The Bilbao Effect (Through My Eyes)
Guggenheim Bilbao, Ta Prohm, and Yellow Wood; a mash-up of three places that shape me.
The first time I visited Guggenheim Bilbao, I almost fell into the river. I was walking the slim cap between the Nervión and Gehry’s shimmering water feature, lost in the curve of titanium, when the fountains suddenly erupted. Startled, I stumbled, heart racing, drenched in the shock of a city announcing itself.
I was a graduate student then, traveling on a design award from Yale. I had booked an around-the-world ticket—through Japan, China, Cambodia, Spain, Italy, and Germany—determined to see how culture and architecture shaped place. I made sure to include two newly completed projects: Daniel Libeskind’s Jewish Museum in Berlin and Frank Gehry’s Guggenheim in Bilbao, knowing both architects were coming to teach that fall at Yale.
In Bilbao, I wasn’t prepared for the wave of emotion that overtook me. I wiped away tears standing in front of Gehry’s improbable creation, realizing that eccentric beauty could embody human possibility. I imagined children growing up with this as their local museum, learning that being different isn’t a weakness—it’s aspirational.
Bilbao became a prophecy in my life. Before I left for architecture school, my roommate Kira had handed me a wrapped gift as I sat in the U-Haul beside my dad. Inside was a framed photograph of the museum under construction—an outtake from The New Yorker that reminded her of the odd sculptures I built in our West Village apartment. On the back she had written: “Cara: To always remind you why you have chosen this pursuit. Love always and forever, Kira.” I hadn’t yet heard of Frank Gehry. Within three years, I was in his studio at Yale, then in Los Angeles, working for him for nearly a decade.
Bilbao has threaded through my career ever since. I have worked closely with all three of its key figures—Tom Krens, Juan Ignacio Vidarte, and Frank Gehry—experiences that directly influence my approach to design and that I share with a select few. I returned for countless meetings while leading the Guggenheim Abu Dhabi, walking the museum’s back-of-house and finding it as moving as the public spaces. I visited again with my husband, this time as a pilgrim rather than a professional. Each encounter carried the same charge: awe mixed with gratitude, a reminder of why I chose this path.
Even as a student, I had a habit of dumpster-diving for model materials—cardboard, plastic, discarded scraps—cobbling together strange, fragile beauty. Frank resonated with that, though I was constantly negotiating with janitors who mistook my supplies for trash. That instinct—to find potential in what others overlook—still underpins my practice.
For me, Bilbao isn’t just a museum. It is proof that architecture can transform a city, an economy, a culture. It’s proof that a single building can change how the world sees itself. Every project I’ve taken on since carries a spark of that belief: that offbeat beauty has the unique power to make the world better.
