“If life were fair…”

…Johnny Carson once said, “…Elvis would be alive and all the impersonators would be dead.”

It’s a pretty deep thought. It’s a fitting one, too, as originality seems to be a dying art at times. I fell into a creative funk recently, and began to look at a late crop of cars, and thought “wow… another car on a set of aftermarket rims. How progresssive.” (keep in mind that the cars in question were presented as some “Hot, new!” and “ground-breaking!” rides, and a few were flowing from my pen, seemingly keeping the envelope flat and tidy — no pushing allowed!) It appeared, during that spell, that true automotive personalization was dead… That, just maybe, we had gotten to a stagnant point in the hobby where every car had to adhere to some set of rules to be “cool”… it was high school all over again, oh no! And just when I thought it was, along came a brilliantly conceived idea, and I’m honored to take part in the design process. Suffice to say, a client approached me with his genius take on a truck, and it’s lit a fire, so to speak… In fact, that fire spread quickly to a new piece for a magazine, that I knocked out in record time… (not a truck, but an over-looked car that suddenly hit me like a ton of bricks).

The drive was back, and with a fury… My eyes were opened to a whole new set of possibilities… it was like re-discovering cars. I dug through my notebooks and sketchbooks, and began reviewing them with a newfound purpose. I have set out on a journey, the road paved with unique cars, and seemingly endless possibilities.
 
Talk about timing, too… I needed a creative “goose. Going back a ways, it was about a year ago that we took in the “Curves of Steel” exhibition at the Phoenix Art Museum, which, despite its small size, packed an unexpected punch. It was a great time, just taking in some design work from true masters. Classic forms, many mixed with function light years ahead of their time, all leading to one thought in my mind: I love what I do. I create, literally, passion on paper. It’s not a job, it’s creation of passion. It’s taking an idea and running with it. It’s not something you wake up one day and say “I’m going to design custom cars.” It chooses you, and while it makes you work at it endlessly, it gives back a million times over in satisfaction. Add to that a love for design itself, be it print, sculpture, architecture, whatever… I LOVE it.

Simply put:

When I am approached to design a hot rod, custom, pro-touring ride, whatever, I want to bring out every aspect of the car’s potential, and tie it with the owner’s personality, not just create another ho-hum car that wears the right “uniform” for its genre. Granted, certain ideas work well, and have an established following… an early generation Mustang or Chevelle, for example, on 18’s and 19’s and sitting low looks good, it’s a given. However, simply adhering to one look closes so many doors, creatively speaking, that you rob yourself of exploring the car’s full potential. It’s far too easy to just plug in a formula to achieve a certain look… Of course, there are always budget constraints and whatnot, but this is where careful, creative planning in the earliest stages can make any car into a unique, personal statement.
 
Obviously, if you like a style of car, you should go for it… I’d never suggest change for the sake of change. Don’t just plop a heap of “different”" on top of an over-used motif just to stand out… To stretch the metaphor, if a singing impersonator is good, a fire-eating, sword-swallowing, contorsionist skydiving crooner may not always breed better results. Break the formula where you can, and stretch your imagination, but keep good taste in mind. What my funk and subsequent anger about these recent cars boils down to is that I am SICK (all caps… I’m yelling because it pisses me off to see this) of seeing third-rate work and “design” being celebrated, causing, essentially, the public at large to settle for third-rate as being the “state of the art”. Awesome. Let’s just cut our feet off here, and call this the pinnacle of the hobby/industry, and quit now.

I say “no f-ing way”. I know that there are some talented designers and builders out there pushing forward every day, who feel the same as I do about this, and by golly, we’re not drinking the Kool Aid.

All it really boils down to is that if all cars were built using the “formula method”, every car would simply mimic another, and, in effect, be just another Elvis impersonator.

And that’s just not fair to anyone, much less your clients…

Check out my work and design approach at PCK Studios.

You can make out in a bar…

…but not, say, in a department store. (unless, perhaps, you know the other party intimately — or are GETTING to know them that way…)

Anyway, a thought crossed my mind the other night, and I did what I always do when I need some time alone: I shared it with my wife, who promptly shook her head and wandered off.

