From Rickshaw to Festival Machine
The starting point was a genuine 人力車, the two-wheeled passenger cart pulled by a runner in Meiji-era Japan. Instead of keeping the carriage polished and ceremonial, the design pushes it toward a nomadic, post-apocalyptic festival vehicle. Bicycle parts replace the original wooden shafts and wheel spokes, giving the silhouette a mechanical, insect-like energy.
Flexible metal tubes arc from the chassis like antennae or ribs, while scrap metal and plastic figure parts are bolted onto the body as makeshift crew and cargo. The result reads less like a tourist rickshaw and more like a mobile shrine for a desert gathering. That burning man feeling was deliberate: the piece is meant to look as if this group just rolled out of the playa and into a Tokyo studio.
The mix of old Japanese transport and junk-tech ornament creates a tension between history and collapse, between the polite street of Asakusa and the anarchic freedom of a temporary city.
Scrap Alchemy: Building the Carriage
Almost every component came from Tokyo salvage yards, second-hand bicycle shops, and boxes of broken model parts. The team collected handlebars, chains, sprockets, cable housings, and bent wheel rims over several weeks. The flexible metal tube came from discarded industrial lamp arms and medical equipment stands.
Assembly was a mix of welding, bolting, and zip-tying. The rickshaw body was kept structurally intact, but the original wheels were reinforced with bicycle rims and rubber strips. Scrap plastic figure parts — tiny drivers, passengers, and animals — were glued and wired onto the frame at odd angles, as if frozen mid-journey.
- bicycle frames, chains, and sprockets for the drive and suspension details
- flexible metal tube for the ribcage and canopy structure
- scrap metal panels and brackets for armor plating
- plastic figure parts and model scraps for the crew and ornaments
The challenge was to make each salvaged piece read as intentional rather than random. Color was kept mostly raw metal and black, with only a few painted accents, so the stage lighting could sculpt the form.
篝火燈台 and the Set Environment
Alongside the carriage, the production required several 篝火燈台, or bonfire light stands, to frame the scene. These were built from the same vocabulary of bicycle rims, metal tubing, and scrap plates. Each light stand held a flickering LED flame, so the set glowed like a nighttime encampment without real fire hazards in the studio.
The carriage sat at the center of a shallow set dressed with dry ice haze and warm backlight. The camera moved around the piece in a slow arc, catching reflections on the metal and the tiny plastic figures emerging from the shadows. The art department wanted the vehicle to look as if it had just pulled up to a gathering, with its passengers already climbing down.
Because the commercial was only 30 seconds, every detail had to read instantly. The team exaggerated the height of the antennae and the clutter on the back platform, so the silhouette would remain clear even in wide shots.
After the Camera Stopped: The Carriage as Standalone Work
After the shoot wrapped, the carriage was returned to the studio and documented as a finished artwork. Unlike many commercial props that are dismantled or thrown away, this piece was kept intact. Its size — 2 meters high, 2 meters wide, 1.5 meters deep — makes it a commanding object in a gallery or warehouse space.
The work continues the artist's interest in vehicles and ritual transport. Similar pieces have combined bicycles, carts, and anthropomorphic scrap figures to suggest a migration or pilgrimage. The carriage can be shown with the 篝火燈台 as a small installation, recreating a fragment of the commercial's atmosphere without the moving image.
For now, the piece remains in Tokyo, ready for exhibition. The metal has started to develop a light patina from handling, which only adds to the sense that this strange convoy might still be somewhere on the road.



