Generally, this column focuses on the details of design and the history surrounding a specific car or manufacturer. This month we’re taking a slight detour. We’ll be off the highway for a bit, then on a dirt road that leads us to a dilapidated barn on the edge of what used to be a small town. We’ll pull back the barn door, shield ourselves from emerging chickens and behold the “barn find”—a car awaiting our universal adoration. It’s a dream of nearly every collector, but what is the lore behind it and why are we so consumed by the elusive enchantment of a car that otherwise appears to have been neglected?
Within a few moments of seeing a barn find we’ll all gaze lovingly at the artifact, resplendent with caked-on dust, flattened tires and hazy chrome. We’ll see not only the object, but the history and potential all at once. Then someone will utter the phrase, “The patina is amazing.” Those in the know will nod affirmatively, acknowledging the value of a specimen, frozen in time, retaining all that has settled upon it. But is it neglect, passed off as preservation, or has it simply been ignored out of convenience—the former owner off to other cars, realizing he no longer had the resources or determination to fix it? And what makes “patina” on a classic or special interest sports car so important today?
Patina is a valid curatorial term, used for centuries to identify the proper care and preservation afforded to artful objects, both by time and through stewardship. Furniture, art, sculpture and musical instruments benefit from acquired patina as the aging finish contributes to the cohesive structure, actually benefiting the piece by deepening the luster or (in the case of wooden instruments) improving the tonal qualities or “voice” of the instrument. But this is generally due to care and preservation. Patina on automotive paint is not simply a layer of dirt or barn dust. Dirt does little to protect the paint and often reduces the life and luster of the finish. Natural processes like mildew or moss growing on an interior, for example, could technically be considered part of the natural aging process, yet these processes do little to enhance the value or increase longevity.
So why is there such recent emphasis on the value of patina on an original car? Cars that have been stored for most of their lives require documentation to substantiate claims of mileage, finish and use. Preserved or documented patina serves specifically as a tool to support claims of originality. In absence of receipts showing repairs and service with incremental mileage, there is little to support the artifact in a stagnant state other than photographic or actual evidence of years having lapsed. This is why so many of these barn find cars show up at auction houses filthy, mildewed, rusty and otherwise decrepit.
In the mid to late 1990s, car values began to climb again as the economy improved and many newly rich chose to invest in a “dream car” often with sentimental attachments and stories. “Checkbook restorations” became popular, accompanied by memories of cars people always wanted when new. Perfection was just dollars away as top flight restoration shops embarked on complete projects from top to bottom, satisfying clients with fresh chrome, reproduction parts and high-gloss finishes. As concours fields filled up with restored cars it seemed anyone could enter a restored car and be nostalgic about it. There had to be a way for the elite of the collector community to elevate themselves from the new money dictating restorations and reflecting nostalgically about their car. The barn find emerged, elevating cars that only the elite or those in the “know” could fully appreciate—the nostalgia of it was all in the object. The hype was all in the find. To elevate the “Barn Find” genre, the pioneers of this classification needed specific vocabulary. Thus, “Patina” entered in full force and has since been celebrated in ranges of patina “lightly patina’d” or “Handsomely patina’d.” Today, auction catalogs wax poetically about the poetry of a well-worn leather seat (equating it to a favorite baseball glove), paint thinned to primer, chrome unpolished and unashamed—the musical equivalent of being “unplugged.”
But is there an intrinsic value to patina on an automobile? The natural aging process to rubber and some plastics is clearly not a beneficial thing from a performance perspective, but clever marketing around unrestored cars has become a value proposition for elite collectors when discussing worn paint, tattered interiors and road scars. Last year, comedian Jerry Seinfeld purchased a Porsche 356 Speedster that 25 years ago would have been seen as just another neglected used car, requiring a complete restoration. Jerry paid $600K for it. The car needs a complete restoration, but he’ll keep it “original,” boosting the value of the car as an original piece of history that will be completely lost if restored.
Time has great beauty. It is the only thing we cannot duplicate. And for many, there is no other way to acquire authenticity than to purchase it as a relic and reveal its inherent beauty. Thus in this regard, a well-used object embodies long lost stories and delights our senses. When properly preserved and mechanically prepared, an original car with aging finishes exhibits profound integrity both in the object and the stewardship. The combined story and beauty intersect to reveal a faithful artifact of universal interest and respect—just as an aged face has earned each wrinkle, we honor it for the stories it reveals, as the “voice” of the aged object speaks.
