In the era of relentless rush
the rarest luxury is a slower pace

The Founder

Barry Ran

Barry did not take up car-making out of mere enthusiasm for automobiles. He did it because he had grown weary of a life governed by efficiency for its own sake.

Most people embark on a venture to move faster — to scale up, push past limits, outpace the competition. For over a decade, that was exactly what Barry did: overseeing project operations, hitting targets, delivering on schedule. He knew this logic of addition by heart: more output, higher efficiency, faster delivery.

Yet few knew that sculpture was a mindset carved into his bones. On his desk, beside production reports, always lay a set of hand-carving chisels. Two disciplines coexisted in the same pair of hands: one measured output by the hour, the other refined a single piece over weeks. One chased speed; the other pursued essence.

His favourite hour of the day was the one with no productive value at all: driving aimlessly after work, stopping for a meal wherever the mood took him. No destination, no ETA, no agenda. Nothing but backstreets, small neighbourhood eateries, and the quiet calm of going nowhere in particular.

The world might call it wasted time. To him, it was the only time of day that was truly his. No KPIs, just the lightness of stepping away from the chaos of the day — the very same feeling he found in carving: slow, focused, unrushed, fully present.

He came to realize he was not alone in this. Our age has elevated efficiency to the sole measure of worth: work is judged by quantifiable output, rest is calculated for its return, and even a moment of ease is framed as “fuel for what comes next”. People are wound up like clockwork, perpetually driven forward — everything grows smoother, swifter, more flawless, and yet more draining. Not physical fatigue, but a constant mental tension: you must always be useful, always progressing, and even pausing requires justification.

People reach for all kinds of ways to unplug. Barry wondered: what if the answer were not another tool built to “fix” something? What if it was a machine built with the logic of sculpture — one that does not push you to go faster, or train you to be more efficient, but simply strips away all the noise and lets you be fully present?

So he built a car. Not a faster one — there are already exist too many fast cars. Not a smarter one — every car grows smarter by the day. He treated it the way he treats a piece of wood: stripping away everything superfluous, following the natural grain of the material, until the primordial resonance of driver, machine and life emerged.

What he created was far more than a vehicle. It was a switch. You climb in, turn the key, and the world behind you recedes. Only the road ahead remains.

Race to feel. Return to be.