned. Others aren’t, which means Schorr is completely prepared to have his works removed or destroyed by the powers that be.

Whether Schorr and his spraycans conquer a garage door, concrete wall, rooftop, or bridge underpass, longtime fans and new viewers alike are encouraged to enjoy the spectacle. Against the backdrop of constantly flowing traffic, his lighthearted chapters in this constantly evolving race remind us how cars can lift the imagination.
 
“I want people to watch and really root for someone to win,” says Schorr. “But the thing about street art is you can’t expect it to last. It’s like a Zen rock garden—you expect it to disappear and change, if say, a building gets painted over or destroyed. But it’s still nice to see the ones that have had some longevity.”
 
The next stage of Schorr’s frenetic aerosol experiment might be the biggest yet. This weekend at Rockefeller Center he will do a live spraypaint demonstration and Da Race creation as part of Ferrari’s 70th anniversary celebration.

“I’ve always loved the Ferrari California, so this will be hugely exciting,” he says, with anticipation palpable in his voice. “This whole project just goes to show how you never know what will happen once a piece of art is out there.”

Still, Schorr’s moment of arrival—at least by his own yardstick—happened when the Detroit Institute of Art added one of his ice cream truck paintings into its permanent collection. “Being on the wall of a museum feels like the pinnacle of making it as an artist,” he says. “I can’t believe they put me down the hall from Picasso, and right next to Frank Stella.”

Da Race grew from its roots in New York to the streets of Detroit as well as Hong Kong, and even a remote barn in Burlington, Vermont.  Schorr says he’s not sure where it all will end. “I always want to make it bigger and better, and I’ll be there when opportunity presents.”

Keep up with Mitchell Schorr on Instagram, or on his website, http://www.mitchellschorr.info/

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When the Petersen Automotive Museum closed in 2014 for a complete makeover, patrons and the public had trouble conceiving what lay ahead. Since first opening in 1994, the Petersen had offered hokey displays of cars in quaint naturalistic backdrops. You went once, enjoyed it and checked the soles of your shoes for manure on the way out.

The museum reopened in December 2015, but it’s the “The Art of Bugatti,” the new exhibit on display through Fall 2017, that exemplifies what the Petersen’s promoters meant when intimating a higher concept that would help the museum step toward greatness. Rather than a random sampling of automotive prizes and curiosities, which is how most car museums approach their business, the new Petersen would present cars as art and deliver the patron to the point of profundity, as any great museum will do.

As it turns out, Bugatti is the perfect linchpin for the undertaking. “This is the most significant Bugatti exhibition ever mounted,” said Stefan Brungs, the Bugatti Automobiles board member who came from Molsheim for the opening and brought along a new Bugatti Chiron, to stay a few weeks. Nearly all of the classic Bugatti cars and art collectibles displayed are from the collection of the Petersen’s chairman Peter Mullin, who first became enamored of French automotive design when he went out exploring after a Paris business meeting was canceled.

His acquiring so many great cars in the decades since is one thing, but what about these other treasures?

“It’s kind of a passion, and I have a bias toward action,” Mullin said in an interview during the opening. “If something comes into my head, I say to myself not ‘Should I do it?’ I say to myself, ‘Why shouldn’t I do it?’ If I have the discipline and the focus and the capacity, then I love to achieve these visions and see if I can’t add them to the collection and then show them to the public, which is really what I’m about here.”

What Mullin helps us to understand about Bugatti is the extent of artistry and artisanship within the family. For starters, the program describes the family’s patriarch, Carlo Bugatti, as “an audacious and widely admired decorative artist.”

Born in 1856, Carlo painted, created jewelry and invented musical instruments. Receiving special emphasis are his unique and sometimes impossibly intricate furniture pieces. A desk created in 1902 – the year of his triumphant “Snail-room” collection in the International Exhibition of Modern Decorative Art, held at Turin—blends Moorish (“Mauresque”) touches with Art Nouveau forms and meticulous surfacing of the type we would later see on son Ettore’s cars.

If “The Art of Bugatti” is to be faulted for anything, it’s for not even more boldly underscoring such connections. For instance, the extent of Carlo’s renown and self-regard isn’t clear. As we learn elsewhere, when the Queen of Italy congratulated him on his mastery of the Mauresque style, he imperiously responded, “You are mistaken, majesty, this style is mine.” Nor is it apparent that Carlo’s quest to identify the “ideal shape” found eventual expression in Ettore’s radiator grilles.

With a father as gifted and accomplished as Carlo, it comes as no surprise his sons were prodigies. The exhibit offers plenty of four-wheel Bugattis, starting with the beautiful simplicity of the 1925 Type 35C Grand Prix. Here, we are helpfully reminded that the “all-in-one wheel rims, spokes and brake drums were cast as a single piece of aluminum that could be replaced with only one nut.”

As dogged as Mullin has been in building his collection, not even he could land a 1932 Type 41 Royale, of which only seven were built and six survive. Lucky for us, Bugatti Automobiles has lent its own example to the exhibit. The behemoth starts with a mascot depicting a trumpeting elephant on hind legs, a sculpture created years earlier by Ettore’s younger brother, Rembrandt. After 12.7 liters of straight-eight engine and 21 feet of Coupé de Ville bodywork, it’s very clear this is no mere Rolls-Royce.

Between the lithe racing car and grandiose limousine, there is pretty much every other important Bugatti you can name, including a breathtaking Type 57SC Atlantic.

