Giovanni Michelotti, my father, was one of the most influential designers in the world of automotive design. With a confident hand and an unmistakable aesthetic, he left a lasting mark on the industry. The Historical Archive preserves over six thousand of his drawings—a mere fraction of his works, many of which remain scattered across the world. Those drawings capture his vision, his ability to create forms with spontaneity and certainty, making each stroke a concrete expression of his ideas.
Words Edgardo Michelotti
Photos and drawings Archivio Storico Michelotti (http://www.archiviostoricomichelotti.it/)
The Archivio Storico Michelotti represents only a small portion of my father’s lifetime production.
It offers just a glimpse into my father’s life, with countless sketches and figurines beyond its collection, often treasured by collectors or sold at auctions. His real body of work could easily be three times larger than what’s catalogued. The sketches we have are enough to understand his methods: he drew effortlessly, almost as if transcribing what he already saw in his mind. Watching him in the 1950s was remarkable—each line flowed without hesitation or correction. For my father, creating automobiles wasn’t just work; it was genuine enjoyment, a pure expression of his passion and creative genius. His creative process was as original as it was direct. He never started with preliminary sketches or small-scale plans. Everything was in his mind, and his lines took form directly at a 1:1 scale, ready for realisation. This aspect made his creations authentic and distinctive.
I had the privilege of witnessing the drafting of his “piani di forma” (shape plans) at a 1:1 scale, without ever starting with preliminary sketches or smaller-scale designs. His ideas were born fully formed in his mind and were directly transferred to technical drawings, complete with all necessary views: side, top, front, and rear. These drawings were intended for the construction of the wooden model and the subsequent shaping of the prototype, including sections and mechanical details.
The "Piano di Forma" was a large-scale drawing, typically 5-6 meters long and about 1.5 meters high, gridded every 20 cm – and every 10 cm in more complex sections. It depicted the profiles and sections of the car’s outer bodywork, including the side view and, overlaid, the top view, with half of the front and rear views placed on either side of the main lines. This tool contained all the information and lines necessary for modelers to build the wooden prototype, used for shaping the metal sheets, as well as to design the equipment required for assembling the shaped panels created by the sheet metal workers. In addition to the main profiles, the Piano di Forma also detailed the mechanisms, such as the linkages for door handles, window regulators, retractable headlights, and the hinges for doors, the hood, and the trunk. In essence, this drawing served as the foundation for constructing the complete car prototype.
I saw him use any available tool, from pencils to felt-tips, brushes to ballpoint pens, on any type of surface he could find—tracing paper, cardboard, or drafting film—without ever erasing a line.
For him, both the tool and the surface were completely irrelevant: he would use any type of pencil, felt-tip pen, ink pen, or ballpoint, regardless of color. Similarly, he had no preference for the surface: white paper, the back of a sheet of packing paper, cardboard, a notepad, or any other available surface. In my archive, I keep sketches made on graph paper with ballpoints in various colors. He often drew on the white margins of the magazine La Settimana Enigmistica while solving a puzzle or completing a crossword grid. The one thing I never saw him use was an eraser: he never erased anything because his ideas were immediately clear and definitive. He didn’t like making changes and rarely felt the need to do so.
The certainty with which he shaped his forms made his work instantly recognisable. I watched him create car forms with a disarming simplicity, in a timeframe so brief that it left me astonished. He drew exactly what was already in his mind, as though he were printing a snapshot of his thoughts.
My father loved to set his cars within evocative contexts, giving each project life and character. His works reveal cars speeding alongside motorboats on rivers, models posed against American backdrops like the Lily Ann shop, and perspectives from circuits like LeMans or racecourses. He was capable of building a narrative around every car, enriching his figurines with details that brought them to life.
This is one of the traits that made him unique: he was not just a designer but a visual storyteller.
Giovanni Michelotti was a tireless seeker of new lines, driven by a constant need to innovate. For him, drawing knew no limits of time or place: every moment of the day and any available surface became opportunities to give shape to his ideas. It wasn’t uncommon for him, while working on a project commissioned by a client, to add a sketch inspired by a sudden intuition. At other times, he would draw during a TV broadcast or even while solving a crossword puzzle, as he was a great fan of puzzles.
