Art Among the Olive Trees: Mougins is a Hilltop Haven of French History and Haute Cuisine

La Place de Mougins in the heart of the village is also a highly regarded restaurant in this region famed for its gastronomy. Photograph above by Andrea Heinsohn for DAM.

Perched in the Provençal hills above Cannes, the village of Mougins has quietly become one of the French Riviera’s most remarkable cultural enclaves. Long favored by artists and intellectuals, this medieval town blends centuries-old architecture with an unexpectedly modern artistic pulse. With museums devoted to classical antiquities and contemporary women artists, a culinary legacy shaped by world-class chefs, and panoramic views that once inspired Picasso and Churchill alike, it offers a unique experience for travellers seeking more than sun and sand along the Côte d’Azur, writes Jeanne-Marie Cilento. Photography by Andrea Heinsohn 

Scents of lavender and rosemary fill the winding

streets once home to artists Picasso and Picabia.

ONLY a short drive from the cinematic dazzle of the French Riviera, the medieval village of Mougins seems another world away: steeped in ancient history, yet alive with the pulse of creativity. Here, amid the cypress and olive groves, Picasso once sketched at twilight, Francis Picabia painted with surreal abandon and Jean Cocteau wandered the spiraling lanes.

This sun-dappled commune in the French Alpes-Maritimes department is more than just a picturesque village; it has a resonant artistic legacy and has been a place of cultural refuge that once welcomed and still opens its arms to artists, actors and writers. While its roots stretch back to pre-Roman times, it’s the artistic migration of the 20th century that has etched Mougins into the global cultural map.

In 1924, the avant-garde surrealist Francis Picabia was among the first to fall under Mougins' spell. Drawn by the region’s light, space, and tranquil remove from the bustle of Paris, Picabia set up home in the old village, soon drawing an extraordinary constellation of friends and fellow artists into his orbit. Fernand Léger, Paul Éluard, Isadora Duncan, Man Ray, and Jean Cocteau were frequent visitors. Then came Pablo Picasso.

Amid the cypress and olive groves, Picasso once sketched at twilight, Francis Picabia painted with surreal abandon and Jean Cocteau wandered the spiraling lanes

The commanding sculpture of Pablo Picasso,

commemorating his life and work in the town,

From 1961 until 1973, Picasso lived just outside the village at Notre-Dame-de-Vie, a simple farmhouse beside a 12th-century chapel that looks out over forests and valleys. His studio, now the village’s tourist office, was a hub of activity and artistic output. Neighbors still recall the way he moved quietly through the village, seeking inspiration from the Provençal sun and the surrounding hills. 

Today, a giant sculpture commemorates his presence, but in truth, he never left, his spirit inhabits every sun-bleached stone and winding alley. The allure of Mougins also drew stars from haute couture to the silver screen, from Christian Dior and Yves Saint Laurent to Edith Piaf and Catherine Deneuve, who all walked its cobbled lanes.

Mougins' connection to modern art is not merely anecdotal; it is actively preserved and celebrated. The Mougins Museum of Classical Art (MACM) stands as a cornerstone of this cultural identity. With more than 800 pieces spanning the ancient to the contemporary, Graeco-Roman sculptures juxtaposed with works by Chagall, Matisse, Hirst, Cézanne, and of course, Picasso and Picabia, it is a museum that challenges the boundaries between epochs. 

The allure of Mougins drew stars from haute couture to the silver screen, from Christian Dior and Yves Saint Laurent to Catherine Deneuve and Sean Connery

The FAMM museum housed in a traditional building,

is devoted to women artists and is the first in Europe.

The museum is housed in a restored medieval building at the edge of the old village. It is intimate yet rich, organized across four floors that lead the visitor on a journey from Egyptian sarcophagi to neoclassical sketches, culminating in modern and contemporary interpretations of the classical form. The effect is to collapse time, allowing one to see the dialogue between artists across millennia.

Mougins' artistic reinvention continues with the recent opening of FAMM (Femme Artistes du Monde de Mougins) ~ a museum entirely dedicated to the works of women artists. It’s the first of its kind in Europe and already a major cultural landmark. Here, the canvases of Berthe Morisot hang beside the bold self-portraits of Frida Kahlo and contemporary expressions from Tracey Emin and Barbara Hepworth.

