architecture is ...
Architecture is like a beautiful woman, it should be nude, sculptural in its innermost structural forms, perfectly true, with the self-confidence of explicit sexuality.
But the open senses of the contemporary nomadic populations experience these sonic influences as magnetic, fatal siren songs, sweet and tragic, seductive and pitiless, drowning dreams of passionate coitus in the oblivion of the metropolitan billows.
Erotic shipwrecks of techno-pop surfers cast away on an archipelago of indistinct chromatic shadings, where they develop unkempt, multicolored survival styles in an after-the-flood rainbow range, with a free-and-easy, effective approach to design, unprejudiced as a package of colored condoms.
This is the architecture of safe sex, of the mutual, synchronized orgasmic heights, of the amorous ecstasy of those who, having been rescued from the shipwreck, savor the taste of life as if for the first time.
The architecture of the castaways who have survived the gravity of structures, amidst collapses and reconstructions, dust and altars, skillful at floating in the air, cunning and indifferent to the treacherous whirlwinds of everyday life.
Stateless and godless, agnostic and arrogant, they find themselves singing along with the sirens amongst the abandoned wrecks of a modern industrial age.
Heedless of fixed scores and schemes, they carve space with the instinctive randomness of the forest explorer, blows of the machete applied with youthful vigor, courageous but foolhardy.
We are those superficial superheroes, atypical ancestrals, filthy fashion plates, beach blanket boasters with surfboards and plastic pails, polarizing prisms lolling in the mid-day sun of a tropic of the soul, an archipelago of frequencies from inframango to ultrastrawberry, indulging in propitious Bacchanals in a state of intoxicating universal religiosity…