Ultracrepidarian

Ultracrepidarian (pronounced uhl-truh-krep-i-dair-ee-uhn)

Of or pertaining to a person who criticizes, judges, or gives advice outside their area of expertise

1819: An English adaptation of the historic words sūtor, ne ultra crepidam, uttered by the Greek artist Apelles and reported by the Pliny the Elder.  Translating literally as “let the shoemaker venture no further” and sometimes cited as ne supra crepidam sūtor judicare, the translation something like “a cobbler should stick to shoes”.  From the Latin, ultra is beyond, sūtor is cobbler and crepidam is accusative singular of crepida (from the Ancient Greek κρηπίς (krēpís)) and means sandal or sole of a shoe.  Ultracrepidarian is a noun & verb and ultracrepidarianism is a noun; the noun plural is ultracrepidarians.  For humorous purposes, forms such as ultracrepidarist, ultracrepidarianish, ultracrepidarianize & ultracrepidarianesque have been coined; all are non-standard.

Ultracrepidarianism describes the tendency among some to offer opinions and advice on matters beyond their competence.  The word entered English in 1819 when used by English literary critic and self-described “good hater”, William Hazlitt (1778–1830), in an open letter to William Gifford (1756–1826), editor of the Quarterly Review, a letter described by one critic as “one of the finest works of invective in the language” although another suggested it was "one of his more moderate castigations" a hint that though now neglected, for students of especially waspish invective, he can be entertaining; the odd quote from him would certainly lend a varnish of erudition to trolling.  Ultracrepidarian comes from a classical allusion, Pliny the Elder (circa 24-79) recording the habit of the famous Greek painter Apelles (a fourth century BC contemporary of Alexander the Great (Alexander III of Macedon, 356-323 BC)), to display his work in public view, then conceal himself close by to listen to the comments of those passing.  One day, a cobbler paused and picked fault with Apelles’ rendering of sandals and the artist immediately took his brushes and pallet and touched-up the errant straps.  Encouraged, the amateur critic then let his eye wander above the ankle and suggested how the leg might be improved but this Apelles rejected, telling him to speak only of shoes and otherwise maintain a deferential silence.  Pliny hinted the artist's words of dismissal may not have been polite.

So critics should comment only on that about which they know.  The phrase in English is usually “cobbler, stick to your last” (a last a shoemaker’s pattern, ultimately from a Germanic root meaning “to follow a track'' hence footstep) and exists in many European languages: zapatero a tus zapatos is the Spanish, schoenmaker, blijf bij je leest the Dutch, skomager, bliv ved din læst the Danish and schuster, bleib bei deinen leisten, the German.  Pliny’s actual words were ne supra crepidam judicaret, (crepidam a sandal or the sole of a shoe), but the idea is conveyed is in several ways in Latin tags, such as Ne sutor ultra crepidam (sutor means “cobbler”, a word which survives in Scotland in the spelling souter).  The best-known version is the abbreviated tag ultra crepidam (beyond the sole), and it’s that which Hazlitt used to construct ultracrepidarian.  Crepidam is from the Ancient Greek κρηπίς (krēpís) and has no link with words like decrepit or crepitation (which are from the Classical Latin crepare (to creak, rattle, or make a noise)) or crepuscular (from the Latin word for twilight); crepidarian is an adjective rare perhaps to the point of extinction meaning “pertaining to a shoemaker”.

The related terms are "Nobel disease" & "Nobel syndrome" which are used to describe some of the opinions offered by Nobel laureates on subjects beyond their specialization.  In some cases this is "demand" rather than "supply" driven because, once a prize winner is added to a media outlet's "list of those who comment on X", if they turn out to give answers which generate audience numbers, controversy or clicks, they become "talent" and may be asked questions about matters of which they know little.  This happens because some laureates in the three "hard" prizes (physics, chemistry, physiology or medicine) operate in esoteric corners of their discipline; asking a particle physicist something about plasma physics on the basis of their having won the physics prize may not elicit useful information.  Of course those who have won the economics gong or one of what are now the DEI (diversity, equity and inclusion) prizes (peace & literature) may be assumed to have helpful opinions on everything.

Jackson Pollock (1912-1956): Blue Poles

Number 11 (Blue poles, 1952), Oil, enamel and aluminum paint with glass on canvas.

In 1973, when a million dollars was a still lot of money, the NGA (National Gallery of Australia), a little controversially, paid Aus$1.3 million for Jackson Pollock’s (1912-1956) Number 11, 1952, popularly known as Blue Poles since it was first exhibited in 1954, the new name reputedly chosen by the artist.  It was some years ago said to be valued at up to US$100 million but, given the increase in the money supply (among the rich who trade this stuff) over the last two decades odd, that estimate may now be conservative although the suggestion in 2016 the value may have inflated to as much as US$350 million was though to be "on the high side".  Blue Poles emerged during Pollock’s "drip period" (1947-1950), a method which involved techniques such throwing paint at a canvas spread across the floor.  The art industry liked these (often preferring the more evocative term "action painting") and they remain his most popular works, although at this point, he abandoned the dripping and moved to his “black porings phase” a darker, simpler style which didn’t attract the same commercial interest.  He later returned to more colorful ways but his madness and alcoholism worsened; he died in a drink-driving accident.