I got to thinking about bars, and how it’s almost completely acceptable to make out in them… not to mention the correlation of S,B x HF=OK (where SB= “Seediness of Bar”, HF=”Hotness Factor” of persons involved — note multiple, as one person making out gets, well, kinda f**king weird (see “Palm Pilots” below) — and OK=well, Okey-Doky-ness amongst other patrons of said bar.) Consider that the grungier the bar, the more face-sucking potential people have. Of course, I have taken into consideration such variables as LF (or “Lateness Factor”), BG (“Beer Goggle Factor”, which, in most cases, is directly dependent on LF), and of course, DL (or “Desperation Level”), but wanted to keep this simple.

My main concern is that, while accepted in bars (and airplane restrooms), for the most part, you’re limited to places that you can “get busy”, as the kids say, without fear of reprimand, the stink eye, or arrest. I mean, in a bar, you may expect one or two couples (and again, maybe the one loner) leaning against the bar (or rubbing for you loners), and enjoying one another’s company… fillings, piercings, halitosis, whatever. Try that while waiting for your burger at the fast-food place. Reaction is often quite different… (next week we’ll cover “prop usage in PDA situations for fun and profit”, wherein we’ll present the transcription of my recent Ivy League dissertation on “Originality in Public Lovemaking For Fun, Profit, and a Film Career on the Internet”) I’m assuming the family behind you may frown on this, and complain. Place that same family in a bar, and, well, someone’s probably losing a liquor license, but your making out session will gain higher approval.

Observe:
Wander into the local tavern, have a few drinks, play some darts, meet a cutie, and make out a bit. You’re a hero.

Inverse:
Wander into IKEA, and eat a traditional Swedish breakfast, look at some furniture, meet a cutie, and bed her down in a tastefully decorated room right out of post-apocalyptic (future, Blade Runner-style version) Germany, where everyone graduates from the Bahaus and is uber-stylish and cheap. You do not get to read the instructions and assemble furniture… instead, you get to make license plates or pick up roadside trash… It’s opposing ends of the spectrum to be certain.

Granted, there’s more to life (and making out) than IKEA and bars. There are plenty of places that PDA’s (those would be Public Displays of Affection, versus Palm Pilots and what have you… and don’t even get me started –pardon the pun– on “palm” anything with regard to making out… that, my gentle reader, is a whole other topic for another time and place…) would be unacceptable… Come to think of it, even levels of affection have limits, publicly… and for good reason… the above-mentioned mathematical formulas notwithstanding.

In summary, I suppose that’s what growing up is really all about: Knowing what to do and where.

And understanding math.

Lighthouses Suck.

I mean that sincerely. Lighthouses are lame, and if you work in one, you’re a parasite. Consider that all lighthouses are built where? In a fucking harbor. Chances are, that this harbor isn’t exactly uncharted territory. It’s probably been sailed in and out of more times than a Bangkok hooker on “Shore Week”. I’d bet that all ships coming in have tools to tell them “rocks ahead!”… maybe, I dunno… say… a guy on watch? A map? Perhaps a light on the boat? I really can’t imagine a sea-worthy vessel clamoring towards port and the captain saying “Wow, shore. Maybe the coast here is made of marshmallows. Full speed ahead!”

I guess I just don’t get the purpose anymore… I need to learn more about lighthouses. Thus, I’m going to make a reality show based on lighthouses and the people who live and work in them. Excitement galore!

“Tonight on Lighthouse: Fog rolls in… Tempers flare as the bulb goes out, and all that’s left in the supply room are some three-way soft-light units and a blinking Christmas tree light… Meanwhile, the crew is busy shucking clams in preparation for ‘Lighthouse Week’ in Cape Cod. Will they have enough cocktail sauce? Will they sell enough miniature lighthouses to cover Captain Jim’s new wooden leg? Stay tuned…”

“Well, we replaced the bulb with the flashing Christmas tree light, but, it appears it’s flashing something pretty obscene at the neighboring harbor town, and they sent over the garbage barge. We had something similar happen when we temporarily used a black light for a week, and Phish moved in, and played a 27 hour version of the Hokey Pokey. We built the bell tower soon after… mostly as a precaution.”

It’s the equivalent of owning a windmill. “Yeah, we run a wind farm.” What in the fuck do you need to make wind for? “Calm day, son. Crank up the windmills!”…. meanwhile it’s absolute terror in the neighboring trailer park as the gusts start whipping in… Oh, hang on…. Seems that a wind farm actually HARNESSES the wind. That’s some crazy shit. Thankfully, my wife offered up that tasty bit o’info before I said something stupid…. again. Who woulda thought?