A striking example of this spontaneous creativity is the image below, which depicts the Triumph 2000/2500 second series. This drawing was created in an entirely unique way: he made it during a Sunday evening TV broadcast on Rai, aired before dinner, which commented on the first half of a recently concluded football match.
His work pace was relentless. Working in the evening and continuing late into the night was a routine for my father, as he was often busy during the day visiting clients or artisans who created wooden models or components destined for production. When he had his studio at Corso Francia 35, on the top attic floor, he would design on paper while simultaneously overseeing the creation of 1:5 scale plaster models, working directly alongside the modelers.
In the various workshops he had set up over the years, he had a drafting table and a large vertical desk where he worked side by side with sheet metal workers, assemblers, wooden frame builders, and upholsterers. This allowed him to stay close to the bodywork process while continuing to draw, always maintaining a direct connection with production. Often, after the employees had left, he would stay for several hours to finish his projects.
At home, dinner never began before 9:00 or 9:30 pm, as it was a tradition to dine together as a family, with very few exceptions, and my father never returned earlier than that. Despite the intense rhythm of his days, he never showed signs of fatigue: he had exceptional stamina, a strength and resilience that made it seem as though he never felt tired. By day, he would supervise the progress in Turin’s body shops, but at night, in the quiet of his studio, he allowed creativity to flow freely. He would spend whole nights drawing, producing up to five coloured figurines in a single session, accompanied by the radio, a glass of whisky, and a couple of sandwiches. I can still picture him whistling between strokes, fully immersed in his world, building what, to him, was already a complete car. By morning, his colleagues would find the finished drawing hanging on the drafting board, ready for modelling. A quick splash of water to wake up, a shave, and he would start again, enjoying his work immensely—just him and his cars, exactly as he envisioned and dreamed them.
In the photo above, Giovanni Michelotti was captured in his design studio one morning after a night of intense work creating nearly life-size renderings. These detailed drawings were prepared for presentation to the engineering teams at British Leyland, showcasing his tireless dedication and passion for automotive design.
One of his personal trademarks was the arc he often drew at the top of some figurines, almost as an implicit signature, a sign of approval. It was his way of saying, "All right, it’s finished now."
One of the figurines dearest to me is that of the Reliant Scimitar SS1 Spider. It was the last project he managed to complete before his illness forced him to stop. That drawing, created in the summer of 1979, symbolises, to me, a life wholly dedicated to design and stands as a testament to his unwavering dedication.
My father's work is not only a tribute to the automotive world but also a window into his way of seeing and living design.
Every line he traced spoke of his passion and his confidence: he never drew to find an idea but to show it exactly as he saw it. And in each confident stroke lay all the spontaneity of a man who had no doubts about what he wanted to create.
Another example of Giovanni Michelotti's creativity is the colored figurine shown above, crafted using tempera on blue Canson paper. This artwork was created for a project presentation to Luigi Chinetti, the owner of the N.A.R.T. (North American Racing Team) based in Connecticut. The illustration showcases the car in a ¾ front view, emphasizing its dynamic lines and unique character, a testament to Michelotti's ability to blend technical precision with artistic expression.
Today, years later, Giovanni Michelotti’s work continues to be studied and admired in the world of automotive design. My father demonstrated that the value of an idea lies in the clarity with which it takes shape—immediate and spontaneous, without second thoughts. This is what renders his name immortal, a symbol of authentic creativity in the automotive landscape.
About the author Edgardo Michelotti: Born in 1952, I hold a diploma as a surveyor and pursued a degree in Architecture in Turin. I began working alongside my father in 1973 until his illness and passing in early 1980. I continued his work until 1991, when I transitioned away from the automotive industry. For the next 15 years, I focused on industrial design, while also engaging in photography and archival digitization from 2003 to the present. This allowed me to manage an extensive archive, including the specific cataloging and complete digitization of approximately 6,000 graphic units, 20,000 photographs, 7,000 kg of full-scale design plans, as well as scale models, tools, correspondence, and periodicals. The archive spans over three decades, covering the 1950s, 60s, and 70s.
Comments