Alchemy (1947), Oil, aluminum, alkyd enamel paint with sand, pebbles, fibres, and broken wooden sticks on canvas.

Although the general public remained uninterested (except in the price tags) or sceptical, there were critics, always drawn to a “troubled genius”, who praised Pollock’s work and the industry approves of any artist who (1) had the decency to die young and (2) produced lots of stuff which can sell for millions.  US historian of art, curator & author Helen A Harrison (b 1943; director (1990-2024) of the Pollock-Krasner House and Study Center, the former home and studio of the Abstract Expressionist artists Jackson Pollock and Lee Krasner in East Hampton, New York) is an admirer, noting the “pioneering drip technique…” which “…introduced the notion of action painting", where the canvas became the space with which the artist actively would engage”.  As a thumbnail sketch she offered:

Number 14: Gray (1948), Enamel over gesso on paper.

“Reminiscent of the Surrealist notions of the subconscious and automatic painting, Pollock's abstract works cemented his reputation as the most critically championed proponent of Abstract Expressionism. His visceral engagement with emotions, thoughts and other intangibles gives his abstract imagery extraordinary immediacy, while his skillful use of fluid pigment, applied with dance-like movements and sweeping gestures that seldom actually touched the surface, broke decisively with tradition. At first sight, Pollock's vigorous method appears to create chaotic labyrinths, but upon close inspection his strong rhythmic structures become evident, revealing a fascinating complexity and deeper significance.  Far from being calculated to shock, Pollock's liquid medium was crucial to his pictorial aims.  It proved the ideal vehicle for the mercurial content that he sought to communicate 'energy and motion made visible - memories arrested in space'.”

Number 13A: Arabesque (1948), Oil and enamel on canvas.

Critics either less visionary or more fastidious seemed often as appalled by Pollock’s violence of technique as they were by the finished work (or “products” as some labelled the drip paintings), questioning whether any artistic skill or vision even existed, one finding them “…mere unorganized explosions of random energy, and therefore meaningless.”  The detractors used the language of academic criticism but meant the same thing as the frequent phrase of an unimpressed public: “That’s not art, anyone could do that.”

Number 1, 1949 (1949), Enamel and metallic paint on canvas. 

There have been famous responses to  “That’s not art, anyone could do that” but Ms Harrison's was practical, offering people the opportunity to try.  To the view that “…people thought it was arbitrary, that anyone can fling paint around”, Ms Harrison conceded it was true anybody could “fling paint around” but that was her point, anybody could, but having flung, they wouldn’t “…necessarily come up with anything” by which she meant the wouldn't necessarily come up with anything of which the critical establishment (a kind of freemasonry of the art business) would approve (ie could put a price tag on).

Helen A Harrison, The Jackson Pollock Box (Cider Mill Press, 96pp, ISBN-10:1604331860, ISBN-13:978-1604331868).

In 2010, Ms Harrison released The Jackson Pollock Box, a kit which, in addition to an introductory text, included paint brushes, drip bottles and canvases so people could do their own flinging and compare the result against a Pollock.  After that, they may agree with collector Peggy Guggenheim (1898-1979) that Pollock was “...the greatest painter since Picasso” or remain unrepentant ultracrepidarians.  Of course, many who thought their own eye for art quite well-trained didn't agree with Ms Guggenheim.  In 1945, just after the war, Duff Cooper (1890–1954), then serving as Britain's ambassador to France, came across Pablo Picasso (1881–1973) leaving an exhibition of paintings by English children aged 5-10 and in his diary noted the great cubist saying he "had been much impressed".  "No wonder" added the ambassador, "the pictures are just as good as his".

Dresses & drips: Three photographs by Cecil Beaton (1904-1980), shot for a three-page feature in Vogue (March 1951) titled American Fashion: The New Soft Look which juxtaposed Pollock’s paintings hung in New York’s Betty Parsons Gallery with the season’s haute couture by Irene (1872-1951) & Henri Bendel (1868-1936).

Beaton choose the combinations of fashion and painting; pairing Lavender Mist (1950, left) with a short black ball gown of silk paper taffeta with large pink bow at one shoulder and an asymmetrical hooped skirt best illustrates the value of his trained eye.  Critics and social commentators have always liked these three pages, relishing the opportunity to comment on the interplay of so many of the clashing forces of modernity: the avant-garde and fashion, production and consumption, abstraction and representation, painting and photography, autonomy and decoration, masculinity and femininity, art and commerce.  Historians of art note it too because it was the abstract expressionism of the 1940s which was both uniquely an American movement and the one which in the post-war years saw the New York supplant Paris as the centre of Western art.  There have been interesting discussions about when last it could be said Western art had a "centre".

