Art & Cars

On the grounds of the Kansas City Art Institute one rolling classic work of art after another found its spot.  Each place was reserved for a particular car with space enough to see the sun and shadows dance in the gleaming shine of the lacquer paint on the panels, fenders and chrome accents that made each machine unique.  The entry parade is like the circus has arrived and the large trucks disgorge the treasures that had been transported from across the land to this rolling meadow resting between the dorms, studios and classrooms where art is the only mission.

The rumble of an Austin Healy 3000 is as distinctive as James Earl Jones’ voice.  In Love Story, Oliver drove an MG TC whose canvas top remained stowed with no regard for temperature or precipitation.  (Although, as anyone who loves MG’s knows, the top and side curtains did not deter the cold nor the rain from reaching the driver’s body.)  A Jaguar XKE, two Corvettes and a Porsche Speedster almost strutted, begging for a race, as they rumbled to their appointed place.  But then the Cobra quietly parked in a sun-drenched spot on the front row.

Very rare and exotic machines, populated much of this Art of the Car Concours – a charity event to raise funds for scholarships to help budding artists learn their craft.  There was a Rolls Royce Silver Cloud and a Talbot Lago (only nine were reported to have been made with about half of that number known to survive.)  This was the first visit for a Talbot Lago in Kansas City.  An Edsel (a disastrous experiment by the Ford Motor Company named the vehicle after one of the Ford family progeny) and two Avanti (the only production sports car from the venerable Studebaker line) were there and were better as historical art works than fulfilling their original purpose. 

This concours was as much about the people as the cars.   A Sunday walk through the grounds was as if history had been hiding and decided to show itself.  It became the gleaming and bright dots on the canvas of an azure June sky as if it aspired to be a painting by Seurat.  With the mercury rising and low cumulus clouds in sparse supply, there were brightly colored parasols and all manner of ball caps, fishing hats, safari head gear and gleaming bald pates bouncing through the grounds as people strolled, paused, talked and looked at the beauty parked in the temporary gallery amid the grass and trees.

The average age of the exhibitors and the patrons was well above the primary FaceBook demographic.  Perhaps that was because the newest car on exhibit was about 35 years old and the oldest car had already qualified as a centenarian.   There were thousands of photographs snapped capturing the whole car beauty as well as dramatic details.  These machines sat as if they were aware that they caused smiles and wistful memories to give way to intimate talk between couples who had been walking together since their gait was steady and well before their hair abandoned its natural color for gray.  Old guys traded stories about the car they had and the times they had in it.  Some crouched down to look at the engine or the undercarriage where the restorer’s sense of detail is revealed.  Rising after crouching sometimes required a hand and there was always one readily proffered from friend or stranger – no matter.

The crowd was large and animated.  Strangers connected immediately as they stood enrapt by these carefully preserved machines.  The occasional cell phone tweeted but seemed like a science fiction object.  Here, we were engulfed in the advanced technology and futuristic design that defined the early and middle decades of the last century.  Ray Bradbury, who passed away just days ago, spent his life describing his vision of the future.  He might have envisioned some of these cars in his teenage years.  Looking in his rear view mirror, he could have seen them become antiques before his time was done.

I don’t know if this was a car show, an art exhibit or an anthropologist’s walk through recent artifacts of popular culture.  When I left and while driving home I looked at every car on every road wondering which ones, if any, would find an extended life as an artistic expression of our time.  For the most part, the futuristic aspects of our cars are not visible.  The art of the car might become ancient history.  What I hope we don’t lose is the memory of shared experiences triggered by the presence of beauty – beauty that causes strangers to talk, to offer a hand and causes couples to whisper as they walk.

--td