Size: 380 x 155 cm / Tire: 73 cm diameter
Materials: Wood, iron
Date: 2024

Maserati

Maserati Racing car, 1939 – A tribute to Tazio Nuvolari

This wood and iron sculpture represents, on a 1:1 scale, the Maserati racing car driven by Tazio Nuvolari in 1939, a symbol of a historic victory against the Mercedes of Nazi Germany. Each piece of the sculpture was cut directly from iron plates, shaping the source material with extreme craftsmanship. The components, developed flat and assembled three-dimensionally, create an impressive work that pays homage to the majesty of the original car.

The body, composed of wood and iron, and the all-iron wheels evoke the strength and endurance of the historic Maserati. The interior has been recreated in every detail and includes the gearbox, pedals and speedometer, also made of iron. The muffler and exhaust pipe are also part of this meticulous and faithful reconstruction of the original mechanical elements.

Like Lucio Dalla’s song Nuvolari, this sculpture celebrates the art of driving and living amid uncertainties. Miglietta’s work speaks of resilience, the ability to face life’s battles and overcome difficulties, just like Tazio Nuvolari. This work, cut and assembled with passionate craftsmanship, is a powerful celebration of strength, determination, and resilience.

Short story

Every year the big pine tree arches an inch, tilts curiously toward the black and white road that the men with the cement mixer brought.
The child with the little goat no longer passes from under its branches, and June mornings wear on without the milk pail, without the cowbell, the stick. The bicycles that used to lie under his large shadow have stopped fighting against the gravel of the pavement: the thin rays run fast on that strip of asphalt they have laid right at his feet.
So the big pine tree watches the people below parade swiftly over its roots. It feels the vibrations of running tires, hears the rumble of a muffler, the occasional rustle of a car moving through the air at night. The wood absorbs the sound of wheels, of steering, of brakes. Sap and roots strain to remember every honk, every acceleration, every abrupt slowdown.
In the solitude of the dry countryside, without swallows, partridges and grasshoppers, the big pine tree learns the shape of an engine and here, in death, takes it.