Blue Poles, upside down.

Although the suggestion might offend the trained and discerning eyes of art critics, it’s doubtful that for ultracrepidarians the experience of viewing Blue Poles would much be different were it to be hung upside down.  Fortunately, the world does have a goodly stock of art critics who can explain that while Pollock did more than once say his works should be interpreted “subjectively”, their intended orientation is a part of the whole and an inversion would change the visual dynamics and gravitational illusions upon which the abstraction effects depend would be changed.  It would still be a painting but, in a sense, not the one the artist painted.  Because the drip technique involved “flinging and poring paint” onto a canvas spread across a studio’s floor, there was not exactly a randomness in where the paint landed but physics did mean gravity exerted some pull (in flight and on the ground), lending layers and rivulets what must be a specific downward orientation.  Thus, were the work to be hung inverted, what was in the creative process a downward flow would be seen as “flowing uphill” as it were.  The compositional elements which lent the work its name were course the quasi-vertical “poles” placed at slight angles and its these which are the superstructure which “anchor” the rest of the drips and, being intrinsically “directional”, they too have a “right way up”.  There is in the assessment of art the “eye of the beholder” but although it may be something they leave unstated, most critics will be of the “some eyes are more equal than others” school.

Mondrian’s 1941 New York City 1 as it (presumably correctly) sat in the artist's studio in 1944 (left) and as it was since 1945 exhibited (upside-down) in New York and Düsseldorf (right).  Spot the difference.

So although ultracrepidarians may not “get it” (even after digesting the critics’ explanations) and wouldn’t be able to tell whether or not it was hung correctly, that’s because they’re philistines.  In the world of abstract art however, even the critics can be fooled: in 2022, it was revealed a work in Piet Mondrian’s (1872-1944) 1941 New York City 1 series had for 77 years been hanging upside down.  First in exhibited in 1945 in New York’s MOMA (Museum of Modern Art), the piece was created with multi-colored adhesive paper tape and, in an incorrect orientation, it has since 1980 hung in the Düsseldorf Museum as part of the Kunstsammlung Nordrhein-Westfalen’s collection.  The decades-long, trans-Atlantic mistake came to light during a press conference held to announce the Kunstsammlung’s new Mondrian exhibition and the conclusion was the error may have been caused by something as simple as the packing-crate being overturned or misleading instructions being given to the staff.  1941 New York City 1 will remain upside because of the condition of the adhesive strips.  “The adhesive tapes are already extremely loose and hanging by a thread” a curator was quoted as saying, adding that if it were now to be turned-over, “…gravity would pull it into another direction.  And it’s now part of the work’s story.”  Mondrian was one of the more significant theorists of abstract art and its withdrawal from nature and natural subjects.  “Denaturalization” he proclaimed to be a milestone in human progress, adding: “The power of neo-plastic painting lies in having shown the necessity of this denaturalization in painterly terms... to denaturalize is to abstract... to abstract is to deepen.”  Now even ultracrepidarians can understand.

Eye of the beholder: Portrait of Lindsay Lohan in the style of Claude Monet (1840–1926) at craiyon.com and available at US$26 on an organic cotton T-shirt made in a factory powered by renewable energy.

Whether the arguments about what deserves to be called “art” began among prehistoric “artists” and their critics in caves long ago isn’t known but it’s certainly a dispute with a long history.  In the sense it’s a subjective judgment the matter was doubtless often resolved by a potential buyer declining to purchase but during the twentieth century it became a contested topic and there were celebrated exhibits and squabbles which for decades played out before, in the post modern age, the final answer appeared to be something was art if variously (1) the creator said it was or (2) an art critic said it was or (3) it was in an art gallery or (4) the price tag was sufficiently impressive.

So what constitutes “art” is a construct of time, place & context which evolves, shaped by historical, cultural, social, economic, political & personal influences, factors which in recent years have had to be cognizant of the rise of cultural equivalency, the recognition that Western concepts such as the distinction between “high” (or “fine”) art and “folk” (or “popular”) art can’t be applied to work from other traditions where cultural objects are not classified by a graduated hierarchy.  In other words, everybody’s definition is equally valid.  That doesn’t mean there are no longer gatekeepers because the curators in institutions such as museums, galleries & academies all discriminate and thus play a significant role in deciding what gets exhibited, studied & promoted, even though few would now dare to suggest what is art and what is not: that would be cultural imperialism.

Eye of the prompt 1.0: An AI (artificial intelligence) generated portrait of Lindsay Lohan by ChatGPT imagined in "drip painting style", this one using an interpretation which overlaid "curated drips" over "flung paint".  This could be rendered using Ms Harrison's Jackson Pollock Box but would demand some talent.

