Part II | Architecture in Motion

PHARMAKON OVERWRITE STUDIO #02

This motorcycle is unusual. It has two rear tires, each supported by a single-sided swingarm. These arms are equipped with a rotating mechanism that tilts in sync with the rider’s body movements. In other words, it’s designed to balance itself and not fall over. A digital display rises out of the fuel tank, resembling a windshield. This form is not just a motorcycle—it’s a kinetic body, a spatial device, a structural entity.

Someone once said that fashion is the smallest form of architecture, because of its flexibility and responsiveness to the human body. If that is true, then isn’t this motorcycle also a kind of architecture? It moves with the body, acts with it, records traces in the city. It exceeds the physical limits of the human form, extending its dynamic range. So we must ask—is this architecture?

The question may sound abrupt, but it is inevitable. If a motorcycle could be considered architecture, what happens to the qualities we traditionally associate with buildings—being fixed, enclosing space, being situated in a city? When those qualities disappear, can we still call it architecture?

Architecture has historically rejected ornament. Ornament was seen as deceit, as something that masks essence. But the fluid curves and glossy surfaces of this motorcycle are not mere decoration—they are another kind of structure. Aerodynamics, information, skin, and material dissolve into each other. In architecture, ornament should be an apparatus that generates meaning, a surface that circulates information, a symbol that mediates between touch and vision.

When architecture begins to move, space itself changes. Space is no longer something that is, but something that emerges through motion. Architecture becomes not a fixed assertion against the city, but a dynamic presence that carves questions into its fabric. To me, this motorcycle is the embodiment of that shift.

This machine integrates all the visuals I’ve been developing—cars, figures, fashion, sculpture, fragments of architecture. These are not simply forms, but elements of a self-referential architecture, built not for humans but for architecture itself. It is a motorcycle, a sculpture, an extension of the body, and a device that reshapes the city. Not a product for consumption, but an architecture that moves with questions.

I believe this: Architecture built for people will never become architecture. It must exist for its own sake. Buildings that simply protect, satisfy, and contain have no future. That’s why I set architecture in motion. I accelerate it. I dismantle its structure and rebuild it from within. This motorcycle is just the beginning—a device to prove that architecture can be kinetic, that it can move through the city.

I reject the death of architecture.