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Gio Ponti's '50s-era Linea Diamante is a brand new old car

Art Basel has grown to expansive levels in the past decade. The historic global modern and contemporary art tour has integrated itself in automotive culture through various initiatives such as its partnership with BMW. But for those who are interested strictly in the relationship between automobiles and art and design, there is a different Basel: Grand Basel, a new show launched this year in Switzerland. There, alongside automobiles of timeless importance, a never-realized car design from the '50s debuted for the first time. That car is the Linea Diamante, which roughly translates to Diamond Line. The design was originally conceptualized in 1952 by Gio Ponti and Alberto Rosselli for Carrozzeria Touring. It was intended for an Alfa Romeo 1900 chassis, yet looked nothing like any Alfa, or any other vehicle, of the time. Grand Basel describes itself as a place where "the finest automobiles of the past, present, and future are discussed in the cultural context of art, design, architecture, and lifestyle." In that vein, the Linea Diamante is now viewed as a design far ahead of its time. This content is hosted by a third party. To view it, please update your privacy preferences. Manage Settings. With a shape similar to that of a Saab 900, which didn't debut until the late '70s, the Linea looked nothing like the over-stylized bubbly curvaceous designs of the '50s. Hoping to oppose the less practical car bodies that created large cavernous interiors, Ponti set out to craft a suit that isolated passengers from the outside less. The result is a boxy vehicle with a wide-open cabin. The panels are flat, the nose is low, the greenhouse is upright and tall, and the rear angles straight down like a hatchback. Though it was an eyesore to many at the time, the design created better visibility, an airy-feeling cabin, and maintained practical space. The rear seats are even adjustable, an unheard-of feature for the period. It is also on this car that Ponti formed a relationship with Pirelli (he later designed the Pirelli Tower in Milan). Furthering the futuristic premise of the vehicle, the Linea had a wrap-around rubber bumper with spring-mounted pieces at the front and rear for extra safety in the event of an accident. As a nod to this collaboration, Pirelli provided the tires for the modern replica. When Carrozzeria Touring turned the wild concept down, Ponti turned to Fiat, but the design was thought to be too outrageous.

Junkyard Gem: 1977 Fiat 124 Sport Spider

The Fiat 124 Sport Spider was sold in the United States for the 1968 through 1982 model years, after which Malcolm Bricklin imported the car under the Pininfarina brand for another couple of years. During the car's heyday in the middle to late 1970s, 124 Sport Spiders could be seen all over American roads... and a surprising number of these cars have survived long enough to appear in wrecking yards on a regular basis. Here's a '77 in a Denver junkyard. A 1970s 124 Sport Spider in restorable but rough condition isn't worth much; these cars were very affordable when new and beat-up ones have been available for three-figure prices for the last 30 years. This means plenty of them sit around as unfinished projects for year after year, then show up in wrecking yards. I see so many discarded 124 Sport Spiders that I don't even bother photographing most of them. Still, they're interesting cars, and it's a plus for those who do want to restore them that parts can still be found. The 1.8-liter dual-overhead four-cylinder in the '77 Sport Spider made 86 horsepower, which gave this car a performance edge over its arch-rival, the MGB (which had just 62.5 horses and weighed 100 pounds more). The MG was just $5,150 in 1977, though, versus the $6,115 price tag on the Fiat (that's about $22,100 and $26,300, respectively, in 2018 dollars). This one has some rust in the usual places, which might have been worth fixing on something like an Alfa Romeo Spider. With this car, it was a death sentence. Related Video:

2016: The year of the autonomous-car promise

About half of the news we covered this year related in some way to The Great Autonomous Future, or at least it seemed that way. If you listen to automakers, by 2020 everyone will be driving (riding?) around in self-driving cars. But what will they look like, how will we make the transition from driven to driverless, and how will laws and infrastructure adapt? We got very few answers to those questions, and instead were handed big promises, vague timelines, and a dose of misdirection by automakers. There has been a lot of talk, but we still don't know that much about these proposed vehicles, which are at least three years off. That's half a development cycle in this industry. We generally only start to get an idea of what a company will build about two years before it goes on sale. So instead of concrete information about autonomous cars, 2016 has brought us a lot of promises, many in the form of concept cars. They have popped up from just about every automaker accompanied by the CEO's pledge to deliver a Level 4 autonomous, all-electric model (usually a crossover) in a few years. It's very easy to say that a static design study sitting on a stage will be able to drive itself while projecting a movie on the windshield, but it's another thing entirely to make good on that promise. With a few exceptions, 2016 has been stuck in the promising stage. It's a strange thing, really; automakers are famous for responding with "we don't discuss future product" whenever we ask about models or variants known to be in the pipeline, yet when it comes to self-driving electric wondermobiles, companies have been falling all over themselves to let us know that theirs is coming soon, it'll be oh so great, and, hey, that makes them a mobility company now, not just an automaker. A lot of this is posturing and marketing, showing the public, shareholders, and the rest of the industry that "we're making one, too, we swear!" It has set off a domino effect – once a few companies make the guarantee, the rest feel forced to throw out a grandiose yet vague plan for an unknown future. And indeed there are usually scant details to go along with such announcements – an imprecise mileage estimate here, or a far-off, percentage-based goal there. Instead of useful discussion of future product, we get demonstrations of test mules, announcements of big R&D budgets and new test centers they'll fund, those futuristic concept cars, and, yeah, more promises.