A selection of Rembrandt Bugatti’s bronzes help to round out the exhibit. As a preeminent animalier, Rembrandt devoted himself to capturing in bronze the grace and power of animals. The Art Nouveau collector S. Joel Schur might have had more of Rembrandt’s pieces, but here we still enjoy a generous sampling—and their beauty is attended by the tragic story of the sculptor’s suicide after his beloved zoo animals had to be put to death during World War One.

The plethora of Bugattis united for this exhibit is elevating enough on its own, and as the major contributor, Mullin deserves all accolades. As he said, though, “I have no interest in storing away stuff in a dark corner and bringing down a couple of friends by candlelight to look at it.”

But “The Art of Bugatti” also serves to endorse the broader vision behind the museum’s makeover and the new mission of presenting cars as art. Of course, a large salon full of Bugattis – whether they’re rendered in aluminum, walnut, or bronze – is a good way to start.

The post The Petersen’s Bugatti exhibit shows a family of artists and their creations appeared first on Hagerty Media.

For cute, we get Shirley Temple. Music, Sarah Vaughn. Outer space? The U.S. Postal Service has that covered too, with 2016 stamps that feature both actual planets and fictional space explorers (Star Trek).

For those of us who love everything on four wheels, however, anticipation continues to build for the release of four stamps that feature fantastic illustrations of iconic American pickup trucks. The USPS website is mum about when the stamps will be available. And if the friendly folks at our local post office know the release date, they certainly aren’t saying. At least the American Philatelic Society was able to offer a guess: “Summer?”

If you haven’t seen promotional photos of the truck stamps (generally posted not far from images of the FBI’s Most Wanted), we’re all-too happy to fill you in.

Chosen by the USPS to celebrate “the rugged and reliable work vehicles that Americans have driven for nearly a century” are:

• A red 1938 International Harvester D-2 with its “distinctive barrel-shaped grille and elegant styling.”
• A light yellow 1953 Chevrolet featuring “large windshields (that) provided drivers with excellent visibility, a distinctive curvy grille that bulged in the middle, and a six-cylinder engine.”
• A green 1948 Ford F-1 with “a roomy ‘Million Dollar Cab,’ sharp horizontal five-bar grille and six cylinder engine.”
• A powder blue 1965 Ford F-100 with “a new grille that featured 18 small rectangular openings. It also featured what Ford dubbed ‘Twin-I-Beam’ independent front suspension.”

The utilitarian pickups were illustrated by Chris Lyons, whose work has appeared in a number of publications, including Road & Track magazine.

The 47-cent “Forever” stamps will be sold as a double-sided pane of 20.

The USPS also offered auto-related stamps in 2013 (American Muscle Cars) and 2014 (Hot Rods).

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As a child, Shasta Smith was a bright little lady who loved Tonka Trucks and Hot Wheels, and she longed for the day when she could finally have the real deal. Her family wasn’t much into motorcycles or cars; she became interested on her own. And since she was legally able, she has driven, worked on and owned race cars, race bikes, muscle cars and, of course, vintage motorcycles.

Along with her early love for motorcycles, Smith has also always had a fondness for anything vintage. “I vividly remember the first time I saw a motorcycle. It was an early-‘70s BMW that had been restored with gloss black paint, white checkers and a café seat,” Shasta said, “To this day I still think about how much I wanted that bike.” Now she has a garage full of vintage bikes that she has restored, and a few that are in various stages of restoration.

“I will say I love all bikes and see potential in every one, however, European and Japanese bikes hold a special place in my heart.” Smith’s favorite is her 1972 Honda CB175 café racer, the first motorcycle she customized for herself. It’s a small, sleek little rocket, and it steals all the attention at shows. “I’m a spitfire, and it’s a spitfire,” she exclaimed, “I’ve never owned a bike that has gotten more attention.” But her ultimate motorcycle would be an authentic vintage race-winning bike, preferably a Norton or a Triumph. “All I want to do is knock a little dust off of it and park it in my living room,” she said.

A few years after her son was born, Smith and her family witnessed a traumatic scene that resulted in a motorcyclist’s death. They had pulled over to help, but by the time the ambulance arrived it was too late. “My dad hugged me tight and begged me not to ride a motorcycle ever again,” Smith said, “Seeing a death before your eyes is not easily forgotten. It left a large scar on my heart, and to honor my dad’s wish, I stopped riding.”

Smith’s greatest influence is her father, and she lives following his example. “He is the hardest working person I have ever met,” she said “He pulls up his boot straps, works his ass off and still manages to fit in the occasional joke.”

About a year after the tragedy, Smith suffered a spinal injury unrelated to riding. “The doctors told me that riding a motorcycle would cause irreversible damage,” she said, “and going through that kind of pain after everything that had happened, I had to do something positive to keep myself sane.” She couldn’t ride, but still yearned to be a motorcyclist, so what could she do except buy an old bike to work on? “It was the only way I could be close to a motorcycle without riding one,” she said, but she soon realized how excruciating it was to sit for any length of time, let alone bend over. Her first project took a year to complete. “At times I wanted to throw my tools at the wall,” she said, “Even moving the bike was frustrating because I couldn’t do it alone.” She still owns that bike today, a beautiful reminder that she can do anything, despite all odds, when she puts her mind to it.

Smith loves sharing the bikes, culture and common interest with others. “I love when people become so interested in my art that they get excited about bikes,” she said, “I also love that I get to communicate with people all over the world about a common interest.”

Her inspiring career has included 17 years working in architecture, design and construction, and now Smith operates her business, Vintage Monkey, full time. The catchy name is also fitting: It comes from her friends constantly calling her a “grease monkey,” and from her passion for vintage bikes. The Vintage Monkey buys vintage motorcycles and respectfully modifies them based on Smith’s designs. She also likes recycling bits and pieces from motorcycles, cars and even tractors from boneyards and junkyards, whether to create a chandelier made from tractor wheels, design a desk lamp made from a crankshaft or even transform an otherwise too-far-gone motorcycle into an eye-catching vanity sink.

