What to look for in a classic car, by Mr Kenny Schachter.

Mr Kenny Schachter is a London-based writer, critic, collector and curator

I’ve organised an exhibit entitled #MANUAL, for Design Miami/ Basel, a section of Switzerland’s 47th Art Basel fair – the world’s largest (and best) among the thousands that crowd the calendar nowadays. The notion of the exhibit dates to when, as a child, I was drawn to the wild forms of sports cars in magazines, as reductive as they were seductive. These cars were small in stature but not without unique flourishes – even within the parameters of speed and aerodynamics associated with racing car design.

The title of the exhibition comes from the fact that today, a manual car is one you drive yourself. It’s not autonomous. These days, cars have generally disappeared from music, film and literature as lightning rods for freedom and mobility (and sex). But things were different in eras when design was daring and not bridled by regulations and cost-saving economic policies that have strangled most innovation in the auto industry. From the tragic crash in 1955 of Mr James Dean’s Porsche 550 Spyder to the doomed 1970 film Le Mans featuring Mr Steve McQueen (perhaps the essence of car-cool), autos have symbolised rebellious mavericks from all walks. Now, you must be a little crazy enough just to take the plunge and drive the things, in the face of mounting public resistance to the very idea of four wheels.

My cars span the period between 1952 and 1991, with a nod to the future in the two 1:1 scale conceptual models by Ms Zaha Hadid from 2005-2008. The homologation cars that form a significant portion of my collection are street versions of race and rally cars meant to comply with regulations that necessitated a certain amount of roadworthy production vehicles. These were special cars produced largely at losses for the companies in order to go racing. In some, the seats alone are enough to suck you in, like the space-age, electric blue example in the 1980 Renault Series I R5 Turbo.

When you drive a car, you don’t see it and when you park, you leave it. I live with my collection in my office – with the nose of a 1960’s Alfa Romeo literally under my desk. Even without driving, I’m enjoying and absorbing the art (and smelling it). In my mind it’s no different than a living with a Picasso.

Whenever I buy something more substantial than a suit, I consider it as an investment and in turn, consider the return, should I change gears and want to exit. There is nothing wrong with thinking about money in regard to such a major acquisition – it’s imperative, in fact. But if there’s no underlying passion and knowledge, which like in any field is slowly acquired, then forget it. So, a key issue is: what are you after?

Cars, like art, have historically offered a safe haven from the (ever increasing) instability in politics, economics, and recent social turmoil. You should only ever buy what you love, but work from a pool of good information if you don’t have the experience to figure it out yourself. I could get lost in a black hole searching the internet, never to be heard from again. The resources are out there, like pistonheads.com and anamera.com, and the hunt is among the most joyous part of the experience: learning of unfamiliar models and researching the readily available histories.

Once I turn the key in the ignition, my mind draws a blank as to the functionality of an engine. I barely know how to get the petrol pump in the right hole and can hardly find my way to the newsagent on the corner for that matter. My trusty mechanic (like anything, you can find one if you look hard enough), has become a family friend; he’d have to be, with all the accompanying problems, and come they will. That’s part of the process, so you must resign yourself to it. Each and every car must be pre-purchase inspected deeper than a doctor goes in a colonoscopy. It’s essential, and the condition is more important than the initial choice of car.

Again, know thyself – what do you want to express? Cars, like clothes, make the man (or woman). They are so personal and project in no uncertain terms who we are and what we stand for. I propose: go funky, unique and be brave. Well, to an extent. Don’t forget you’re going to drive them, and will rely on other motorists to be let into motorways. You must also eventually get out of the car in public. The roads in the UK are so small, with two-way streets that wouldn’t pass for one-way in the US, that I initially choose my cars by size – in this instance, smaller being ideal. I love cars that you don’t see every day, if not ever. Have fun, put on your seatbelt and get a classic, before they become extinct.

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