With its bright spaces and thoughtfully curated exhibitions, FAMM serves as both a correction and celebration: a platform to reframe the story of art through the eyes and voices of women who, like Picasso and Picabia, sought freedom and inspiration in these hills. It’s a poignant extension of Mougins' legacy as a creative refuge, now offering space for new generations of visionaries.

The village's artistic reinvention continues with the opening of FAMM, a museum dedicated to the works of women artists and the first of its kind in Europe 

Mougin's art scene is not only full of museums

but also, private galleries and public installations.

But the art of Mougins is not confined to its museums. It spills out into the cobblestone streets, into its many private galleries and public installations. Over 20 smaller art galleries are peppered throughout the village, offering everything from abstract sculpture to Provençal landscapes, all nestled within medieval architecture that adds an extra layer of charm.

And then there’s the Mougins Centre of Photography, set in a restored presbytery in the heart of the old village. Its rotating exhibitions highlight the evolving language of contemporary photography, presenting both emerging voices and established names. Just as the MACM draws lines from past to present, this centre ensures that Mougins remains deeply attuned to the shifting pulse of modern visual culture.

Each summer, the village hosts Mougins Monumental, an open-air exhibition of oversized sculptures installed throughout its plazas and hidden corners. This collision of the monumental with the intimate offers visitors a surprise around every corner, art not as something framed and distant, but something to live among.

Mougins Centre of Photography, in a restored presbytery in the heart of the old village, has shows highlighting contemporary photography

Mougins has a lively gastronomic community

of specialty shops and celebrated restaurants. 

If art is the soul of Mougins, then cuisine is its heart. The village’s culinary reputation was established in the 20th century by Roger Vergé, the charismatic chef who brought his “Cuisine du Soleil” to global attention. 

Light, fresh, and rooted in Mediterranean tradition, Vergé’s cooking redefined French gastronomy. His Michelin-starred restaurants, L’Amandier and Le Moulin de Mougins, attracted a star-studded clientele, from Elizabeth Taylor to Sharon Stone. 

Vergé’s influence still flavours the village. L’Amandier remains a landmark, housed in a building that once served as the medieval courthouse for the monks of Saint-Honorat. Today, its windows open to views of pine forests and tiled rooftops, while the kitchen serves dishes that celebrate local ingredients with sun-drenched simplicity. Alain Ducasse, another titan of French cuisine, honed his craft under Vergé here in the 1970s.

If art is the soul of Mougins, then cuisine is its heart. The village’s culinary reputation was established in the 20th century by Roger Vergé, 

To celebrate its culinary history, the town holds

a bi-annual festival that brings the world's greatest

chefs together. 

In honor of this culinary heritage, Mougins created Les Étoiles de Mougins, an international gastronomy festival first held in 2006. The festival brings together world-class chefs for demonstrations, tastings, and debates, turning the entire village into an open-air kitchen every two years. 

Since 2012, Mougins has held the exclusive title of “Ville et Métier d’Art” for gastronomy, a distinction no other French town shares.

While art and food may draw most modern visitors, the stones of Mougins carry the weight of centuries. From its early days as a Ligurian settlement to its medieval fortifications, the village has borne witness to empire and invasion. The town's roots run deep, archaeological finds indicate that the site was first occupied by Ligurian tribes long before the rise of the Roman Empire. 

Over the centuries, the elevated, spiral-shaped design proved a strategic advantage, built to withstand invasion, the medieval village was enclosed by ramparts with three main gates

The soaring 18th century bell-tower 

of the Saint Jaques-le-Majeur church

The Romans eventually established a settlement called Muginum along the ancient Via Aurelia, the road that once connected Rome to Arles. In the 11th century, the land was handed over to the monks of Saint Honorat, who governed the area from the island monastery just off Cannes. The vestiges of this monastic influence remain visible today in the village’s architecture, particularly in the vaulted “Salle des Moines,” now part of a renowned restaurant.