The Vintage Monkey is a brand focused on pure enthusiast-built bikes, and they are proud racing sponsors, too. “It’s a way for me to honor my love of speed and all machines on two wheels,” Smith said. Additionally, she designed her own clothing and accessory line to ensure that enthusiasts worldwide can enjoy what Vintage Monkey has to offer. “I do the majority of the work including bike selections, welding, mechanics, buying, hauling and selling,” she said, “It’s a lot of work, but I love every minute of it.”

“In 2010, I was asked by a cable channel to do a custom design for their show, and I wanted to do something that would really get people talking,” Smith recalls. She found an abandoned vintage motorcycle rotting away in a field with no paperwork and a seized engine, then sketched it out and turned it into a breathtaking vanity for a large bathroom. It is now a stunning art piece that is preserved into a unique design, and it was aired on the DIY channel in an episode of “Bath Crashers”.

More than simply building bikes, Smith does it for charity. On June 13, 2015, she auctioned off a stunning 1975 Honda CB550 Super Sport from her shop to raise money for the Sky’s the Limit Fund, an organization that provides support for youths in crises. “I just love giving back,” she beamed, “I’ve been very fortunate to have The Vintage Monkey featured on international TV, and highlighted in publications through out the years,” Smith said.

“In time we will be adding new items to the Vintage Monkey webpage, including expanding our apparel line, and I’m currently working on a full restaurant development for people to gather, eat and drink while enjoying the largest subculture in the world: motorcycles.”

Also look out for the Vintage Monkey 2016 charity bike that will be auctioned in May. Follow Smith’s work on The Vintage Monkey Facebook blog.

***Editors note: This article also published in print through Throttle Gals Magazine.

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When you think of fine art, perhaps names like Vincent van Gogh or Pablo Picasso come to mind, but by expanding fine art’s definition to include advertising, automotive advertising to be more precise, you will discover men such as Art Fitzpatrick and Van Kaufman, who are masters in their own right. They may not be Vincent van Gogh – to our knowledge they had both ears – but their breathtaking illustrations have appeared in nearly every major magazine in the world and have affected many peoples’ lives.

Fitzpatrick began his career designing cars, and at age 20 designed the classy and luxurious 1937-‘42 Darrin Packard four-door convertible and hardtop sedans. Meanwhile, Van Kaufman was a key animator and director for Walt Disney Studios who eventually moved on to New York’s advertising and editorial world. Fitz, as he’s known, who had been working in automotive advertisement since 1945, greatly admired Kaufman’s work and requested a collaborative effort beginning in 1949. The workflow settled on Fitz illustrating the cars, with Van providing the setting and background. This was the beginning of their 24-year business partnership and a 43-year friendship that lasted until Kaufman’s passing in 1995.

Fitz and Van’s most recognizable work was produced for Pontiac ads beginning in 1959 helping Pontiac climb to the number three sales position between 1960-70, right behind Chevrolet and Ford. S.E. “Bunkie” Knudsen, Pontiac’s General Manager when the pair began working for Pontiac, once said, “Your [Fitz and Van’s] efforts played a great part in bringing us to third place in the industry. Without them our job of moving Pontiac up the ladder would have been impossible.”

Both Fitzpatrick and Kaufman were well known artists of their time, but together they produced a striking and beautiful look in their advertisements that moved people. Few of the original illustrations remain, but the ones that do are highly prized by automotive memorabilia collectors today. Many artists can claim success or even fame, but very few become icons, especially in advertising; and while Fitz passed away in November 2015, their work is still a big deal. Accordingly, the only other way to describe their talent is to share some stunning examples.

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Have you ever dreamed about owning your very own 1968 Ford Mustang Shelby GT500KR only to have rising values deter your purchase? The fact is, a red 1968 sold for $110,000 at the 2014 Barrett-Jackson auction in Scottsdale, Ariz., and that particular example may have sold for much more if it were a numbers-matching car.

So perhaps a numbers-matching, one-of-1,053-made GT500KR Fastback is a bit out of reach for most classic car enthusiasts, but put away those wallets; we know how you can get a smaller-scale model for free! All you need is a printer, hobby knife, some glue and this free PDF. Before you know it, your very own GT500KR will be fully assembled and ready for your engine-rumbling noises as you push it across the tabletop for an imaginary night-on-the-town.

Click here for further instructions.

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Individual expressions built from whatever happens to be disintegrating in your backyard, or your dad’s, or your uncle’s…

Hidden in the depths of the collector car hobby is a beast all its own. Built from the ground up from salvaged parts and random trinkets such as old tools, road signs, beer bottles and mailboxes, the possibilities are endless for the car most commonly known as a “rat rod.”

The cars are low, loud, chopped, unpainted and rusty. They sport giant rear tires, lots of carburetors and tall shifters with knobs ranging from keg levers to hand grenades. For better or for worse, they are works of scrap art on wheels, with much time invested and very little money involved. And what they lack in performance, frills and creature comforts, they make up for in personality, originality and spirit. Rat Rod magazine contributor “Porkstick” likes rats because, as he puts it, “I love paint. Great paint is expensive and is ruined every time by a door ding or some jerk who runs a stoplight to wreck it all. I like rats because one doesn’t need to worry about paint being ruined or chipped. Most people clear a path.”

