Cathedral cars.

"These photographs have a documentary value, at a moment when we freely trade 24 hours of crossing for 5 hours on low-cost flights. In his paper, Those were the blessed times, leaving for the village in the car, Nassira El Moaddem, regrets the ritual of loading and departure by car, “Parents’ who used to drive Peugeot 504s, lacking today’s comforts, and overflowing with gifts of all kinds, from household appliances to re-sell and old beat-up bikes, have now become choosy. “The size of the prints enables an examination of the Cathedral Cars that deconstruct faster than they have been prepared, the gifts given, the car relieved, new objects, replacing the old."

Gabrielle Besk

http://www.garagisme.com/#/thomas-mailaender-cathedral-cars/

Laurent Marsolier - Transition

For the past 7 years, Lauren Marsolier has been working on a series of photographs called 'Transition'. Her photographic tableaux, which are part composite and part digitally-altered, communicate a constant sense of ambiguity. The viewer, who is somewhat unsettled, wonders what is real and what is fictional in compositions where skies are flattened out, where everything is smooth and desolate, where shapes and textures take the place of people. After capturing the image of different settings, Marsolier seamlessly blends them together to offer a vision of recomposed reality.

How did the Transition project get started?
Around 2005, a series of radical changes in my personal life threw me into a troubled phase that changed my outlook on things. This is around the time that I started to compose fictional landscapes. Bit by bit, I realized that my compositions reflected what I was going through psychologically. To me, that’s a fascinating aspect of art. You resonate with what you create. Thoughts and emotions that were buried inside of us manifest themselves to our consciousness through making art.  In turn, these little breakthroughs influence the way you think. That’s how our creations can hold up a mirror to us, even as a collective. We live today in a world that is almost entirely man made. The increasingly artificial nature of our environments means that, more than ever before, they are a reflection of the mind. This is why I can easily establish a link between the components of our contemporary landscapes and the expression of a mental state.

What is it about landscapes and all the signifiers linked to roads that interests you?
I’ve been working on the idea of transition for about seven years, and more specifically on that psychological phase when the loss of certain reference points throws us into an emotional confusion. All of a sudden, we can no longer see ourselves or our lives and what surrounds us in the same way. We feel disoriented.
The landscapes that I build in photographs have a metaphorical dimension for me. They allow me to explore and express the inner experience, all while conjuring the reality of a changing world. Indeed, the road is often present in my work. You find it constantly deserted and without movement. Freeway, for example, touches on doubt, the questioning in that paradoxical situation of finding yourself alone and stuck on a road when it would be easier to give in to the intoxication of speed. You can read this picture from a personal or social point of view.

Your work seems to reference Paul Virilio, when you refer to the themes of speed and hyper-reality, and to Baudrillard in the idea of the simulacrum. Does your work have other references, such as painting or photography?
That’s exactly right. In fact, I find that Baudrillard’s quote highlighted in your magazine (Garagisme #1), “Above 100 kilometres per hour, there is a presumption of eternity”, has a link to my work. On the road as in life, speed puts us in a state of weightlessness. Images and events pass too quickly for us to be able to correlate them and truly make sense of them. You somehow feel that you have been pulled out of time, in a hypnotic state. Paul Virilio condemns the tyranny of the instant which is  imposed by progress and prevents one from taking a reflective distance, from putting things into perspective, and therefore upsets ourrapport with the world. The increasingly hyper-real nature of our environment has a similarly disturbing effects on our psyche.

Among my other influences I could name Carl Jung and Paul Diel, for their research into symbolic language. In photography, I constantly research what is being created, so it’s difficult to name any examples in particular. Andreas Gursky and Thomas Demand come to mind. Among other things, I like their esthetic and the way they recompose or simulate reality to better draw attention to it. In painting, the atmosphere that emanates from some Edward Hopper and Chirico paintings speaks to me on a profound level. Finally I would say that my husband, Marc Fichou, has a major influence on the making of this series, not only because he supported me, but also because his approach to art is a constant source of inspiration to me.

How important is the image-collecting phase that precedes your montages?

Image collecting is an important part of my work. It’s very intuitive. I take pictures of things and places that have an impact on me. It started in Europe and is now continuing in the Unites States. Since I live in Los Angeles, I cover quite a lot of distance by car, which allows me to scout a number of  locations. When I leave the city, even if I’m headed for a specific location, I no longer hesitate to take detours and navigate randomly.