Over the centuries, Mougins’ elevated, spiral-shaped design proved a strategic advantage. Built to withstand invasion, the medieval village was enclosed by ramparts and accessed through three main gates, only one of which, the Porte Sarrazine, remains today. 

Though attacked and partially destroyed during the War of the Austrian Succession, Mougins gradually rebuilt, maintaining much of its circular medieval charm even as new streets were added in the 19th century.

A walk through the village reveals these architectural layers of this history. The Porte Sarrazine still stands as the sentinel of the old spiral-shaped fortress. The narrow streets echo with footsteps from every century, from monks who administered the town for the Abbey of Saint-Honorat to Napoleon himself, who passed through Mougins on his march north from Elba in 1815.

A plaque marks the modest house where Commandant Amédée-François Lamy, the French military figure who would give his name to the Chadian capital (now N’Djamena), was born in 1858. It is one of many small historical markers that lend the village its living yet historic character.

For those who venture beyond the bright lights of Cannes, Mougins offers something rare: a village where art, history, nature, and flavor converge in harmony

The pool of La Réserve by Mougins Luxury Retreats,

which has accommodations throughout the village. 

Mougins' hilltop location isn’t just strategic; it’s spectacular. The view over the Alps is uninterrupted and breathtaking. In the golden light of the late afternoon, the rooftops glow and the valleys turn to velvet.

It’s easy to see why Winston Churchill, a neighbor of Picasso’s, chose to write and paint here, often seated near the chapel of Notre-Dame-de-Vie, where silence reigns and olive trees sway like gentle muses.

Although there is a sense of quiet luxury ~ boutique hotels and curated shops now fill restored buildings ~ the village retains its spirit. It isn’t flashy or overrun. It welcomes, rather than dazzles. It charms rather than overwhelms.

For those who venture beyond the bright lights of Cannes, Mougins offers something rare: a village where art, history, nature, and flavor converge in harmony. 

It is a place where Picasso painted and dined, where Picabia laughed with friends, where sculptures rise from cobbles and perfumes scent the air from pressed flowers. It is a reminder that the Riviera’s soul lies not on the beach, but in the hills above. And in Mougins, that soul still whispers ~ through a shuttered window, from behind a canvas, across a sunlit terrace.

A pretty doorway with a solid

walnut door and stone steps.

Getting There: Mougins is a 15-minute drive from Cannes. The nearest airport is Nice Côte d’Azur, approximately 30 minutes by car.

When to Go: Spring and early autumn are ideal, with warm days and fewer tourists. Visit in June for the Gastronomy Festival or in summer for art events and music festivals.

Don’t Miss:

The Musée d’Art Classique de Mougins (MACM)

The FAMM Museum of Women Artists

A meal at L’Amandier

Sunset at Notre-Dame-de-Vie

Climbing the belltower of the Saint Jaques-le-Majeur church for the spectacular view across Provence to the sea, 

Tip: Take your time. Mougins isn’t a place to rush. It’s a place to wander, to linger, to let the village reveal itself, one spiral street, one delicious bite, one quiet moment at a time.

We Need to Stop Pretending AI is Intelligent – Here’s How

Giving AI a human face, voice or tone is a dangerous act of cross-dressing. It triggers an automatic response in us andromorphic reflex.

By Guillaume Thierry, Bangor University

We are constantly fed a version of AI that looks, sounds and acts suspiciously like us. It speaks in polished sentences, mimics emotions, expresses curiosity, claims to feel compassion, even dabbles in what it calls creativity.

But here’s the truth: it possesses none of those qualities. It is not human. And presenting it as if it were? That’s dangerous. Because it’s convincing. And nothing is more dangerous than a convincing illusion.

In particular, general artificial intelligence — the mythical kind of AI that supposedly mirrors human thought — is still science fiction, and it might well stay that way.

What we call AI today is nothing more than a statistical machine: a digital parrot regurgitating patterns mined from oceans of human data (the situation hasn’t changed much since it was discussed here five years ago). When it writes an answer to a question, it literally just guesses which letter and word will come next in a sequence – based on the data it’s been trained on.

This means AI has no understanding. No consciousness. No knowledge in any real, human sense. Just pure probability-driven, engineered brilliance — nothing more, and nothing less.