No Mistaking Them

There is a fine but distinct line between rat rods and hot rods. Josh Joyce from Village Customs explains, “Rat rodding isn’t defined by the rust or lack of parts. Rat rods are built from the leftover parts of other projects, pieces of metal that are taken from other common things, and in general they are made from what the builder has access to. If I can go to the scrap yard and find a ton of cheap tractor parts, my rat rod is going to be built of tractor parts.” But just because it’s in primer doesn’t mean it’s a rat. Be careful calling someone’s unfinished hot rod a rat rod — you could get an earful.

If you don’t like to get your hands dirty, then rat rods probably aren’t for you, because these cars are built, not bought. Big money cars do not exist in the rat rod world. Because they are built as cheaply as possible, long garage stays are out. If you are lacking certain skills, however, there are specialty garages that will help you out: Cornfield Customs of Loveland, Ohio; Roadkill Customs of Mesa, Arizona; and Village Customs Rat Rod Shop in Clayton, North Carolina, are all aces.

Frames can be built from the carcasses of cars and trucks, from the 1920s all the way through today’s modern production chassis. Chevrolet S-10 pickup frames are not uncommon, for example. If you are unable to find a car deemed rotted enough to sacrifice its chassis, there are other options: Build it from scratch out of 2×4 square stock steel, or purchase a chassis kit. Many rat rodders use truck cabs for their builds; they are easy to work with and involve less fabrication.

Engines, however, are the gem in a rat rod. They can be anything — again, whatever is cheap and easily accessible. Big-block Chevys, Hemis and Buick nail-heads are common. Many are finished off with a fabricated exhaust, massive intake or perhaps a monstrous blower.

Beginnings

As with everything else in the car hobby, rat rods are always evolving. They started as a revision of hot rodding from the late 1940s and early ’50s. “Modern day” rat rodding began in the late 1980s — back when the hot rod world was dominated by decked-out street rods. Many hobbyists were dumping five or six figures into a car, only to shy away from driving it on the road. Not every average Joe could afford the high-chrome trailer queens. Builders wanted a one-of-a-kind car they could drive, without worrying about a stone chip ruining their world. There was a need for a low-budget alternative to pristine street rods, and rat rods were the perfect rebellion. Some even have a mocking resemblance to their more polished counterparts.

Rat rod culture includes rock’n’roll, distinctive clothing, 1950s hairstyles and tattoos. There is also a growing number of people who don’t necessarily fit the “scene” or dress the part, but simply enjoy the cars for what they are — anti-trailer queens. Rat rods aren’t limited to any particular region, and new events are springing up in support of the cars and the culture. Clubs such as Rat City Rodz in Everett, Washington, hold annual shows. The Rat Rod Rumble at the Knoxville Dragstrip in Tennessee takes place each spring. In 2013, Division Tattoos of Hazel Park, Michigan, arranged the first annual “In Rust We Trust” anti-dream cruise during the well-known Woodward Dream Cruise. And increasingly, rats have begun showing up at more traditional shows like Back to the ’50s in St. Paul, Minnesota. If you hit a show, check out the engineering of these cars and the use of random nuts and bolts, repurposed parts, and old tools fabricated into items such as brackets, suspension pieces and steering components. Personal quirks can be discovered in every corner, and humor is everywhere: rubber rats holding umbrellas, zombie hula girls, and sayings such as “Rust is a color” or “It’s done when it runs.” Cartoon characters produced by the late Ed “Big Daddy” Roth — like the hot rod culture’s unofficial mascot, Rat Fink (aka the anti-Mickey Mouse) — are ubiquitous.

Above all, rat rods are built to be enjoyed and driven. They are a mechanic’s art form that allow each builder to think outside the box. Ben Klienfelter, who built a rat rod from a ’90s Chevrolet S-10, favors his rat rod over his restored muscle car. Parts-finding is a snap, but more importantly, he can enjoy it and be carefree. “It’s nice to be able to drive it and not worry about the mileage or expensive repairs,” he says. “I can park it without worrying about crazy drivers or shopping carts.”

Like other aspects of the classic car world, the rat rod scene isn’t only about the cars — it’s about the people involved. People who are happy to tell you about their builds. And since the majority of cars were built by the owners themselves, there is always a great sense of pride and accomplishment.

Rat rods are a great way to let loose and have fun. Many folks proclaim them a unique art form — call it drivable sculpture — while others thumb their noses. But they wouldn’t be rebel rods if everyone loved them. And this is one rebellion that isn’t going to end anytime soon.

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Illustrator Art Fitzpatrick is undoubtedly best known as the co-creator of full-color Pontiac advertisements as iconic as the cars themselves.

The son of an artist father and grandson of an architect/artist grandfather, Fitzpatrick, or “Fitz,” was born with “designer genes.” But why cars? “I grew up in Detroit,” says Fitz. “What does a guy draw besides cars?”

Fitz’s early interest in the automobile led to his start at age 18 as an apprentice designer for John Tjaarda at Briggs Body Company. At 19, he began working for Howard A. “Dutch” Darrin designing custom-built Packards, and he eventually was hired by Packard to work on the Clipper. His advertising career was launched at the end of a stint in the Navy when Mercury recruited him to create artwork for an upcoming campaign.

With that, he was off. Over the course of an impressive seven-decade career, Fitz created more than 700 automotive ads, including work for Mercury, Nash, Lincoln, Plymouth, Kaiser and Buick.

Along the way, he collaborated with Van Kaufman, a former Disney animator who was especially talented at creating figures and backgrounds. Their 24-year partnership led to what would be a groundbreaking ad campaign for Pontiac.

“We were told that our job was to change Pontiac’s image, which for years had been that of a third-grade school teacher’s car,” says Fitz. “Pontiac was last in GM’s lineup, and we had to make it socially acceptable.”

