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The Dutch Touch
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Von Dutch Condor motorcycle
Basem Wasef
08/01/2005
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Cordero Studios
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Though Kustom Kulture typically dictated the removal of
logos, Von Dutch celebrated the Condor’s quirky brand name by handpainting its
emblem across the bike. Von Dutch, an accomplished gun- and knife-maker, made
the Condor more functional by hand-fitting custom made, knurled sleeves around
the foot pedals. Additional customization included a leather gun holster for a
Luger, a hand-etched “Stop Von Dutch” message on the headlight lens, and
electrical tape wrapped over the handgrips and part of the well-worn, no frills
rubber seat.
The nostalgic smell of stale engine oil still emanates from the
metal saddlebags that house a tool kit, and Von Dutch’s now ubiquitous personal
logo—the bloodshot eyes with wings—adorns the engine block. While those personal
touches make the bike unique, the most evocative element of the Condor is Von
Dutch’s handpainting. A clean black-and-gold swoop accentuates the gas tank, and
gold pinstriped accents complement the curvature of the bike’s body. Though the
stripes appear unremarkable from a distance, closer inspection reveals the
freehand lines echoed in a series of perfectly parallel stripes. The gesture is
masterfully insouciant: One uniformly thick, free-form line is a seemingly
arbitrary representation of artistry, but a perfectly matched mirror of the line
shows the level of his refined proficiency.
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With interchangeable front and
rear hubs and a rear fender that hinges for easy wheel removal, the Condor’s
design is the essence of pared-down efficiency. Von Dutch’s aesthetic
modifications provide an intriguing contrast to the bike’s stark, militaristic
functionality.
Toward the end of his life, Von Dutch lived in seclusion
surrounded by whimsical machines he had built, including a steam-powered TV set,
a coin-operated guillotine and a Ford engine–powered pencil sharpener. His
mechanical facility produced some fantastic creations, but, like Paul Klee’s
Twittering Machine, they were also symptomatic of a bleak distrust of people and
humanity, as evidenced in a letter he wrote to fellow artist Gene Brown shortly
before his death: “I have never read any books other than trade
manuals—motorcycle engines or guns. I am not, nor ever, interested in people,
only in what they make . . . I use people to make money or lift heavy things for
me. And would just as soon see everything covered in concrete.”
Obsessed with
transforming ordinary transportation into art, Von Dutch spent most of his life
encased behind a fortress of custom made guns, knives and machines. His
possessions—as evidenced by his customized Condor—spoke of a raw utility. And in
sad testimony to the lonely despair of his personal life, unlike the people he
encountered, Von Dutch’s machines never let him down.
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