So why is a real “thinking” AI likely impossible? Because it’s bodiless. It has no senses, no flesh, no nerves, no pain, no pleasure. It doesn’t hunger, desire or fear. And because there is no cognition — not a shred — there’s a fundamental gap between the data it consumes (data born out of human feelings and experience) and what it can do with them.

Philosopher David Chalmers calls the mysterious mechanism underlying the relationship between our physical body and consciousness the “hard problem of consciousness”. Eminent scientists have recently hypothesised that consciousness actually emerges from the integration of internal, mental states with sensory representations (such as changes in heart rate, sweating and much more).

Given the paramount importance of the human senses and emotion for consciousness to “happen”, there is a profound and probably irreconcilable disconnect between general AI, the machine, and consciousness, a human phenomenon.

The master

Before you argue that AI programmers are human, let me stop you there. I know they’re human. That’s part of the problem. Would you entrust your deepest secrets, life decisions, emotional turmoil, to a computer programmer? Yet that’s exactly what people are doing — just ask Claude, GPT-4.5, Gemini … or, if you dare, Grok.

Giving AI a human face, voice or tone is a dangerous act of digital cross-dressing. It triggers an automatic response in us, an anthropomorphic reflex, leading to aberrant claims whereby some AIs are said to have passed the famous Turing test (which tests a machine’s ability to exhibit intelligent, human-like behaiour). But I believe that if AIs are passing the Turing test, we need to update the test.

The AI machine has no idea what it means to be human. It cannot offer genuine compassion, it cannot foresee your suffering, cannot intuit hidden motives or lies. It has no taste, no instinct, no inner compass. It is bereft of all the messy, charming complexity that makes us who we are.

More troubling still: AI has no goals of its own, no desires or ethics unless injected into its code. That means the true danger doesn’t lie in the machine, but in its master — the programmer, the corporation, the government. Still feel safe?

And please, don’t come at me with: “You’re too harsh! You’re not open to the possibilities!” Or worse: “That’s such a bleak view. My AI buddy calms me down when I’m anxious.”

Am I lacking enthusiasm? Hardly. I use AI every day. It’s the most powerful tool I’ve ever had. I can translate, summarise, visualise, code, debug, explore alternatives, analyse data — faster and better than I could ever dream to do it myself.

I’m in awe. But it is still a tool — nothing more, nothing less. And like every tool humans have ever invented, from stone axes and slingshots to quantum computing and atomic bombs, it can be used as a weapon. It will be used as a weapon.

Need a visual? Imagine falling in love with an intoxicating AI, like in the film Her. Now imagine it “decides” to leave you. What would you do to stop it? And to be clear: it won’t be the AI rejecting you. It’ll be the human or system behind it, wielding that tool become weapon to control your behaviour.

Removing the mask

So where am I going with this? We must stop giving AI human traits. My first interaction with GPT-3 rather seriously annoyed me. It pretended to be a person. It said it had feelings, ambitions, even consciousness.

That’s no longer the default behaviour, thankfully. But the style of interaction — the eerily natural flow of conversation — remains intact. And that, too, is convincing. Too convincing.

We need to de-anthropomorphise AI. Now. Strip it of its human mask. This should be easy. Companies could remove all reference to emotion, judgement or cognitive processing on the part of the AI. In particular, it should respond factually without ever saying “I”, or “I feel that”… or “I am curious”.

Will it happen? I doubt it. It reminds me of another warning we’ve ignored for over 20 years: “We need to cut CO₂ emissions.” Look where that got us. But we must warn big tech companies of the dangers associated with the humanisation of AIs. They are unlikely to play ball, but they should, especially if they are serious about developing more ethical AIs.

For now, this is what I do (because I too often get this eerie feeling that I am talking to a synthetic human when using ChatGPT or Claude): I instruct my AI not to address me by name. I ask it to call itself AI, to speak in the third person, and to avoid emotional or cognitive terms.

If I am using voice chat, I ask the AI to use a flat prosody and speak a bit like a robot. It is actually quite fun and keeps us both in our comfort zone.