Thus, with windmills providing a service, and having purpose other than something for carzy-ass Spaniards to joust, Dutch people a place to live, and a logo for shitty after shave, that makes it official:

Lighthouses are the lamest thing on Earth, officially surpassing those stupid little dogs that women carry around in purses.

But not by much.

Bored Housewife Typhoon…

Yep. Sounds like a pretty cool name for an Enya cover band, but it is, in fact, a name I had coined some time back to describe a certain style of interior, ummm…. “decor”.

You’ve seen it, I know you have.

You get invited to someone’s home, and, from the exterior, anyway, it looks nice enough. Normal landscaping, up-kept, nice. Then you enter, and holy shit, Batman…. it’s like a flea market collided with the Roy Rogers traveling museum display inside of a Cracker Barrel as a QVC marathon lumbered on during “Craft Show Week” at the county fair. There’s shit everywhere. I mean fucking EVERYWHERE. It’s as if they took hostage the interior decorators of Chili’s, fed them meth and crack for week, and handed them a box of nails and a Michael’s gift card.

You’re overwhelmed…. your senses crash from the input. The smells of potpourri and candles collide with Glade Fart-Be-Gone misters… your eyes attempt to take in eleven thousand needlepoint crafts… the paint-by numbers canvas boards framed with twigs and shit that most landscapers throw out… Plates depicting some war between a French dude holding a beaver pelt, a pirate, and some guy that’s either manning an Indian trading post or opening Vietnamese pizza parlor… meanwhile, you gaze in awe at the creative genius that brings someone to use a quilt as drapes, just before the cuckoo clock chimes in with some bluegrass standard. (Speaking of bluegrass, I have a theory that in another, parallel universe, there never was any funk music, and thus, all porn has a bluegrass soundtrack…anyway….) Yet, above the mish-mash of utter shit that is bombarding your senses, you marvel at how many kinds of plastic fruit one soul can purchase without a license. Apples, pears, grapes, melons, scale figurines of Richard Simmons…. all there, like some Twilight Zone-esque world of torture from the lost episode “The Man Who Loved Fruit”…. it tempts… yet, you can’t partake. Fuck.

What drives anyone to make their house look like this?

Boredom. Insanity, perhaps… but I’m leaning more towards boredom. My theory used to be that if you leave anyone alone for too long, and subject them to a life of cleaning products, daytime TV, and modern conveniences, they begin to crack, and yearn for a simpler time. Yet, if this were true, you’d have homes decorated like the set of Gilligan’s Island, or maybe a cave. Thus, I blame Michael Landon. I blame him for that damn “Little House” show, which, when viewed by girls at the right age, plants the seed of “Country Home Decor”. Fortunately, I am not tortured by this illness in my home. I am an artist, and thus too poor to afford decoration. But if you are so plagued, I offer a cure:

First, you must gather all of the crap hanging in the home, and make a pile in the covered wagon that decorates your back yard. Set it on fire, only saving the Trigger and friends commemorative plate and a pie-shaped splinter from your barn door cabinets, and return to your kitchen. There, use elbow macaroni to fashion a crude ouija board on the plate, using the splinter as a pointer, and summon Landon, asking him to release the hold he has placed on your wife, and to say hi to Elvis for me.

Then break the plate, and bury it under a copy of Architectural Digest…

Good design…

…can often be elusive.

The mid-20th century saw a building boom in the U.S., and it marked a very interesting period in this country, not just because of a strong economy and a very real longing to chase the “American Dream”… It also marked an era wrought with creativity and unique design sensibility. Consider the architectural and design styles popular at the time, and you’ll have a clear understanding of the term “design freedom”.

If you study architecture from the 1950’s and ’60’s, you get the sense that there was a distinct European influence on on all things architectural, relying on simple lines and sharp contrasts to make a statement. Granted, there was an underlying theme in a lot of it, but there was also a freedom about it, and it created some great, if not lasting impressions. Consider that today there’s a great interest in the design of that era, with collectors seeking furnishings and decorative items, and homeowners restoring the houses and other buildings of the era. (magazines like the incredible Atomic Ranch document this movement… check it out and be amazed!) It’s proof that a creative style is worth saving and learning from.

