The following piece is a candid, respectful reflection on Frank Gehry's influence and a personal encounter with the architect, recast in fresh wording while preserving meaning and details."But here’s where it gets controversial..." The author begins by admitting the vastness of Gehry’s legacy and the daunting task of discussing such a towering figure, even acknowledging that Paul Goldberger’s Building Art has already set a comprehensive standard. Yet when a figure of Gehry’s magnitude enters the room, there are still personal stories worth telling.
The first notable moment happened on a flight from Los Angeles to Hong Kong. As the plane prepared to deplane, the first-class cabin was released early, and only one person stepped off: Frank Gehry. The entire distinguished section had apparently been reserved for him, a treatment the author likens to reverence for a national treasure—an impression echoed by Paloma Picasso’s anecdote of her father, where a powerful figure leaves a room backward, bowing, signaling unmatched esteem. Seeing an architect accord such ceremonial respect felt like witnessing a head of state in action.
Gehry’s personality comes across as playful. The author recalls a professional interaction sparked by a shared client who had Gehry’s approval for a payment in the form of a custom lime-green Steinway piano. The project began with only a Pantone swatch and a cryptic request. Steinway initially dismissed the idea, but once Gehry’s involvement was acknowledged, the pieces fell into place. After months of behind-the-scenes negotiation, Gehry received his one-of-a-kind lime-green piano, proudly placed in his Santa Monica home, and the author’s office shared in the satisfaction of seeing it honored as a centerpiece.
Despite the favorable outcome, the author avoids direct interaction with Gehry for years. The fear centers on the concept of Terribilita—the medieval term for the overwhelming, almost terrifying genius of a figure like Michelangelo, a weighty aura that can be intimidating. The author even declines to write about a Gehry sailboat, fearing to venture into dangerous waters alongside such a formidable mind. Eventually, a broader portrait emerges—one of Gehry’s smallest, least famous, yet most expressive works—and the author lands a major scoop in architecture journalism. The interview is rough: Gehry dislikes the questions, resents the author’s insights, and resists attempts to salvage the conversation with pleasantries, delivering a performance reminiscent of a high-stakes confrontation. Yet, by the end, Gehry softens slightly and quips, “We got through that.”
For the portrait that accompanied the piece, the author defers personal supervision and assigns the work to a capable Studio Director, who captures strong images that do justice to Gehry’s formidable presence.
After publication, Gehry remains quiet, and the author does not expect further contact. Yet informants reveal that the magazine’s presence persists in Gehry’s office—a subtle indicator, perhaps, that the writing landed somewhere meaningful. The author even attends Gehry’s 90th birthday celebration, choosing quiet respect over direct engagement. The story leaves a clear lesson: with geniuses of Gehry’s caliber, approach each encounter with gratitude, humility, and an awareness that simply being in the same room is an opportunity to learn.
In the end, Gehry’s influence is both a personal and professional education. The author finishes with a nod to the idea that greatness teaches, and that being near such brilliance—even fleetingly—can be a rare privilege worth cherishing.