Pontiac’s revamped 1959 fleet helped ease their burden. That year, Pontiac integrated a new, wider design “to make the car look better, but it was also a good advertising gimmick – the car is

wider so it’s more stable,” says Fitz.

Fitz was particularly taken with the new design’s emphasis of the vehicles’ front ends. “The front end on the ’59 Pontiac was the most important thing Pontiac ever did because it was so different from anything else they’d ever done – totally, off-the-deep-end different,” says Fitz. “It established the identity of the car.” Motor Trend agreed, naming the entire lineup “Car of the Year.”

Fitz and Van decided to capitalize on the brand’s bold new features in their award-winning “Wide Track” ad campaign. Fitz focused on those unique front ends, exaggerating each car’s proportions to achieve maximum impact. “As things went on, I was actually cropping the car to fit the frame,” says Fitz.

Quietly situated in the midst of pounding surf, private jets, towering palm trees or bright city lights, each vehicle creates a focal point that is at once subtle and imposing. “The whole idea,” says Fitz, “was that the car fit into the situation in a natural way.”

Although the car is always the largest thing in the picture, he notes, the people in the scene seem almost oblivious to it. The overall look brought an unprecedented level of style and sophistication to the campaign.

The design process was not without perks. Fitz and Kaufman wandered the world in search of inspiration for the landscapes that served as enticing backdrops to the cars.

As he recalls, “We both traveled and shot photographs looking for scene situations, whether it was hotels, or tennis courts, or yacht clubs.” The two traveled separately, covering more territory that way, and reviewed their photos when they returned. Selecting the best backgrounds, “we would make sketches, me the car and he the background, and put them together,” says Fitz.

“As Van and I used to say, we can’t believe they’re paying us all this money to have so much fun,” says Fitz.

Sophistication. Style. A hint of fun. And, of course, those larger-than-life Pontiacs. Art Fitzpatrick set a new standard for automotive advertising, and in the process created an iconic, exotic world the likes of which the advertising community had never seen before, and is unlikely to see again now that illustrated full-color ads are part of the past.

For more on Art Fitzpatrick and a full library of his Pontiac illustrations, visit http://www.fitz-art.com/.

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Photographer Brewster Moseley has an unusual mission: find and document beauty where most people would see only decay and decrepitude. He has photographed stained glass windows and artistic architectural details in dilapidated 19th century buildings. And, as you can see, he also finds interesting abstract designs in rusting, vintage trucks and automobiles, spending many hours scouring auto salvage yards in Montana and Idaho.

One day, while photographing Victorian brothels in Butte, Montana, Moseley saw and admired an old REO Speed Wagon. He began looking for other rusting vehicles and found several auto junkyards nearby. Shooting the old hood ornaments, abstract designs made by rusting paint and, in some cases, mangled metal, was rewarding. Here were beautiful designs in places few would imagine that beauty could be found. And the opportunity to record and share these designs through publication has become the focus of Moseley’s professional career. See more from Moseley at www.classiccardesign.com.

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A tip of the cap to the U.S. Postal Service — which, let’s face it, doesn’t receive much applause these days — for continuing to promote the history of the automobile. With the recent release of “Muscle Cars,” the third five-stamp collection in its “America on the Move” series, our “snail mail” will at least look fast.

The five iconic cars chosen make sense, and the artwork of Carl T. Herrman is spectacular. However, in addition to the 1966 Pontiac GTO, 1967 Shelby GT-500, 1969 Dodge Charger Daytona, 1970 Chevrolet Chevelle SS and 1970 Plymouth Hemi ‘Cuda, we’d like to propose five cars worthy of a second “Muscle Cars” series (in chronological order):

• 1963 Ford Galaxie 500 Lightweight: Available on the “R” code 427/425, the Lightweight may not have started the muscle car trend – the ’64 GTO is generally considered the game changer – but it was hard to ignore the low-production beast. Considering every pound is precious, steel and iron were replaced with fiberglass and aluminum.
• 1966 Oldsmobile 4-4-2 W30: Not only did Hurst shifters become standard in the 4-4-2, 1966 was the first year for the W30 performance package.
• 1969 Chevrolet Camaro Z28: The Camaro Z28 offered a 302 CID V-8, and while it was rated at 290 hp, testing proved it was closer to 400 hp. In addition, 4-wheel disc brakes were available for the first time.
• 1970 Buick Grand Sport GSX: As an option to the GS 455, the GSX was Buick’s response to the Pontiac GTO Judge and Oldsmobile 4-4-2 W30. Buick proved that you can have performance and luxury with this 350 hp, 510 lb-ft offering.
• 1971 AMC Javelin AMX with “Go Package”: Advertised as the closest thing to a Trans Am champion that you can buy, the Javelin AMX was available with a 401 cubic- inch, 335 hp engine, “Twin-Grip” limited slip differential and power disc brakes.

The actual “Muscle Cars” series was released on Feb. 22 in Daytona, Fla., two days before the 55th running of the Daytona 500. Previously released stamps in the “America on the Move” series were “’50s Sporty Cars (2005),” which featured a ’53 Chevrolet Corvette, ’54 Kaiser Darrin, ’52 Nash-Healey, ’53 Studebaker Starliner and a ’55 Ford Thunderbird; and “’50s Fins and Chrome (2008),” which included a ’57 Chrysler 300C, ’57 Lincoln Premiere, ’57 Pontiac Safari, ’57 Studebaker Golden Hawk and ’59 Cadillac Eldorado.

Click Here to see Hagerty’s latest touching video about a stolen and returned Model A.

