Frank Gehry, the visionary architect whose daring, unconventional designs transformed skylines across the globe, died on December 5, 2025, at his home in Santa Monica, California. He was 96. According to Meaghan Lloyd, chief of staff at Gehry Partners LLP, Gehry succumbed to a brief respiratory illness. His passing marks the end of an era for modern architecture, but his legacy is firmly etched in the steel, glass, and titanium of some of the world’s most iconic structures.
Gehry’s work was, in a word, unforgettable. His Guggenheim Museum in Bilbao, Spain, which opened in 1997, was famously dubbed “the miracle in Bilbao.” The building’s undulating titanium forms and whimsical lines seemed to defy gravity, and its impact went far beyond aesthetics. As reported by AARP, the museum injected billions into the Basque economy, sparking what came to be known as “the Bilbao effect”—the idea that bold, imaginative architecture could revitalize entire cities. Architect Philip Johnson, never one for understatement, called it “the greatest building of our time” and Gehry himself “the greatest architect we have today.”
Gehry was born Ephraim Owen Goldberg on February 28, 1929, in Toronto, Ontario, to Polish Jewish immigrant Sadie Kaplanski and Irving Goldberg, a Brooklyn-born traveling pinball machine salesman. He grew up in the mining town of Timmins, Ontario, where, as he once recalled, he would spend hours building little cities out of scrap wood from his grandfather’s hardware store. This early fascination with construction and form would shape his entire career.
His creative journey took a decisive turn after his family moved to Los Angeles in 1947. Gehry became a U.S. citizen and, at the suggestion of his first wife, changed his name to Frank Gehry—a move she felt might help him overcome the antisemitism that could be hindering his career. In 1954, he earned a degree in architecture from the University of Southern California, followed by studies in urban planning at Harvard University. But it wasn’t until a college ceramics teacher recognized his talent that Gehry considered architecture as his true calling. Reflecting on that moment, Gehry said, “It was like the first thing in my life that I'd done well in.”
Over the decades, Gehry’s imagination redefined the possibilities of architecture. He rejected the straight lines and rigid symmetry of Modernism, favoring instead twisting, floating forms and experimenting with everyday materials like plywood and corrugated aluminum. His fascination with fish—sparked by his grandmother’s culinary habits and later by Japanese artist Hiroshige’s woodcuts—manifested in everything from lamps to monumental sculptures, including the giant fish created for the 1992 Barcelona Olympics.
Gehry’s portfolio reads like a greatest hits of contemporary architecture. Besides the Guggenheim Bilbao, he designed the Walt Disney Concert Hall in Los Angeles, Berlin’s DZ Bank Building, and the shimmering IAC Building in New York City’s Chelsea district. His New York By Gehry building, a 76-story residential tower, dramatically altered the lower Manhattan skyline when it opened in 2011. Facebook’s CEO, Mark Zuckerberg, even personally requested Gehry to design an expansion of the company’s Northern California headquarters.
Not everyone was enamored with Gehry’s avant-garde approach. Some critics dismissed his work as little more than oversized versions of the scrap-wood cities he built as a boy. Princeton art critic Hal Foster went so far as to call some of Gehry’s later works “oppressive,” arguing they were designed more for tourists than for those who used them. The family of President Dwight D. Eisenhower objected to Gehry’s bold vision for a memorial, preferring something more understated. But Gehry stood his ground, declining to significantly alter his design. If the criticism bothered him, he rarely let it show. He even parodied himself in a 2005 episode of “The Simpsons,” where his character crumpled a piece of paper to create a new concert hall design, later quipping, “Some people think I actually do that.”
Gehry’s influence extended beyond his buildings. In 2011, at age 82, he completed a new concert hall in Miami and reflected on his prolific output in an interview with AARP: “Being this age has actually made me more productive. My life has fewer distractions, and I’m able to get to the essence faster.” That same year, he joined the faculty at his alma mater, the University of Southern California, as a professor of architecture. He also taught at Yale and Columbia, inspiring generations of young architects to think beyond the expected.
His contributions to the field were recognized with every major architectural honor imaginable. Gehry received the Pritzker Prize—architecture’s highest accolade—for what the judges described as “refreshingly original and totally American” work. Other honors included the Royal Institute of British Architects gold medal, the Americans for the Arts lifetime achievement award, and the Companion of the Order of Canada, his native country’s highest distinction.
Despite his global fame, Gehry never lost his sense of humor or perspective. When word surfaced in 2006 that a Santa Monica mall project that had sparked his career epiphany might be demolished, fans were dismayed. Gehry, however, was amused: "They're going to tear it down now and build the kind of original idea I had," he said with a laugh. The mall was eventually remodeled, but Gehry shrugged off the fuss—his masterpieces were elsewhere.
Gehry’s personal life was marked by both joy and sorrow. He is survived by his wife, Berta; daughter, Brina; sons Alejandro and Samuel; and, as many have noted, the extraordinary buildings he leaves behind. Another daughter, Leslie Gehry Brenner, died of cancer in 2008.
Frank Gehry’s passing leaves a void in the world of architecture. Yet, his vision—one that embraced imperfection, celebrated the unexpected, and dared to dream on a grand scale—continues to inspire architects and dreamers alike. His buildings, from the shimmering curves of Bilbao to the bold lines of Los Angeles, stand as enduring reminders that sometimes, breaking the rules is the only way to create something truly unforgettable.