What are you working on right now?
I am still building on this series. Right now I’m working on several images that I hope to collect into a tryptic. n several images that I hope to collect into a tryptic.

Laurent Marsolier

Apple of one's eye

If there is no passion in your life, then have you really lived? What have you lived for? Find your passion, whatever it may be. Become it, and let it become you. Follow your heart, but be quiet for a while first. Ask questions, then feel the answers. Learn to trust your heart and only then will you find great things happening for you, happening to you...happening because of you.

NEVER ENOUGH ALFA:
http://www.petrolicious.com/never-enough-alfa

THE CARETAKER:
http://www.petrolicious.com/the-caretaker

TIME MACHINE:
http://www.petrolicious.com/time-machine

FOUNTAIN OF YOUTH:
http://www.petrolicious.com/the-fountain-of-youth

Death of an era

DEATH OF AN ERA

Rolls-Royce rolling chassis In the early motoring days, when series production did not yet exist, the process of acquiring a new vehicle was more complex, as rolling chassis provided the basis for different coachbuilding scenarios.    One approached a chassis motoring brand, who used to deliver to the customer only the rolling chassis, comprising: - chassis - drivetrain (engine, gearbox, differential, axles, wheels) - suspension - steering system - radiator Noticeable fact is that the radiator was the only visual element identifying the rolling chassis brand. Subsequently the customer approached a coachbuilder, requesting a personal body design to be fitted on the purchased rolling chassis. Sometimes a coachbuilder himself ordered or got assigned a series of chassis, on which basis he designed and manufactured to his own creative ideas and inspiration the new coachwork(s). Third scenario was the situation in which a customer delivered a complete factory car to the coachbuilder with the request to change the entire coachwork or modify certain elements. Underpinnings and especially the radiator (as main visible part determining the brand identity!) were discriminating starting points for the final coachwork design. Each coachbuilt car therefore carried the technical genes of the rolling chassis builder as well as the styling genes of the coachbuilder. The resulting wide range of DNA combinations led to a variety of unique and sometimes priceless coachbuilt cars. Examples: Delahaye did not have an in-house coachbuilding department; all chassis created by Delahaye were subsequently delivered to independent coachbuilders for completion. Bugatti produced separate rolling chassis as well as complete coachworked cars, offering the customer the choice to obtain a “Molsheim” body (the most beautiful versions designed by Jean Bugatti) or to select him/herself an external (independent) coachbuilder for a fully personalised body. Rolls-Royce also provided the choice for a factory body or coachbuilt versions. Special Coachbuilding blossomed until +/- 1945, displaying numerous creation highlights like many Mulliner Park Ward and James Young Rolls Royces, Figoni & Falaschi Bugattis, Chapron Delahayes, Pourtout Tabot-Lagos and many more. After WW II automotive mass production soon became mainstream, ending the era of separate manufacturing of chassis and tailored coachworks. Many coachbuilders went bankrupt, were bought by manufacturers or changed their core business to other activities.   For instance: - transforming into dedicated design / styling houses, subcontracting to automotive brands (e.g. Zagato, Frua, Bertone, Pininfarina). - and/or transforming into general coachwork series manufacturer, subcontracting to automotive brands (e.g. Karmann, Bertone, Vignale, Pininfarina). - manufacturing of special coachworks for trucks, delivery vans, touringcars, ambulances, ‘voitures des pompiers’ (fire brigade), public transport vehicles, etc (e.g. Pennock, Veth &Zn, Akkermans, Heuliez). - becoming technical partner for development of e.g. roof constructions (e.g. Karmann, Heuliez) or producer of various (aftermarket) automotive parts. Meanwhile many car manufacturers established inhouse design departments themselves, increasingly developing their own design and styling DNA. Former distinguishing brand elements indicating the brand’s styling genes (like the external radiator/grille) now became integrated in the overall design. Lancia evolution Many characteristic styling features of specific coachbuilders were even adopted by car manufacturers as their own ‘brand elements'. Surviving independent design houses / coachbuilders were hired by car manufacturers for designing their series produced models. Regularly they were also hired to design (and sometimes build) the (official or semi-official) niche models, based on the underpinnings of existing series produced models. Many times coachbuilders created wonderful designs still on their own initiative, resulting in streetlegal prototypes which were often sold as “one-offs” to wealthy clients. Frua Maserati Quattroporte 'Aga Kahn' Initially (’40 – ’50 – early sixties) design houses / coachbuilders could still purchase separate chassis on which they could fit their own inhouse designed coachworks. Not without reason: many wealthy customers still commissioned their special one-offs based on ‘current’ available rolling chassis (then state-of-the-art), or even based on other series produced cars.  Productionwise the early days were relatively easy as chassis and coachwork were independently constructed. Hence the term “rolling” chassis. In the sixties however the monocoque and spaceframe constructions were introduced, which made it significantly more difficult for coachbuilders to fit newly designed bodies on a donor chassis / car. Freedom of (coachwork) design became more and more limited due to the predefined shapes of given body structures. Peugeot 404 monocoque and drivetrain The chassis no longer acted simply as a flat undercarriage as it now also comprised the stressed roofline constructions and other stressed body panels (window pillars, rear fenders, and recently even the windows themselves). From now on coachbuilders had to deal with the integrated stressed structure of a car which essentially determined most basic bodyshapes. Also safety regulations became more stringent, resulting in many technical requirements prohibiting most chassis modifications. So again the coachwork designer’s freedom became more limited. This forced design houses / coachbuilders to limit their rebody scope of work primarily to the outer panel work, necessarily leaving the basic car structure and proportions untouched.