In the twentieth century, it seemed to depend on artistic intent, something which transcended a traditional measure such as aesthetic value but as the graphic art in advertising and that with a political purpose such as agitprop became bigger, brighter and more intrusive, such forms also came to be regarded as art or at least worth of being studied or exhibited on the same basis, in the same spaces as oil on canvas portraits & landscapes.  Once though, an unfamiliar object in such places could shock as French painter & sculptor Marcel Duchamp (1887-1968) managed in 1917 when he submitted a porcelain urinal as his piece for an exhibition in New York, his rationale being “…everyday objects raised to the dignity of a work of art by the artist's act of choice.”  Even then it wasn’t a wholly original approach but the art establishment has never quite recovered and from that urinal to Dadaism, to soup cans to unmade beds, it became accepted that “anything goes” and people should be left to make of it what they will.  Probably the last remaining reliable guide to what really is "art" remains the price tag.

Eye of the prompt 1.1: An AI (artificial intelligence) generated portrait of Lindsay Lohan by ChatGPT imagined in "drip painting style", this one closer to Pollock’s “action painting” technique.

His drip period wholly non-representational, Pollock didn’t produce recognizable portraiture so applying the technique for this purpose demands guesswork.  As AI illustrates, it can be done but, in blending two incompatible modes, whether it looks much like what Pollock would have produced had he accepted a “paint Lindsay Lohan” commission, is wholly speculative.  What is more likely is that even if some sort of hybrid, a portrait by Pollock would have been an abstraction altogether more chaotic and owing little to the structure on which such works usually depend in that there probably would have been no central focal point, fewer hints of symmetry and a use of shading producing a face not lineal in its composition.  That’s what his sense of “continuous motion” dictated: no single form becoming privileged over the rest.  So, this too is not for the literalists schooled in the tradition of photo-realism but as a work it’s also an example of how most armed with Ms Harrison's Jackson Pollock Box could with "drip & fling" produce this but not necessarily would produce this, chaos on canvas needing talent too.

1948 Cisitalia 202 GT (left; 1947-1952) and 1962 Jaguar E-Type (1961-1974; right), Museum of Modern Art (MoMA), New York City.

Urinals tend not to be admired for their aesthetic qualities but there are those who find beauty in stuff as diverse as math equations and battleships.  Certain cars have long been objects which can exert an emotional pull on those with a feeling for such things and if the lines are sufficiently pleasing, many flaws in execution or engineering can be forgivgen.  New York’s MOMA in 1972 acknowledged such creations can be treated as works of art when they added a 1948 Cisitalia 202 GT finished in “Cisitalia Red” (MoMA object number 409.1972) to their collection, the press release noting it was “…the first time that an art museum in the U.S. put a car into its collection.”  Others appeared from time-to-time and while the 1953 Willys-Overland Jeep M-38A1 Utility Truck (MoMA object number 261.2002) perhaps is not conventionally beautiful, its brutish functionalism has a certain simplicity of form and in the exhibition notes MoMA clarified somewhat by describing it as a “rolling sculpture”, presumably in the spirit of a urinal being a “static sculpture”, both to be admired as pieces of design perfectly suited to their intended purpose, something of an art in itself.  Of the 1962 Jaguar E-Type (sometimes informally as XKE or XK-E in the US) open two seater (OTS, better known as a roadster and acquired as MoMA object number 113.996), there was no need to explain because it’s one of the most seductive shapes ever rendered in metal.  Enzo Ferrari (1898-1988) attended the 1961 Geneva International Motor Show (now defunct but, on much the same basis as manufacturers east of Suez buying brand-names such as MG, Jaguar and such, the name has been purchased for use by an event in staged in Qatar) when the E-Type made its stunning debut and part of folklore is he called it “the most beautiful car in the world”.  Whether those words ever passed his lips isn’t certain because the sources vary slightly in detail and il Commendatore apparently never confirmed or denied the sentiment but it’s easy to believe and to this day many agree just looking at the thing can be a visceral experience.  The MoMA car is finished in "Opalescent Dark Blue" with a grey interior and blue soft-top (there are those who would prefer it in BRG (British Racing Green) over tan leather) and although as a piece of design it's not flawless, anyone who can't see the beauty in a Series 1 E-Type OTS is truly an ultracrepidarian.   

Penthouse

Penthouse (pronounced pent-hous)

(1) An apartment or dwelling on the roof of a building, usually set back from the outer walls.

(2) Any specially designed apartment on an upper floor, especially the top floor, of a building.

(3) A structure on a roof for housing elevator machinery, a water tank etc.

(4) Any roof-like shelter or overhanging part.

(5) In real tennis, a corridor having a slanted roof and projecting from three walls of the court.

(6) As mechanical penthouse, a floor, usually directly under a flat-roof, used to house mechanical plant & equipment.

(7) A special-interest magazine, aimed at a mostly male audience and published in several editions by a variety of owners between 1965-2023.

