What is art? Tough question. The simplest answer I know is that it is any product of human creativity that possesses a perceived aesthetic or emotional quality beyond its usefulness, writes Kilian Doyle
Of course, all art is subjective. Take, for example, the Tate Modern's exhibit of a few rows of bricks. To the artist and critics, it presumably means something. To me, it's not art. It's the raw materials of a nice wall.
Beautiful cars, however, fulfil all the criteria for art. They have extra value because, in addition to being art, they are a vital part of the fabric of daily life. Where else can you see true art on the streets? Architecture? When's the last time you saw an apartment block being mobbed by small boys, faces pressed against its windows, fighting to get a look at its plumbing? Fashion? Please. Most fashionistas these days dress like extras from Fame.
I'm no petrolhead. But I do love elegant cars. I was fortunate to have a father with impeccable taste who drove me around when I was a kid in the work of genius that was the Citroën DS. Looking at the DS even now, as an embittered, cynical atheist adult, I'm reduced to a quivering wreck.
Being confronted with the knowledge that a thing of such beauty must have required some divine intervention makes me question my whole belief system. No mere mortal brain could have conjured such a machine. Similarly the BMW 3.0 CSL, which was crafted by angels masquerading as German boffins.
Obviously, not all cars are art. All SUVs - without exception - are sheds. All Mercs are ugly, while all American cars are designed by cartoon-obsessed dimwits with manhood issues.
Most cars that do fall into the category of works of art are so-called supercars. Such machines often elicit strange responses.
Many people look at them, swoon in appreciation, yet dismiss the owners as vulgar onanists. Which may well be the case. But it's not the car's fault. Just because the owner of a church full of Michelangelos may be an unrepentant deviant, it doesn't diminish the majesty of the work itself.
Fact is, all Ferraris are gorgeous. Aston Martins are things of celestial magnificence. The awe-inspiring sculpture that is the Maserati Quattroporte could hold its own in a room full of Renoirs.
That said, carrying the supercar tag is no guarantee of beauty. The Bentley Continental, for example, resembles an obese labrador having a nap. The Lamborghini Gallardo looks like something flat and heavy was dropped on it and the Bugatti Veyron is one of the ugliest cars ever made. Even if it is brain-freezingly cool.
Anyway, I digress. My point is this - many galleries these days are filled with bored schoolchildren staring blankly at turgid paintings of biblical scenes or anonymous people that have no relevance whatsoever to their daily lives. Art is becoming redundant.
To counter this, the Government should splash out on a museum filled with beautiful cars for us proles to slaver over. All the better if they make the display interactive and let us drive them.
For many people, the idea of exhibiting cars as art is tantamount to philistinism. But art should be about us, about who we are, our place in the great scheme of things. It should ask the Big Questions. A 300-year-old etching of a podgy pig's backside asks no questions at all. But the graceful curves of a Ferrari 599's buttocks are a different matter. They evoke lust, envy, awe, fear, love, hatred, sorrow, joy - the whole gamut of human emotions. They matter.
So why not open the public coffers? A museum in Galway recently commissioned a hooker (the boat, people. I ask you.). Sure, the hooker has some historical context, but then, so does the iconic Porsche 911. A symbol of the Celtic Tiger, if you will. When the economy collapses, and we all go back to living in hedges and eating turf, we can all go and gawp at a 911 and pine for the good old days.
As I said, art is subjective. So are opinions. Feel free to dismiss this one as a pile of bricks.