I <3 Barrett Jackson
Spent the day at the world famous Barrett Jackson car auction with my Dad. Great times! It's obvious when we get together that I'm my father's daughter.
At other times in my life, I probably would have been bored after a couple hours at least, meandering through so many hundreds of cars, but I found myself enchanted for the whole day! The special VIP open bar card didn't hurt, but that wasn't the whole story.
In my school work, a lot of study has been about the evolution of education and educational/learning/behavioral theory through the lens of history. In other words, theory is strongly aligned with the cultural context in which it is applied. For example, traditionalism (teacher as authority, learning by rote, etc) came back into mode during the height of the Cold War, especially as reaction to the USSR's "victories" in the space war. Neoprogressivism (a return to the value of student-centered learning and problem-solving skills) arose amidst the chaos of the 1960's and Vietnam, free love etc.
As I cruised through aisles upon aisles of sweet cherry rides, I started to see the same reflection of culture and national identity reflected in automobiles, and in myself.
The 1950's post-war America was a time of optimism, futurism, and almost naiivete. The styles of cars varied widely, and nothing was impossible. A car that looks like a jet? Yep! A car with fins so big it might take flight at any moment? Oh yes. A crazy huge tall flowy ride with bubble fenders and a rigid convertible top? A plenty. Fuel injection? Surprisingly, factory-installed as early as the mid-forties. An amphibicar??? Yes sir! A slew of ridiculous behemoths, designed to own the road and conquer the world, and the bigger the better! (Alas, no sign of the elusive flying car they always promised. *sigh*)
And maybe this is where my cultural heritage is really the strongest: I just can't help but love those huge old beasts. I see an impossibly long, sleek Impala, wider than most lanes on new roads, and I am in love. I see the crazy amphibious car-boat, and laugh in sheer delight. A custom-built bubble car, inspired by the great Ed Roth, has me sighing in awe and admiration. An old milk delivery truck becomes truly sinister when it's lowered, chopped and painted all black with rivet detailing. I coo over sweet paint jobs that dazzle the eyes and defy the imagination. I ogle underneath hood after hood of potential horsepower, simply waiting to be unleashed, and it makes me burn with desire to hit the open road and see just how far that spedo will go. I hear the thundery grumble of a muscle car rolling past, and can't help but smile. Waiting in line for a ride in a bona fide Shelby Super Snake, racetrack ready, I look at that machine as she rumbles up and my heart flutters as I involuntarily sigh. I see tall, short, sleek, clunky, flowy, boxy, tiny, and Frankencar crazy. I see practically every car under the sun, and I see art. The beauty of the lines, a surprising twist, a new addition or subtraction that makes each ride special, an expression of the designers' and builders' vision, imagination and skill. The attention to every detail, the care, precise planning, and hundreds of man hours it takes to redesign a hulk of steel and make it something new, something exciting, something charming or ugly, something provocative. The automobile has indeed become a true art form, and I am a new convert.
At other times in my life, I probably would have been bored after a couple hours at least, meandering through so many hundreds of cars, but I found myself enchanted for the whole day! The special VIP open bar card didn't hurt, but that wasn't the whole story.
In my school work, a lot of study has been about the evolution of education and educational/learning/behavioral theory through the lens of history. In other words, theory is strongly aligned with the cultural context in which it is applied. For example, traditionalism (teacher as authority, learning by rote, etc) came back into mode during the height of the Cold War, especially as reaction to the USSR's "victories" in the space war. Neoprogressivism (a return to the value of student-centered learning and problem-solving skills) arose amidst the chaos of the 1960's and Vietnam, free love etc.
As I cruised through aisles upon aisles of sweet cherry rides, I started to see the same reflection of culture and national identity reflected in automobiles, and in myself.
The 1950's post-war America was a time of optimism, futurism, and almost naiivete. The styles of cars varied widely, and nothing was impossible. A car that looks like a jet? Yep! A car with fins so big it might take flight at any moment? Oh yes. A crazy huge tall flowy ride with bubble fenders and a rigid convertible top? A plenty. Fuel injection? Surprisingly, factory-installed as early as the mid-forties. An amphibicar??? Yes sir! A slew of ridiculous behemoths, designed to own the road and conquer the world, and the bigger the better! (Alas, no sign of the elusive flying car they always promised. *sigh*)
And maybe this is where my cultural heritage is really the strongest: I just can't help but love those huge old beasts. I see an impossibly long, sleek Impala, wider than most lanes on new roads, and I am in love. I see the crazy amphibious car-boat, and laugh in sheer delight. A custom-built bubble car, inspired by the great Ed Roth, has me sighing in awe and admiration. An old milk delivery truck becomes truly sinister when it's lowered, chopped and painted all black with rivet detailing. I coo over sweet paint jobs that dazzle the eyes and defy the imagination. I ogle underneath hood after hood of potential horsepower, simply waiting to be unleashed, and it makes me burn with desire to hit the open road and see just how far that spedo will go. I hear the thundery grumble of a muscle car rolling past, and can't help but smile. Waiting in line for a ride in a bona fide Shelby Super Snake, racetrack ready, I look at that machine as she rumbles up and my heart flutters as I involuntarily sigh. I see tall, short, sleek, clunky, flowy, boxy, tiny, and Frankencar crazy. I see practically every car under the sun, and I see art. The beauty of the lines, a surprising twist, a new addition or subtraction that makes each ride special, an expression of the designers' and builders' vision, imagination and skill. The attention to every detail, the care, precise planning, and hundreds of man hours it takes to redesign a hulk of steel and make it something new, something exciting, something charming or ugly, something provocative. The automobile has indeed become a true art form, and I am a new convert.