1520–1530: Despite the appearance penthouse is not a portmanteau (pent + house) word.  Penthouse is an alteration (by folk etymology) of the Middle English pentis, pentiz & pendize (and other spellings), from the Old French apentiz & apentis (appendage, attached building), the construct being apent (past participle of apendre (to hang against)) + -iz (the French -is ) from the unattested Vulgar Latin –ātīcium (noun use of neuter of the unattested –ātīcius, the construct being the Latin -āt(us) (past participle suffix) + -īcius (the adjectival suffix)).  Old French picked up apentis from the Medieval Latin appendicium (from the Classical Latin appendo (to hang) & appendere (to hang from).  A less common alternative variant to describe a shed with a sloping roof projecting from a wall or the side of a building was pentice.  Penthouse is a noun & verb, penthousing is a verb and penthoused & penthouslike are adjective; the noun plural is penthouses.  The adjectives penthouseish & penthousesque are non-standard.

Penthouse magazine, December 1993.

First published in 1965, Penthouse magazine was one of many ventures (in many fields) which proved unwilling or unable to adapt to the changes wrought by the internet and the atomization of the delivery of content; its last print edition (after a few stuttering years) appeared in 2023 although there must remain some perception of value in the name because of the decades-long prominence of the title and it's not impossible there will be a revival, even if it's unlikely to re-appear in the glossy magazine format of old.  In Australia, for students of the print industry the comparison between the “men’s magazines” Penthouse and Playboy (first published in 1953, on-line since 2020 and a print “annual edition” appeared in 2025) was something like that between the “women’s magazines” Cosmopolitan (since 1965 in its current niche) and Cleo (1972-2016) in that the two pairings were superficially similar but different in emphasis.  Not too much should be made of that because although identifiably there were “Cosmo women” & “Cleo women” (presumably with some overlap at the margins), between Penthouse and Playboy there were probably more similarities than variations.  Structuralists explained the difference between the two genres: “men’s magazines” were bought by men so they could look at pictures of women not wearing clothes while “women’s magazines” were bought by women so they could look at pictures of women wearing clothes.

View from the penthouse in which Lindsay Lohan lived in 2014, W Residences, Manhattan, New York City.

When the lovely Ms Schiffer appeared on the cover of the December 1993 edition of Penthouse, the editors may not have been aware of the beast which was coming to consume them but it was in April 1993 CERN (in 1953 the Conseil Européen pour la Recherche Nucléaire (European Council for Nuclear Research) but the following year re-named Organisation européenne pour la recherche nucléaire (European Organization for Nuclear Research) with the acronym retained because it was both more mnemonic and pronounceable than OERN) released into the public domain details of technology which would allow the free development of applications using the www (world wide web) which ran atop the internet, making indexed content more easily accessible and distributable.  When in April 1993 the NCSA (National Center for Supercomputing Applications) released version 1.0 of its Mosaic web browser, it triggered a social and industrial revolution which (variously on TikTok, X (formerly known as Twitter), FoxNews and such) continues to unfold.  Mosaic wasn’t the first web browser but it was the first to gain a critical mass and the applications which superseded it claimed many victims including Penthouse magazine.

Iso, the Grifo and the Penthouse

1965 Iso Grifo Bizzarini A3/C, Le Mans, 1965.

One of the most admired of the trans-Atlantic hybrids of the post-war years (1945-1973) which combined elegant coachwork, (hopefully) high standards of craftsmanship and the effortless, low-cost power of large-displacement American V8 engines, the Iso Grifo was produced between 1965-1974 by the Italian manufacturer Iso Autoveicoli.  Styled by Bertone’s Giorgetto Giugiaro (b 1938) with engineering handled by the gifted Giotto Bizzarrini (1926-2023), the Grifo initially used a 327 cubic inch (5.3 litre) version of the small-block Chevrolet V8, coupled with the equally ubiquitous Borg-Warner (four & five speed) manual gearbox or robust General Motors (GM) Turbo-Hydramatic automatics.  Later, after some had been built with the big-block Chevrolet V8, GM began to insist on being paid up-front for hardware so Iso negotiated with the more accommodating Ford Motor Company (FoMoCo) and switched to 351 cubic inch (5.8 litre) versions of their 335 (Cleveland) engine.

1955 Iso Isetta.

Iso was already familiar with the mechanical configuration, production of their Rivolta coupe, equipped also with the Chevrolet 327, having begun in 1962.  The Rivolta, let alone the Grifo was quite a change of direction for Iso which until then had produced a variety of appliances, scooters & moto-cycles, it’s most famous product the Isetta, one of the generation of “bubble cars” which played such a part in putting Europeans back on (three or four) wheels during the re-construction of the early post-war years.  Surprisingly, despite the prominence of the Isetta name and the Italian association, barely a thousand were actually manufactured by Iso, the overwhelming majority produced in many countries by BMW and others to which a license was granted.  The bubble cars were a product of the economic circumstances of post-war Europe and the ones produced in England even used the single rear wheel which had been abandoned by Iso because of the inherent instability; UK taxation laws made three-wheelers significantly cheaper and only a motor-cycle license was required to drive one.  Powered by tiny two and four-stroke engines, their popularity waned as “real” cars such as the Fiat 500 (1955-1975) and later the BMC (British Motor Corporation) Mini (1959-2000) emerged; although costing little more than the bubble cars, they offered more space, performance and practicality.  By the early 1960s, the bubble cars were almost extinct but, as a tiny specialized niche, they never completely vanished and the Isetta is enjoying a twenty-first century revival as model urban transportation, including the option of (Greta Thunberg (b 2003) approved) electric propulsion.  Once dismissed as dated and even absurd, their bug-eyed look is now thought to have "retro-charm".

