GK and I watched Sydney Pollack's Sketches of Frank Gehry tonight. Here is what GK had to say:
I don't get it. He draws these formless, awkward sketches on paper, then takes those sketches and designs awkward looking structures from them. The buildings look like mistakes, or as though some office intern picked up a discarded model to rush to the client for approval. And that client was drunk, or high on bathtub crank, and approved it. It seems that Mr. Gehry is a very talented sculptor and I would love to have a piece by him on our coffee table, if we had a coffee table, but I wouldn't want to live or go to work every day in one of his sculptures. I'm afraid I would become sea sick.
After GK wrote this critique in longhand with a pencil on a legal pad, we watched Three Days of the Condor while I transcribed what she'd written onto the internet and she took a brand new roll of aluminum foil from the drawer, tore off sheet after sheet, and littered the room with tiny little Frank Gehry-like structures. She then pooped in her pants because she's only a year old.