It went by a modest name—PM1—but it carried the brief for an entire salon. At the 65th Salone Internazionale dell’Automobile di Torino, the PM1 stood as the chosen symbol of the show’s philosophy during a difficult spell for the global car market. Turin had served, as it long had, as the arena where constructors tested themselves—fertile ground for ingenuity, competition, creativity, and design—and the PM1 fitted that context precisely.
The car traced its lineage to Turin’s own Giovanni Michelotti, remembered as the first freelance designer in the field. Paolo Martin—presented as a pupil from that era—designed and built the PM1 by returning to those roots. He used the same method, the same materials, and the same passion, preparing the maquette for the occasion yet deliberately leaving it unfinished, as if it were a theme to be continued and addressed especially to younger generations.
Visually, the PM1 played things philosophically. It gathered ideas and impulses that had animated half a century of automotive construction and culture, yet it refused to reference any current archetype. Instead, it represented a European style—strong, determined, and intimate—intended to stir the viewer’s ego and rekindle a love for making objects, cars included.
Its most striking decision read like a manifesto: natural wood, shown as-is. The PM1 had been conceived exactly in that dress—no paint, no wheels—specifically to break with the standard procession of polished showpieces. It did not aim to be fashionable, to invite comparisons, or to parade for judgments. It existed to illustrate a way of thinking and a method of building.
In that spirit, the presentation underlined manual craft derived from experience and adapted to contemporary taste. Martin approached the theme intimately and resolved it without drawings, without complications, and without psychological conditioning—an instinctive way of acting and designing. As exhibited, the PM1 functioned as a didactic product: a topic to pursue, a subject for discussion, or simply a handsome twentieth-century “auto mobile,” with the visitors’ imagination left to complete the story.
The status remained intentional: a theme to finish. Alongside the wooden body, material showed how it might have looked if built to completion, and a 1:4 model realized by Martin accompanied the study. An examination of aerodynamic flows sat beneath, extending the exploration beyond surface and shape.
Construction stayed personal. Martin built the PM1 entirely by hand, as he had often done for scale models that anticipated concept cars or production vehicles. He shaped the wood essences, fixed the elements, and smoothed the surfaces over months of absorbing work. The message read clearly: the human being remained the “prince” of personal choices. One could use the computer, but not depend on it; an intellectual and creative heritage stood upstream and deserved protection at all costs.
In the end, the Bugatti PM1 by Paolo Martin served its brief at Turin: not a finished product, not a runway contender, but a distilled philosophy of making—rooted in history, carved in wood, and left open for the next pair of hands.
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