1968 Iso Rivolta.

The Rivolta was thus quite a jump up-market and, while the engine wasn't the bespoke thoroughbred found in a Ferrari or Aston-Martin, the rest of the specification justified the high price.  Unlike some of the British interpretations using American V8s, Iso insisted on modernity, the platform probably the best of the era with a body welded to a pressed-steel chassis, a combination which proved both light and stiff.  Just as importantly, given the high rate of corporate failure among those attracted to this potentially lucrative market, it was cost-effective to manufacture, reliable and easy to service.  Probably the feature which let it rank with the most accomplished of the era was the sophisticated de Dion rear suspension which, combined with four wheel disc brakes, lent it a rare competence (surprising some Maserati and Ferrari drivers, their cars with rear suspension designs dating from the horse & buggy era).  The de Dion design was not an independent arrangement but certainly behaved as if it was and, despite what Mercedes-Benz claimed of their beloved swing-axles, was superior to many of the independent setups on offer.  A noted benefit of the de Dion system is it ensures the rear wheels remain always parallel, quite an important feature in an axle which has to transmit to the road the high torque output of a big V8, a lesson Swiss constructor Peter Monteverdi (1934–1998) applied later in the decade when he went into production using even bigger engines.  Iso, with a solid base in accounting and production-line economics, ran an efficient and profitable operation not beset by the recurrent financial crises which afflicted so many and the elegant Rivolta was a success, remaining available until 1970.  Some eight hundred were sold.

1967 Iso Grifo Series One.

The Rivolta’s platform proved adaptable.  In 1965, Iso released the Grifo coupé which was more overtly oriented to outright performance and strictly a two-seater.  With lovely lines and a modified version of the Rivolta’s fine chassis, the Grifo was another product of the fertile imaginations of Giugiaro & Bizzarrini but, in something not untypical in Italian industry of the time, the relationship between the latter and Iso’s founder Renzo Rivolta (1908–1966) soon became strained and was sundered.  Bizzarrini would go on to do remarkable things and Iso’s engineers assumed complete control of the Grifo after the first few dozen had been completed.  Bizzarrini had pursued a twin-stream development, a competition version called the A3/C with a lower, lightweight aluminum body as well as the road-going A3/L and when he decamped, he took with him the A3/C, to be released also under his name while Iso devoted its attentions to the A3/L, again using engine-transmission combinations borrowed from the Chevrolet Corvette.

1964 Iso Grifo A3/L Spider prototype by Bertone.

The Grifo weighed a relatively svelte 1430 kg (3153 lbs) in what must have been a reasonably slippery shape because the reports at the time confirmed some 240 km/h (150 mph) was easily attained, an increase on that managed by the C2 Corvette (1962-1967 and which turned out to be not aerodynamically efficient as it looked) and, when configured with the taller gearing the factory offered, the factory claimed 260 km/h (162 mph), was possible.  A test in the UK in 1966 almost matched that with a verified 161 mph (259 km/h) recorded and two years later, the US publication Car & Driver 1968 tested a 327 Grifo but didn't to a top-speed run, instead estimating 157 mph (253 km/h) should be possible given enough road.  There were surprisingly few variations, fewer than two-dozen made with a targa-style removable roof panel and a single, achingly lovely roadster was displayed on Bertone's stand at the 1964 Geneva Motor Show; it remained a one-off although a couple of coupés privately have been converted.  What made the Bertone prototype special however was it was a companion to the original A3/L prototype coupé with which it shared a number of distinctive features including (1) a side exhaust rakishly snaking through the passenger side of the cowl and under the rocker panel trim with its an almost matte finish, (2) frontal styling with the then fashionable “twin-nostril” fascia and (3) angled vents in the rear fenders.  Although visually similar to the series production Grifos, almost every line on the pair of A3/L prototypes was in some subtle way different.

The one-off Iso Grifo Spider on Bertone's stand, 1964 Geneva Salon, 1964 (left) and as discovered in Rudi Klein's famous shed, Los Angeles, 2024 (right). 