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David Snyder isn’t just an artist, he’s a storyteller. And his stories include some awfully colorful language (that’s a compliment).

From “(GM) Motorama 1953” to his latest completed project, “Feeding the Herd,” Snyder paints a detailed and entertaining picture — pun intended — of car life in the 1950s, ’60s and ’70s.

“For me, it’s not just about the cars but the entire car scene,” Snyder said. “It’s the gas stations, the auto-show sets, the people. It’s a snapshot of the day, as opposed to cars sitting in a field somewhere.”

From automobiles to railroads to aviation, Snyder has always had an interest in transportation, and from an early age his creations reflected that.

“I can remember sitting on the floor at 6 years old, drawing pictures of cars,” said the Cincinnati native. “I spent a lot of time drawing instead of studying. I always wanted to be an artist.”

Snyder followed his dream, eventually studying graphic design and working 22 years as an advertising artist and art director. He also did freelance illustration work on the side, and when a client asked him to begin illustrating automobiles in the early 1990s, the seed was planted for DavidSnyderCarArt.com. A few years later, it became a reality.

“And I’ve never looked back,” he said.

Deciding which cars and scenes are featured in his paintings is “more market driven than anything else,” Snyder said. And more often than not they include American muscle cars from the 1950s, ’60s and ’70s, which is just fine with him.

“Those were the hot cars when I was in high school, so I enjoy painting those,” Snyder said. “But I also enjoy everything else that goes into it, like the signage, the architecture of the service stations and what’s going on in the scene — people in conversation, kids on their bicycles, a mechanic working in the garage. I want people to look at it and hear the ‘ding-ding’ when a car pulls in for gas.”

Integrating those kinds of details takes time. A lot of it. That’s why Snyder only generates six paintings a year.

“I want everything in the scene to be as accurate and true to life as the cars,” Snyder said. “So I do a lot of research. I have old photos and books; my library grows almost every day. I put 300 to 450 hours into every painting.”

Of the 100 or more automobile-focused paintings that Snyder has created, his favorite is still his first: “Motorama 1953,” which features a full line of colorful GM cars from that model year. Of course, it tells a story, appearing to take place before the auto show doors have been opened to the public. A television reporter and cameraman have the floor practically to themselves as they prepare for a broadcast.

“That one has a lot of cars and is very involved,” Snyder said. “Those are the most exciting to create.”

Snyder’s “stories” certainly seem to strike a chord.

“I’ll be at a show and someone will walk by and see a print, and they’ll start telling me their memories,” Snyder said. “It’s great to hear their stories and suggestions for other paintings. I’m happy that people like what I do.”

To see more of Snyder’s artwork, visit www.davidsnydercarart.com.

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Orient’s Professional Diver Automatic Watch 2ER00001B

Suggested Retail Price: $180.00

Movement: 21 Jewel Orient Japan

Size: 39mm diameter

The Orient Professional Diver Automatic watch might just be the perfect watch for Goldilocks. It’s neither too large and clunky nor too small and “frou frou.” At 39mm, Goldilocks might have decided that it’s “just right.”

Some buyers might like it for its more-than-coincidental similarity to the legendary Rolex Submariner, with its black face and dots and bars indicating the hours. However, others are likely to eschew it for the same reason – there is simply too much similarity to the famous Swiss watch. Still, the fact remains is that it is a good looking watch with traditional diver styling.

The case, band and back/bezel are all of stainless steel. While the case sides and back are highly polished, the top of the case and strap have a brushed finish. The bezel, which is clearly marked, turns in a counter clockwise direction and has a positive feel. Orient’s Diver watch is topped by a mineral crystal with an external magnifier to make the date easy to read. The bracelet style band features a safety catch which stays fully secured and looks as if it would stay latched through virtually anything.

Orient bills it as a true diver’s watch and it is rated as water-resistant to 100 meters (328 feet), thanks to such features as a screw-down crown and a screw-down stainless steel case back. And the bezel can be securely set so that the diver knows exactly when it’s time to head for the surface – it is a very good watch for the casual diver.

Along with the watch comes an instruction book that is so thick it’s almost frightening. As it turns out, the bulk is due to the inclusion of instructions in English, German, French, Italian, Spanish, Russian and Arabic. Even without the benefit of the booklet, the Orient is a straightforward watch to set, and that’s all the crown does. This is a self-winding watch only. Turning the crown will not build up the watch’s reserve. If it stops, you need to shake it for a few seconds to start it. When it comes to setting the watch, the first step is to turn the “screw-down” crown counter-clockwise. Then comes the opportunity to pull the crown out to the first detent to set the date. Another pull and you’re ready to set the time. If it’s after noon and you’ve just set the date, you’ll need to adjust the time by 12 hours so that the date changes appropriately. Hold the crown out and the second hand can be set to ensure total accuracy. This feature was particularly useful for setting and then checking the Orient against the atomic clock at www.time.gov. During a 24-hour period, the Orient remained within a second of the official time. With the date and time set, the crown needs to be pushed in fully and then turned clockwise until it seats fully – otherwise the watch will not be water resistant. On occasion the crown would stop turning before it was fully home. In those instances, backing it up slightly and trying again invariably succeeded.

Overall, the Orient 2ER00001B is a good looking watch that was comfortable to wear. It was easy to set and kept extremely good time. The most amazing part is that it costs only $180.00. No one is going to mistake it for a Rolex or a vastly more expensive Swiss or German watch, but then again, very few people will mistake it for a watch that costs less than $200.00. For more information about this and other Orient watches, go to: www.orientwatchusa.com.

