Au naturel - well, aluminium
Stephen Paul Hardy contemplates baring all.
Despite ostensibly being an automotive buff, I, like many others I know, have a parallel passion for most things aeronautical. To the extent that the new releases month after month - not to mention the editor's recent features on de Havilland - have really tested my resolve and self control of late. I guess it is that nostalgic tug on the emotions, but planes, like cars, from the 1930s, '50s and '60s really do something for me. Interestingly though, and unlike my automotive preferences, when it comes to planes, it is the British ones that I have most affection for.
Glancing through the numerous liveries released in the past couple of years, ramped up by the 2021 proposals, sets my little grey cells into musing overdrive. In this case, to an earnest conversation long ago with a colleague who was deeply into model aircraft. He made one of those jaw dropping comments, about something so obvious, that you knew in the back of your mind, but had never articulated. In this case, “Is it the development history of the particular aeroplane or the representation of its extensive use in service that is really the core interest?”
He continued to elaborate by pointing out that, if it was the former, then to have a collection in consistent scale and modelling style of the successive production variants - all in natural aluminium finish - was surely the best way to appreciate the subject. He had a good point and, at a pragmatic level (if diecast manufacturers offered the option), going for examples in 'au naturel' finish certainly eases the stressful decision process of balancing budget and desire in the face of extensive alternative finish options.
The snag - and there always seems to be one
- is the theory works well with planes, but when it comes to cars, vans and lorries then models of them in unpainted steel “just don't seem natural”… back to the drawing board. (Maybe a scale model automobile collection all finished in paper white anyone?) So let's hear it for Tecnomodel, who has just released its new Porsche 550 RS and 718 F2 models in plain ‘Press' demonstration silver, in addition to the liveried versions.
As I write this, the rain is hammering against the windows and I wonder why I have just bought a French Blue linen jacket for the summer. Ah yes, now I remember. I bought it because it fits beautifully and Wifey loves it, but its principal quality is this - it is chic.
When I was a little lad, I decided I wanted to be a car designer, an ambition that I held until my mid-teens when I saw a TV programme about the Royal College of Art and found that there were other outcasts like me, so I should be an art student. This in truth was a much more appropriate route towards car design than the four-year engineering course
I had been directed into at age thirteen by a panel of gentlemen, who knew no better but meant well. Beware of people who mean well.
I think I recognised chic before knowing what it was. The Renault Floride was undeniably chic and I associated it with angora jumpers, short pleated skirts, dark stockings and Vidal Sassoon hair-styles, so, apart from my new jacket, perhaps chic is a feminine attribute. Thinking about it, all of the cars I am going to cite are small, pretty and have been designed with a light touch. They are all two-door coupés with slender roof pillars and clean-lined bodies. Not one of them is British. Although pretty cars have been produced here, none of them look quite like these continental offerings - all, more importantly, are available as models. Available, that is, if you can find them, because these particular diecasts are obsolete. Never mind - they were made in their thousands, so there is always a good chance.
The Renault Floride (No 222 by Corgi) was also produced by French Dinky (No 543) and in open form by Solido (No 109). Later, the Portuguese maker, Metosul, produced a Floride based on Corgi's original, but with plated parts, wipers and an improved interior. This model was still being made in the 1980s and shouldn't be too hard to find. In Portugal.
Solido No 143, the quick Panhard 24BT, has opening doors, boot and bonnet, with a convincing engine under it. The Simca 1000 (Corgi No 315) I found in its usual chrome finish with racing stripes and numbers but Lord Flowers of Leicester, without a thought for his ermine-trimmed robe, has resprayed it in Daffodil Yellow, which is much nicer. Chrome finish is not chic.
Italy produced the Lancia Fulvia, modelled here by Vitesse, with all the extra detailing of more recent products, luckily without interfering with the pleasing simplicity of the Lancia. Larger cars, such as BMWs, also captured 'the look' from the late 1960s through to the late '80s, but size mitigates against chic. Really big creations like the Bentley Continental are simply magnifique, so we don't have to worry about it.
People will always argue over definitions and confuse expense or build quality with the less tangible attributes of design. A Rolex Oyster Perpetual is both expensive and well-engineered, but a Cartier timepiece is more likely to have the edge in aesthetic terms. I believe the above motor cars to be Cartiers.