Is still possible to “Draw in Italian?”
By: Matteo Licata
Tags: Design Thinking, Design, Automotive, History, Italian

Is still possible to “Draw in Italian?”

Between 1950 and 1980, a few small outfits from Turin like Pininfarina and Bertone consistently managed to rival Detroit for global automotive design dominance. Those days are long gone, but, as an automobile historian, I can’t help but wonder about the true meaning of those powerful three words and their actual legacy.

And if they’ve ever meant anything at all: many designers quietly employed by Turinese companies hailed from places far away from the river Po’s sleepy banks, after all.

From the 124 Sport Spider designed by the American Tom Tjaarda to Japanese Ken Okuyama’s tenure as Pininfarina’s Creative Director, examples of cherished Italian classics penned by foreigners abound.

The 1966 Fiat 124 Spider (c. FCA Emea Press)

On top of that, an ideal back catalog of Italian design classics comprises a wide variety of cars significantly different in both concept and execution, ranging from the restrained elegance of the Cisitalia 202 to the boxy functionality of the original Fiat Panda and everything in between.

The Cisitalia 202 from Pininfarina (c. Pininfarina)

Nowadays, storied brands like Alfa Romeo and Maserati make liberal use of the “Italian Design” expression about their current products. Yet those often have strong retro influences and are designed by a very diverse team of professionals from all over the world… That’s currently headed by a German.

Sprezzatura is the subtle art of making difficult tasks or performances look natural and effortless.

A look at the Cisitalia 202 or the classic Fiat 500F that joined it in M.O.M.A.’s collection may lead to arguing that “Italian Design” is about the perfect harmony of proportions and minimal, yet neat, detailing.

But that’s what should constitute good car design no matter what, right?

The 1968 Fiat 500F that’s part of the New York Museum Of Modern Art’s collection (c. FCA Emea Press)

At another end of the spectrum, one of Giorgetto Giugiaro’s masterpieces, the Panda from 1980, owes perhaps more to the Ulm’s Hochschule für Gestaltung than the Accademia Delle Belle Arti. Yet, at the same time, it has nothing of the severity that could come as a byproduct of a purely functionalist approach. Instead, its design has a degree of playfulness to it that’s perhaps the real secret of its enduring appeal. The Panda is an intelligently designed car, but it doesn’t take itself too seriously.

The 1980 Fiat Panda (c. FCA Emea Press)

This leads us to nicely to the ancient word “Sprezzatura,” coined by Baldassarre Castiglione early in the XVI Century.

Sprezzatura doesn’t carry a passport: it’s inherently Italian yet universal at the same time.

Sprezzatura is the subtle art of making difficult tasks or performances look natural and effortless, even mundane by the person performing them. Achieve perfection seemingly without trying: come to think of it; it does remind me of cars like the Ferrari 250 GTO or the DB4 GTZ.

Sprezzatura doesn’t carry a passport: it’s inherently Italian yet universal at the same time. Many chase it, but few ever get there, and having a surname ending with a vowel won’t necessarily help.

Therefore, if a “trait d’union” between the best cars designed in Italy does exist, I then dare to suggest it’s this: they appear simple, made of almost nothing, yet they make a compelling, sometimes arresting statement.

That’s what masters do.

Think about the second, and perhaps more famous, part of “Another Brick In The Wall” by Pink Floyd. Any musician would tell you that’s a pretty straightforward song, dead easy to play by even the scrappiest music band. Yet it took considerable time and effort to compose and resonates with pretty much everyone four decades after its release.

That’s why I believe that excellent automobile design is made with love, and with the eyes set firmly in the future. Because the glorious Turinese design houses started losing their relevance when they got complacent and stopped innovating. By the 1990s, every automaker worth its salt had its own fully-staffed design studio with the aim of taking direct control of the image of its products, while the Turinese outfits got lost in convoluted company successions and inadequate leadership.

The secret of the old masters of Italian design, if they’ve ever had one, was their sheer love for the automobile and their work, full stop. That’s what I call “draw in Italian,” and the good news is that, while most of the names we now revere may be dead and buried, love and passion for the automobile won’t, if we don’t let it happen.