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BMW has a well-deserved reputation as a builder of thrilling, dynamic sport sedans. Beginning with the 2002 of the 1960s and 1970s, and continuing through today’s 3-, 5-, and 7-Series cars, the Bavarian hard tops have few peers when it comes to sophisticated sports-car handling in a family-car package.

Furthering that sporting reputation are the cars that wear the famous “M” badge. Indeed, there is perhaps no single letter more regarded in the performance car world than BMW’s M. But before it appeared on cars like the M3 and M5, it lent itself to the M1.

The M1 (designated E26 internally) was BMW’s first and only mid-engined car. It was initially conceived to compete in Group 4 and Group 5 racing, which stipulated at least 400 cars be produced to homologate it for the purpose. The car was designed by Giorgetto Giugiaro and originally slated for production through a partnership with Lamborghini, though the deal fell through. Instead, the tubular chassis was built by Marchesi, Trasformazione Italiana Resina handled the fiberglass body, and final assembly was completed at the German convertible manufacturer Baur.

Production delays plagued the M1, beginning with Lamborghini and snowballing from there, which effectively ended any chance of having the cars ready to compete in Group 5. Instead, BMW created a one-make support series for the Formula One calendar called Procar, which would pair race-prepped M1s with retired F1 pilots. The series is but a footnote in the history of motorsport.

But what of the car itself? With just 455 produced from 1978 to 1981 (399 road cars, 56 race cars), the M1 remains one of the rarest BMWs ever built. It looks like no other BMW before or since, with the twin kidney bean grille its most distinctive BMW feature. Otherwise, the car’s wedge lines were clean and simple, a departure from so many other mid-engined supercars of the era.

Power came from a mid-mounted, longitudinally aligned, 24-valve 3.5-liter inline-6 with Kugelfischer mechanical fuel injection. Power was delivered to the rear wheels through a 5-speed ZF gearbox. In street trim it was good for 277 hp and 243 ft-lb of torque, enough power to get the 3,200-lb car to 62 mph in 5.6 seconds on its way to a 162 mph top speed. This is the engine that would go on to power the first-generation M5 sedan.

In Procar guise (which shared most specs with Group 4), the M1 delivered 470 hp, while cars built to Group 5 specs utilized a smaller turbocharged 3.2-liter engine capable of 850 hp.

Suspension was independent all around, through coil springs and twin A-arms, while servo-assisted ventilated disc brakes with Bosch ABS took care of stopping needs. Overall, handling is quite neutral, with excellent grip from the 16-inch Pirelli P7 tires.

Road cars lacked nothing in creature comforts. Interiors were standard black and grey, with Recaro sport seats, air conditioning, power windows and mirrors, a three-spoke M steering wheel, and a heated rear window. Fit and finish throughout the car were in keeping with typical Teutonic attention to detail.

Yet another footnote in the M1 story is the “art car” created by pop artist Andy Warhol, whose Group 4 racer finished sixth overall at the 1979 24 Hours of Le Mans.

Though the M1 proved a short-lived experiment, the stir and commotion it caused in period have immortalized it in the eyes of collectors, and today it remains a viable and alluring alternative to many of the red contemporaries that came out of Italy during the same era.

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Once almost a dead art, pinstriping continues to leave its distinctive mark on vehicles today.

Artistic, intrinsic, individualistic and utterly cool, pinstriping – also known as “line art” – has been in vogue for centuries.

Horse-drawn carriages were often adorned with simple, decorative painted lines. The accenting easily transitioned to horseless carriages. Although automakers ceased factory-applied striping before WWII, new car dealers found that personalized, hand-painted line art, crests and initials remained a popular after-sale moneymaker. Many dealerships still offer this service.

Historians believe auto racers adapted “nose art” and flames from decorative designs on combat aircraft, a trend that accelerated in the years following the war and coincided with the meteoric rise of hot rodding and customizing.

Herb Martinez, author of the best-seller Guide to Pinstriping, says, “… just as hot rod culture evolved as an antidote to the conformity of the ’50s, pinstriping became one of the cornerstones of Kustom Kulture, really the visual expression of alienation and rebellion.”

Iconoclasts like the irrepressible Kenneth Francis Howard, better known as Von Dutch, along with Ed “Big Daddy” Roth, Tommy “The Greek” Hrones and Dean Jeffries, pioneered the pinstriper’s art. Countless imitators have followed.

Von Dutch, a tortured, talented soul whose boundless – if not a bit weird – take on creativity initially manifested itself in striping, initiated and inspired the craze. Although it originated in Southern California, pinstriping spread like wildfire across the country and around the world thanks to exposure in magazines like Hot Rod and Rod & Custom. Von Dutch once said that pinstriping originated because “we were just trying to cover up the grinder marks after a car was dechromed.” Perhaps that’s true, but striping quickly took on a life and breadth of its own.

There were never any defined pinstriping rules. The striper’s challenge is to paint each side of a design as close to a mirror image as possible. With intense concentration, the best stripers can create a seemingly unbroken, perfect line with an eerily consistent width.

Pinstriping kits, brushes and paints sold via mail order were popularly purchased, but most neophytes found they didn’t have the keen eye, the rock-steady hand or the creative bent to be a true “line doctor.” So they sought out the best professional they could afford, and usually left the design up to the artist of choice. Curiously, Von Dutch, a habitual smoker and heavy drinker, was reportedly at his best late at night when he was at least mildly inebriated.

Over half a century ago, when Dutch first plied his trade on hot rods, custom cars, motorcycles and everything from guitar cases and helmets, the first thing many guys did was have their completed car striped, or “Dutched,” as the expression went.