Although well-known in the collector community for its large stocks of rusty and wrecked Porsches, Mercedes-Benz and other notable vehicles from the post-war years, the Californian “junkyard” belonging to Rudi Klein (1936-2001) attracted world-wide interest when details were published of the gems which had for decades been secreted in the site's large and secure shed.  Mr Klein was a German butcher who in the late 1950s emigrated to the US to work at his trade but quickly discovered a more enjoyable and lucrative living could be had dealing in damaged or wrecked European cars, sometimes selling the whole vehicles and sometimes the parts (“parting out” in junkyard parlance).  His Porsche Foreign Auto business had operated for some time before he received a C&D (cease & desist) letter from the German manufacturer’s US attorneys, the result being the name change in 1967 to Porche (sic) Foreign Auto.  Unlike many collectors, Mr Klein amassed his collection unobtrusively and, astonishingly to many, apparently with little interest in turning a profit on the rarest, despite some of them coming to be worth millions.  After Mr Klein died in 2001, his two sons preserved the collection untouched until, in October 2024,the auction house Sotheby’s began a series of rolling sales, one to go under the hammer the one-off Grifo spider.  At some point there was an accident which damaged the nose so a standard Grifo facia was installed and in this form Mr Klein ran it for a while as a road car before parking it in the shed among its illustrious companions.  Remarkably original except for the nose, it sold for US$1,875,000 and the expectation is it will be fully restored (including a fabricated replica of the original nose) before appearing on the show circuit.  In the decades to come, it will likely spend its time in collections with the occasional outings to auction houses.

1970 Iso Grifo Targa (left) Series Two and 1971 Iso Grifo Can-Am (454) Targa.  Only four Series II Can-Ams were built with the targa roof.

The bodywork was revised in 1970, subsequent cars listed as Series Two models.  The revisions included detail changes to the interior, improvements to the increasingly popular air-conditioning system and some alterations to the body structure, the hydraulics and electrical system, some necessitated by new regulatory requirements in Europe but required mostly in an attempt to remain compliant with the more onerous US legislation.  The most obvious change was to the nose, the headlamps now partially concealed by flaps which raised automatically when the lights were activated.  Presumably the smoother nose delivered improved aerodynamics but the factory made no specific claims, either about performance or the drag co-efficient (CD) number.

1972 Iso Lele & 1972 Iso Fidia.

In 1972, an unexpected change in the power-train was announced.  After almost a decade exclusively using Chevrolet engines, Iso issued a press release confirming that henceforth, the Series Two Grifo would be powered by Ford’s Boss 351 cubic inch (5.8 litre) 335 series (Cleveland) V8.  In the state of tune (close to that fellow Italian specialist De Tomaso were using in their mid-engined Pantera) chosen, the Ford engine was similar in size, weight to the small-block Chevrolet and delivered similar power and torque characteristics so the driving experience differed little although there were 22 high-performance Leles using a tuned 351, all with a ZF five-speed manual gearbox.  The other improvement in performance was presumably Iso’s balance sheet.  The switch had been made because internal policy changes at GM meant they were now insisting on being paid up-front for their product whereas Ford was still prepared to mail an invoice with a payment term.  The change extended to the other models in the range, the Lele coupé and Fidia saloon and while the Chevrolet/Ford split in the Lele was 125/157, the circumstances of the time meant that of the 192 Fidias made, only 35 were fitted with the 351.

1969 Iso Grifo 7 Litre (427).

One of the trends which made machines of the 1960s so memorable was a tendency never to do in moderation what could be done in excess.  In 1968, Iso announced the Grifo 7 Litre, built following the example of the US manufacturers who had with little more than a pencil and the back of an envelope worked out the economics of simple seven litre engines were more compelling than adding expensive components like overhead camshafts and fuel-injection to five litre engines; in the US, gas (petrol) was then relatively cheap and and assumed by most to be limitless.  Gas wasn’t as cheap in Italy or the rest of Europe but Iso’s target market for the Grifo was those who either could afford the running costs or (increasingly) paid their bills with OPM (other people’s money) so in those circles fuel consumption wasn’t something often considered or much discussed.  The new version used a 427 cubic inch (7.0 litre) version of the big-block Chevrolet V8, bigger and heavier than the 327 so the driving characteristics of the nose-heavy machine were changed but contemporary reports praised the competence of the chassis, the de Dion rear-end notably superior in behavior compared with the Corvette’s independent rear suspension although some did note it took skill (which meant often using some restraint) effectively to use the prodigious power.  Tellingly, the most receptive market for the Grifos, small and big-block, was the  FRG (Bundesrepublik Deutschland (Federal Republic of Germany; the old West Germany) 1949-1990) with its network of highways without the tiresome speed limits elsewhere imposed and (even in Italy), often enforced.  The Autobahn really was the Grifo's native environment.

1971 Iso Grifo Can Am (454).

Faster it certainly was although the factory’s claim of a top speed of 186 mph (a convenient 300 km/h) did seem optimistic to anyone with a slide-rule and there appears not to be any record of anyone verifying the number although one published test did claim to have seen well over 255 km/h (150 mph) with the Grifo still "strongly accelerating" before “running out of road”.  It had by then become a genuine problem.  Gone were the happy times when testers still did their work on public roads; increased traffic volumes by the late 1960s meant the often deserted stretches of highway (in 1956 an English journalist had taken a Mercedes-Benz 300SLR Coupé to 183 mph (294 km/h) on the autobahn) were now rare but whatever the terminal velocity, nobody seemed to suggest the 7 litre Grifo lacked power.  In 1970, after Iso’s stock of the by-then out-of-production triple carburetor 427 were exhausted, the big-block car was re-named Can-Am and equipped instead with a 454 cubic inch (7.5 litre) version, the name an allusion to the unlimited displacement Group 7 sports car racing series run in North America in which the big-block Chevrolets were long the dominant engine.

