Collection
Route 66
The architecture of the myth.
From Chicago to Santa Monica, Route 66 is told without illustrative nostalgia. Bridges, stations, motels, bends and popular landmarks become silent forms, shifted just enough to tip reality into another register.

The road begins in an industrial canyon where a line of asphalt slips between pale stone, glass and steel.

A white station and red pump become a vertical signal beneath a weighted sky, at the edge of an almost empty landscape.

The Chain of Rocks Bridge bends above the Mississippi like an improbable hinge between two directions.

Catoosa’s Blue Whale becomes an autonomous aquatic architecture, between sculpture, basin and rural horizon.

In Amarillo, the buried car is no longer a pop object but a metallic relic rising from the void.

A motel façade is reduced to a sequence of turquoise doors, ivory walls and oblique shadows.

The white road coils through dark earth like a geometric incision, with neither vehicle nor visible destination.

In Holbrook, a white conical façade becomes an abstract threshold, marked by a single red rhythm.

Roy’s sign loses part of its language; what remains is a red arrow, a shadow and the desert horizon.

The road ends beneath the pier: a monumental shadow crosses wet sand as the ocean erases the destination.
