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over the course of a career Frank Gehry made some fish and they are pretty much horrible. Kitschy blundgeoned ham handeries of what would be the shimmering skins of architectural circusry. They are completely obvious in a way that is painful, reducing nature to a mimickry of its lithe body for future extraction. Libby's shimmering scales seem to gravitate towards this middle state of architectural decorum, a scales that could be placed over the whole, a fragment waiting to be multiplied, capitalized on.