LOW RI DER

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-xTGrfs5TXM

Why one should travel.

As I write this, I’m flying. It’s an incredible concept: to be suspended in the air, moving at two hundred miles an hour — while I read a magazine. Amazing, isn’t it?

I woke up at three a.m. this morning. Long before the sun rose, thirty people loaded up three conversion vans and drove two hours to the San Juan airport. Our trip was finished. It was time to go home. But we were changed.

As I sit, waiting for the flight attendant to bring my ginger ale, I’m left wondering why I travel at all. The other night, I was reminded why I do it — why I believe this discipline of travel is worth all the hassle.

I was leading a missions trip in Puerto Rico. After a day of work, as we were driving back to the church where we were staying, one of the young women brought up a question.

“Do you think I should go to graduate school or move to Africa?”

I don’t think she was talking to me. In fact, I’m pretty sure she wasn’t. But that didn’t stop me from offering my opinion.

I told her to travel. Hands down. No excuses. Just go.

She sighed, nodding:

 “Yeah, but…”

I had heard this excuse before, and I didn’t buy it. I knew the “yeah-but” intimately. I had uttered it many times before. The words seem innocuous enough, but are actually quite fatal.

Yeah, but …

...what about debt?

 … what about my job?

… what about my boyfriend?

This phrase is lethal. It makes it sound like we have the best of intentions, when really we are just too scared to do what we should and want. It allows us to be cowards while sounding noble.

Most people I know who waited to travel the world never did it. Conversely, plenty of people who waited for grad school or a steady job still did those things after they traveled.

It reminded me of Dr. Eisenhautz and the men’s locker room.

Dr. Eisenhautz was a German professor at my college. I didn’t study German, but I was a foreign language student so we knew each other. This explains why he felt the need to strike up a conversation with me at six o’clock one morning.

I was about to start working out, and he had just finished. We were both getting dressed in the locker room. It was, to say the least, a little awkward — two grown men shooting the breeze while taking off their clothes.

“You come here often?” he asked. I could have laughed.

“Um, yeah, I guess,” I said, still wiping the crusted pieces of whatever out of my eyes.

“That’s great,” he said. “Just great.”

I nodded, not really paying attention. He had already had his adrenaline shot; I was still waiting for mine. I somehow uttered that a friend and I had been coming to the gym for a few weeks now, about three times a week.

“Great,” Dr. Eisenhautz repeated. 

He paused as if to reflect on what he would say next. Then, he just blurted it out. The most profound thing I had heard in my life.

“The habits you form here will be with you for the rest of your life.”

My head jerked up, my eyes got big, and I stared at him, letting the words soak into my half-conscious mind. He nodded, said a gruff goodbye, and left. I was dumbfounded.