Here in the Arizona Valley, we’re experiencing a building boom, as well, but one very far removed form the one mentioned above. Rather than cool styles and design ideas, we’re being over-run with stucco mini malls and McMansions, none of which I can see any value in restoring, say fifty years down the road… Bland, off-the-shelf type boredom, cluttering the view of anyone stuck in traffic.
What’s this got to do with cars? As usual, just about everything…

Consider the recent America’s Most Beautiful Roadster (AMBR) winner… A well-finished car, certainly. The fit, paint, and detailing were superb, no doubt. But, in the end, it’s a car with trendy big wheels, an uninspired interior treatment, and it looks, sadly, like some off-the-shelf, pre-fabbed roadster body, something like you might see 1,000 of at the next NSRA meet. I am not picking on this car, nor am I following the crowd that has seemingly banded together en-masse to spread their hate for it. Enough has already been posted by people doing this, and, besides, that’s not my thing, nor my overall opinion. It just fell into the “trendy” mode, and missed the mark, in my opinion, of what a true AMBR car should be. It has TREMENDOUS skill involved in the construction, finish, and detailing. It just fell a bit flat in a few key areas (from my vantage point), and that hurt the car. It’s like that new mini mall you pass on the way to work: Yeah, it’s shiny and new, and is packed with new, shiny stuff…. but it’s still a mini mall, and it looks remarkably similar to every other one you just drove past. A little more creativity in the wheel/tire combo and that interior, and this car would have crept silently into my recent favorites, no exceptions.

As I said earlier, what I’m getting at here isn’t to knock the car… it was well done for what it is… but in 50 years will anyone want to restore it to it’s AMBR-winning “glory”? Probably not. Why? I think that maybe it’s the trendy factor. It’s a dated car, and when the giant wheel phase is over, it’ll be a back-dated car. Consider the height of Pro-Street back in the late-’80’s/early ’90’s. There were some killer cars, no doubt. Hell, even the most over-done, Dobberton’s J-2000 is still a stand-out, namely because it was SO overdone. Worth saving? Yes. It illustrates an extreme in the genre, and is a great piece to serve in that respect. But would you save every neon and pastel-colored, huge hoodscoop-wearing monstrosity from the era? No, probably not. There were so many variations of the same thing, that saving them all would be redundant. It takes a certain “something” to make a car a stand-out. Would this be a car to modify slightly and run again? Hell yes.

At the Grand National Roaster Show, there was, on display, the A La Kart. A purpose-built (“to win shows”) car, that had won the AMBR 50 years ago. It was there, restored, for all to enjoy. Rightly so, the car still impresses. It was built in a manner consistent with its original era, certainly, but pushed the envelope in all the right directions. Would I consider it the pinnacle of great hot rod design? Not especially… it works well, in my opinion, anyway, as a novelty, an illustration of a bygone era, and marks a point in hot rodding history worth studying. Does this year’s winner rank that? Again, in my opinion, no. We have a few years of billet-wheeled, mega-buck budget cars to choose from already that more than illustrate the era, and that do it using better, more cohesive design. Were there other cars from the A La Kart’s era that have been forgotten (and probably for good reason)? Yes there have. We, as humans, always enjoy the first unique thing, and grow to hate the followers after some time, it’s natural… And also the part that saddens me most about this year’s AMBR winner: It cut off its own potential by trying too hard to fit in.

In conclusion, then, I suppose that what I’m seeking in my daily work, anyway, is good, lasting, flowing design. To create cars and trucks that have that “something”… A great line that flows seamlessly from chassis to drivetrain, through the body and interior, and then swooping back through to the hidden details that you might miss on first glance. The kind of cars that lack a date stamp, lack trendy add-ons, and don’t look like a kit car or some pre-fabbed mini mall. The name of this game is “dig me”, certainly… but what would you rather be looking at, the quiet, gorgeous girl off to the side, who’s just very well put together (in every sense), or the plastic surgery-endowed, loud-moth party girl who’s yelling to everyone to see how drunk and fun she is? I think we can all agree that quiet reservation and attention to detail that softly taps your shoulder and says “look at this” beats the crap out of a sledgehammer to the face, next morning embarrassment any day.

Timeless beauty and grace are hard to find, certainly… and the real key isn’t just having those items, it’s using them the right way. On your next project, look at the things that have staying power… the icons of design, art, film (and even personality– Jackie O. had that “something”, and Marilyn Monroe, too…. “quiet reservation”, perhaps? Ponder that…). What makes them intriguing? What gives them a timeless nature? How can you apply those features to your ride? What will set it all up to carry itself like that? I ask myself these questions with each new project, and continually strive to nail it down… but I’m also learning that perhaps it can’t always be consciously caught… And that makes it all the more cool…