America’s love affair with the automobile is legendary. Its elevation to an art form was validated when the Museum of Modern Art included a 1946 Cisitalia, a 1990 Ferrari F1 and most recently a dark blue Jaguar E-type Roadster in its permanent collection.
Design luminaries such as Harley Earl, Virgil Exner, Pininfarina and Raymond Lowey created art that needed no frame. Every line, curve and angle was designed with one purpose: seduction.
One look at Earl’s ’54 Buick Skylark or Lowey’s ’53 Studebaker Commander, and in the blink of an eye one knew these weren’t just pieces of steel designed to deliver you from point A to point B. Cupid had indeed found his mark. Grown men fantasized about looting their kids’ college fund or even canceling the family vacation at the mere thought at cruising down Main Street with the top down.
This visual seduction didn’t just happen overnight. In fact, it was well planned. This was a time when automotive designers spent months designing door handles, hood ornaments, taillights, hubcaps and even rear view mirrors.
Each part was created to attract the eye and work in concert to enhance the overall look of the automobile.
Design elements were also indigenous to certain chariots of desire. Buicks were known for portholes on their front fenders. Four portholes being reserved for their top-of-the-line Roadmaster model.
In the Eisenhower era, design not only sold cars, it helped define one’s identity and social standing. If you drove a Buick, you were doing better than a Pontiac man, but not as well as a Cadillac man. Design also inspired fierce brand loyalties. A Ford man wouldn’t be caught dead in a Plymouth, and vice versa.
Detroit’s decline began when car guys like Lee Iacocca and John DeLorean were no longer at the wheel. Replaced by bean counters and bottom-line fanatics, design became homogenized. Cars lost their identities and cupholders became high on the list of reasons to buy a vehicle.
Today, most cars look the same. Save for Lexus, with their hideous cow-catcher grills, or Honda, with their angry alligator front ends. And let’s not forget about certain Toyotas that look like they’re on steroids and have spent too many hours at the gym.
Apart from the cars they were created for, I found the afore mentioned door handles, hood ornaments, taillights, etc., to be a fascinating, undiscovered art form.
Placed on a wall or simply photographed against a white background, they have a dramatic, visual personality all their own. To that end, I humbly present A Part, Apart.