The words reverberated in my mind for the rest of the day. Years later, they still haunt me. It’s true — the habits you form early in life will, most likely, be with you for the rest of your existence.

I have seen this fact proven repeatedly. My friends who drank a lot in college drink in larger quantities today. Back then, we called it “partying.” Now, it has a less glamorous name: alcoholism. There are other examples. The guys and girls who slept around back then now have babies and unfaithful marriages. Those with no ambition then are still working the same dead end jobs.

“We are what we repeatedly do,” Aristotle once said. While I don’t want to sound all gloom-and-doom, and I believe your life can turn around at any moment, there is an important lesson here: life is a result of intentional habits. So I decided to do the things that were most important to me first, not last.

After graduating college, I joined a band and traveled across North America for nine months. With six of my peers, I performed at schools, churches, and prisons. We even spent a month in Taiwan on our overseas tour. (We were huge in Taiwan.)

As part of our low-cost travel budget, we usually stayed in people’s homes. Over dinner or in conversation later in the evening, it would almost always come up — the statement I dreaded. As we were conversing about life on the road — the challenges of long days, being cooped up in a van, and always being on the move — some well-intentioned adult would say, 

“It’s great that you’re doing this … while you’re still young.”

Ouch. Those last words — while you’re still young — stung like a squirt of lemon juice in the eye (a sensation with which I am well acquainted). They reeked of vicarious longing and mid-life regret. I hated hearing that phrase.

I wanted to shout back,

“No, this is NOT great while I’m still young! It’s great for the rest of my life! You don’t understand. This is not just a thing I’m doing to kill time. This is my calling! My life! I don’t want what you have. I will always be an adventurer.”

In a year, I will turn thirty. Now I realize how wrong I was. Regardless of the intent of those words, there was wisdom in them.

As we get older, life can just sort of happen to us. Whatever we end up doing, we often end up with more responsibilities, more burdens, more obligations. This is not always bad. In fact, in many cases it is really good. It means you’re influencing people, leaving a legacy.

Youth is a time of total empowerment. You get to do what you want. As you mature and gain new responsibilities, you have to be very intentional about making sure you don’t lose sight of what’s important. The best way to do that is to make investments in your life so that you can have an effect on who you are in your later years.

I did this by traveling. Not for the sake of being a tourist, but to discover the beauty of life — to remember that I am not complete. But there are many other ways in which to do so, in fact there are as many ways as people in this world.

There is nothing like riding a bicycle across the Golden Gate Bridge or seeing the Coliseum at sunset. I wish I could paint a picture for you of how incredible the Guatemalan mountains are or what a rush it is to appear on Italian TV. Even the amazing photographs I have of Niagara Falls and the American Midwest countryside do not do these experiences justice. I can’t tell you how beautiful southern Spain is from the vantage point of a train; you have to experience it yourself. The only way you can relate is by seeing them.

While you’re young, you should travel. You should take the time to see the world and taste the fullness of life. Spend an afternoon sitting in front of the Michelangelo. Walk the streets of Paris. Climb Kilimanjaro. Hike the Appalachian trail. See the Great Wall of China. Get your heart broken by the “killing fields” of Cambodia. Swim through the Great Barrier Reef. These are the moments that define the rest of your life; they’re the experiences that stick with you forever.

Traveling will change you like little else can. It will put you in places that will force you to care for issues that are bigger than you. You will begin to understand that the world is both very large and very small. You will have a newfound respect for pain and suffering, having seen that two-thirds of humanity struggle to simply get a meal each day.

While you’re still young, get cultured. Get to know the world and the magnificent people that fill it. The world is a stunning place, full of outstanding works of art. See it.

You won’t always be young. And life won’t always be just about you. So travel, young person. Experience the world for all it’s worth. Become a person of culture, adventure, and compassion. While you still can.

Do not squander this time. You will never have it again. You have a crucial opportunity to invest in the next season of your life now. Whatever you sow, you will eventually reap. The habits you form in this season will stick with you for the rest of your life. So choose those habits wisely.

 And if you’re not as young as you’d like (few of us are), travel anyway. It may not be easy or practical, but it’s worth it. Traveling allows you to feel more connected to your fellow human beings in a deep and lasting way, like little else can. In other words, it makes you more human.

That’s what it did for me, anyway.