We’ve seen two pedigree Ford Torinos priced larger than new Ferrari 488s. This 1971 instance is not a single of these Torinos.
Next month, Barrett-Jackson will try to auction this non-operating, plastic-grafted abstract interpretation of a Torino. Illinois artist Ioan Florea has an enigmatic theory behind his 2013 creation, saying that it symbolizes the bridge among the second Industrial Revolution that peaked with Henry Ford’s assembly line and the third Industrial Revolution of 3D printing, now aborning.
Florea, born and raised in Communist-era Transylvania, specializes in textured paintings and sculptures that involve printing plastic skeletal formations and dousing them in metallic pigments. During his childhood, Florea’s automotive world was defined by soulless Dacias, so an imported 1971 Torino—almost nobody’s dream car in our country—was like an exotic temptress, constructed in the very same year the artist was born. Maybe his fascination with bones aids clarify it. If you were a tiny boy digging up animal skeletons in a country exactly where folks buried them to steer clear of jail (hunting was broadly prohibited), probably it would make sense to cover a Torino with 3D-printed plastic resembling calcified warts and vertebrae. (And you believed you and your buddies did the wildest, most unspeakable issues with ’70s muscle vehicles.)
In 2013, Florea mentioned he wasn’t sure there would be any “commercial value” to his Torino, but he is now convinced that an individual at the Scottsdale auction who won’t bother bidding on Barrett-Jackson’s pristine 1976 Chevrolet Monte Carlo will favor his artistic statement, a silvery tribute to the malaise era. Name your price tag, folks: There’s no reserve. Any offer must be regarded generous.
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