Despite the increased displacement, power actually dropped a little because the 454 was detuned a little to meet the then still modest anti-emission regulations.  Officially, the 454 was rated at 395 HP (gross horsepower) but the numbers in that era were often at best indicative: The Boss 429 Mustang was said to produce 375 HP whereas the 500 cubic inch (8.2 litre) V8 in the FWD! (front-wheel-drive) Cadillac Eldorado was rated at 400; a comparison of their performance belies the numbers and the difference is not all accounted for by the Eldorado's weight and power-sapping accessories.  As early as the the mid-1960s Detroit had begun understating the output of many of their high-performance engines and as politicians and insurance companies (for their own reasons) became interested, the trend continued.    

1971 Iso Grifo Can Am (454).

Unlike the 427 which breathed through three two barrel carburetors, the 454 was equipped with less intricate induction, a single four barrel and while with output (officially) dropping from 435 to 395 HP, performance was s little blunted although it's probable few owners often went fast enough to tell the difference.  What didn’t change between the 7 Litre and the Can Am was its most distinctive feature, the modification to the hood (bonnet) made to ensure the additional height of the 427's induction system could be accommodated.  The raised central section, the factory dubbed "the penthouse".

Penthouse on 1969 Iso Grifo 7 Litre (427).

Not everyone admired the stark simplicity, supposing, not unreasonably, Giugiaro might have done something more in sympathy with its surroundings.  Critics more stern would have preferred a curvaceous scoop, blister or bulge and thought the penthouse amateurish, an angular discordance bolted unhappily atop Giugiaro’s flowing lines  but for those brought up in the tradition of brutalist functionalism, it seemed an admirable tribute to what lay beneath.  The days of the big-block Grifo were however numbered.  In 1972, with Chevrolet no longer willing to extent credit and Ford’s big-block (429 & 460) engines re-tuned as low-emission (for the time) units suitable for pickup trucks and luxury cars, the Can-Am was retired.  So the small-block 351 Grifo became the sole model in the range but it too fell victim to changing times, production lasting not long beyond the first oil shock (triggered by the OAPEC (Organization of Arab Petroleum Exporting Countries) on 17 October 1973 imposing an embargo on crude oil exports to certain countries) which made gas suddenly not only much more expensive but sometimes also scarce and the whole ecosystem of the thirsty trans-Atlantic hybrids became threatened; in little more than a year, Iso was one of the many dinosaurs driven extinct.  Decades later, the survivors of the 414 sold are highly desirable; fine examples of the small-block Grifos attract over US$500,000, the few dozen penthouse have sold for close to a million and the rare early A3/Cs for even more.

From the lost, tactile days of buttons and toggle switches: 1966 Iso Grifo, one of 31 built in RHD (right hand drive).

Not fans of brutalist functionalism were the Lancia-loving types at Road & Track (R&T) magazine in the US.  Late in 1974, R&T published their 1975 buyer’s guide for imported and domestically-built smaller cars (R&T neither approving of nor understanding why anyone would wish to buy a big American car) and surprisingly, there were reviews of the Grifo, Lele and Fidia although the last of these sold in the US some two years earlier had been titled as 1973 models, the company having never sought to certification to continue sales although, given nothing had been done to modify them to meet the new safety regulations, that would likely have been pointless unless the strategy was to seek a "low volume" exemption, something improbable by 1975.

A tale of two penthouses: Paradoxically, as installed in the Grifo the induction system of the big-block Chevrolet V8 sat a little lower than that of the small-block Ford (a not unusual anomaly in the small-block vs big-block world) so the Ford-engined Grifos (right) used a taller penthouse than those fitted with the Chevrolet unit.     

The distributors had however indicated to the press all three would return to the US market in 1975, supplying publicity photographs which included a Series II "penthouse" Grifo.  A further complication was that during 1974, Ford had discontinued in the US production of the high-performance 351 (the "Cleveland" 335 series which was exiled to Australia) V8 so it wasn't clear what power-train would have been used.  Others had the same problem, De Tomaso (which withdrew from the US market in 1974) switching to use tuned versions of the Australian-built 351s but for Iso, the whole issue became irrelevant as the factory was closed late in 1974.  R&T's last thoughts on the penthouse appeared in the buyer's guide: "However, the clean lines of the original Grifo have been spoiled by that terrible looking outgrowth on the hood used for air cleaner clearance.  For US$28,500 (around US$155,000 in 2025 US$ although direct translation of value is difficult to calculate because of the influence of exchange rates and other variables), a better solution to this problem should have been found."