With a resurgence of interest in the ’50s as the definitive custom car period, pinstriping has returned with a vengeance – as if it ever went completely away. There are stripers at every major car gathering, intently applying their lines, seemingly unaware of admiring crowds that gather to comment, speculate and critique their work.

Dean Jeffries is the only one of the four major pioneers left alive. He no longer stripes, but a mob of talented newcomers, like Alan Johnson, “Dirty” Donnie Gillies, Herb Martinez, Steve Kafka, Skratch, Tom “Itchy” Otis, Jimmy C and many others have literally taken up the brush.

Kafka, a Phoenix-based striper, has traveled with the Pinstriping Legends Tour. One of five artists who decorated Ed Roth’s coffin, Kafka is not a fan of pin lines (long horizontal lines down the side of a car). He prefers more intricate designs and flames.

“Pinstriping isn’t just for the hot rod, custom car and motorcycle communities,” Kafka says. “I do pickups, PT Cruisers, Hummer s, whatever customers want.” Kafka has worked at shows all over the country. His videos and starter kits have encouraged many young, would-be stripers.

Eastwood (eastwoodco.com) offers many of Kafka’s essential products, including his Pinstriping Accessory Kit, Detail Brush Set and “Welcome to my World” instructional DVD, among other things. The site also offers several products from Beugler, plus stencils and color match cards.

Rather leave it to the professionals? Go to pinstriper.com or attend a nearby hot rod car show. Choosing a striper is like selecting a tattoo artist. You’ll want to see what he or she has done and talk to his or her clients. Good stripers will try to understand what you’d like, but most prefer to create what they think is right. Once you’ve bought your stripes, clearcoats aren’t necessary. Keep the lines well protected and looking fresh with a high-quality wax.

“I’ve been involved in just about every art form,” Kafka says, “and pinstriping is the most gratifying. Unlike an art gallery, with pinstriping you get to meet the clients, you get an expensive canvas to work on, you experience the clients’ gratitude; they shower you with $100 bills, and then they become your agents. Plus a gallery takes half your money.”

Even Von Dutch would probably agree.
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To see this article in its original format, view the pdf version of the Fall 2007 issue of Hagerty magazine.

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The Collectors Foundation recently honored the 75th anniversary of the iconic 1932 Ford, known as the “Deuce,” in modified coupe or roadster form, by offering a $5000 scholarship to the ArtCenterCollege of Design student who could best interpret what a 1932 Ford Roadster would look like in 2007.

The scholarship, funded by Hagerty Insurance and Ford Motor Company, was awarded to Gabriel Wartofsky. Gabriel was chosen by attendees of the ArtCenter Car Classic on July 15, for his Vegas-meets-Detroit design.

A fifth (of eight) term ArtCenter student, Gabriel Wartofsky, was born in Washington , DC , to a dancer mom and a painter dad who lived a simple life. “We had no TV and no car and we ate dinner by candlelight,” he said. “It taught me to value imagination.” His parents, who are avid antique collectors, also instilled a sense of appreciation for history in their son. “I learned to respect the past and the craft behind antiques,” he said.

But how does a boy raised to believe cars are unnecessary accoutrements of modern life achieve a love affair with all things automotive? “Cars just resonated with me. My brother and I would check out all the cars in our neighborhood. I just had a fixation with them.”

Due in part to his family’s lack of a television, but mostly because of his insatiable interest in automobiles, Gabriel read any collector car magazine he could find. It was in 1989 – in one of those magazines – that he first learned of ArtCenter ’s transportation design program. “It was a story about ArtCenter students in Europe and I thought ‘I need to go there.’ I always knew I needed to come here.”

He called the school for information, but it would be years before he finally realized his dream of becoming a student. After high school he headed to GeorgetownUniversity where he studied Spanish and Portuguese, followed by stints in Spain , Brazil , and Boston .

It was during Gabriel’s year in Boston that he became acquainted with the hot rod culture. “There was this clan of hot rodders that would hang out in my neighborhood. Seeing them was like looking into a time capsule. Those things were their babies. The amount of care and attention they lavished on their rods made them seem more like their pets than their cars.”

After Boston , Gabriel finally headed to Southern California, and to ArtCenter , where he said his earlier education served him well. “I’ve always been intrigued by languages and design is a language.” While all cars tell a story, hot rods have a uniquely “human touch” according to Gabriel. “It’s a symbol of American culture that you can make your own car. Hot rods are the purest expression of the true American automotive soul, representing individuality, ingenuity, and a relentless love for mobility.”

Gabriel was drawn to the design contest by the simple beauty of the ’32 Ford Roadster and the opportunity to put a modern spin on its timeless grace. Always intrigued by polar opposites, he designed his rod with two American cities in mind: Vegas and Detroit .

“ Detroit is gritty, industrial, blue-collar. Vegas is glitz, glamour and camp,” he said. “I wanted to combine the glitz of Vegas with the industrial brute of Detroit .” He achieved that by channeling Vegas in the car’s body, with holographic flames and tinted, transparent buttresses, while the big block V-8 is all Detroit , as are the exposed frame rails. “It’s the beauty of a showgirl, combined with the might of a factory worker.”

According to Gabriel, winning the Collectors Foundation scholarship has been a great experience. “It’s been really affirming,” he said. After he graduates from ArtCenter , he hopes to use his education and his art to create environmentally-friendly vehicles that are luxurious at the same time. “Wastefulness is a sign of status. I want to change the paradigm of luxury. I want to make what I love responsible.”

A portion of every Hagerty Plus membership goes to support the Collectors Foundation, where it helps to fund scholarships like Gabriel’s and other programs that promote the future of the collector vehicle and boat hobbies. For more information on the Collectors Foundation, click here.

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