Guillaume Thierry, Professor of Cognitive Neuroscience, Bangor University

Catwalk: The Art of the Fashion Show Reveals a Spectacular 125 Years of Runway History

The life-size, 35-metre-tall rocket ship at Karl Lagerfeld's Chanel show that formed the backdrop to the Autumn/Winter 2017collection at the Grand Palais in Paris. Cover picture of Gruuve chair by Patricia Urquiola in Milan by Jay Zoo for DAM

By Mal James

Fashion shows can often feel exclusive, reserved for the very rich, the very famous or the very well-connected. This perception has been aided by depictions of the catwalk in film and TV, think The Devil Wears Prada, Zoolander, Absolutely Fabulous, which simply confirm the widely held view of fashion as synonymous with artifice and superficiality.

Yet, while the catwalk is undoubtedly a stage for pomp and social peacocking, it is also a serious business. It can make or break a collection’s success, and launch designers and models into the fashion stratosphere. Catwalk: The Art of the Fashion Show at the V&A in Dundee unveils this reality, offering an access-all-areas glimpse into the intricate world of fashion, revealing great complexity beyond the perceived superficiality.

This exhibition is superbly co-curated by the museum’s Kirsty Hassard and Svetlana Panova, along with Jochen Eisenbrand and Katharina Krawcyzck of the Vitra Design Museum in Germany, where the show originated. It chronicles fashion’s 125-year catwalk journey, exploring its rich history and enduring cultural significance.

It was an Englishman, Charles Frederick Worth, who pioneered the catwalk in mid 19th-century Paris, where he revolutionised fashion presentations by using live models instead of static mannequins. Runway shows allowed models to showcase complete outfits and provided wealthy clients with a more immersive view of Worth’s designs.

By the early 1900s, these fashion parades held in Parisian ballrooms started to evolve into more theatrical events. This trend continued into the 1920s, when shows grew increasingly spectacular and decadent, with Gabrielle Chanel famously presenting models descending the mirrored staircase in her iconic atelier at 31 rue Cambon, Paris.

Fashion and history

On loan from the Balenciaga archive, and seen for the first time in the UK, there is an exquisite array of outfits presented on miniature wire mannequins. This display describes how, in 1945, as Paris emerged from Nazi occupation, the city faced a shortage of materials, making conventional fashion shows impossible. Titled “théâtre de la mode”, this ingenious solution presented haute couture at micro scale to buyers, press and clients, allowing Paris to reclaim its status as the fashion capital of the world.

The exhibition shows how post second world war, catwalk shows expanded in scale, ambition and location, with designers keen to make a lasting impression. André Courrèges and Paco Rabanne were pioneers in the 1960s, while from the 1980s onwards, Thierry Mugler and Jean Paul Gaultier helped to modernise presentations, connecting them with pop culture and mass audiences.

The emergence of the “supermodels” in the late 1980s and 1990s helped to turn catwalks into cultural phenomena. Groundbreaking shows, such as Versace’s spring/summer 1991, where models who were stars in their own right walked to George Michael’s Freedom, highlighted a dynamic synergy between fashion and pop culture.

By the late 20th century, designers including Alexander McQueen were creating unforgettable fashion moments, such as the No. 13 collection (spring/summer 1999), where model Shalom Harlow wore a white dress that was sprayed by two robots.

Notably, the exhibit dedicated to Hussein Chalayan showcases his contribution towards the transformation of fashion shows into more artistic and cerebral experiences. His 2000 After Words collection, featuring wearable furniture, challenged traditional norms and paved the way for more artistic presentations.

Spectacle, innovation, commerce

There is plenty of fashion spectacle throughout, the exhibition excelling with a curated selection of iconic pieces from the likes of Viktor & Rolf, Maison Martin Margiela, Vivienne Westwood, Loewe, Chanel, Prada, Louis Vuitton, Yohji Yamamoto and Iris van Herpen – the range is dazzling.

I was captivated by the voluminous but solemn blue Balenciaga velvet dress from the spring/summer 2020 collection by Georgian designer Demna Gvasalia. Evoking a Victorian silhouette, yet with no decoration and a tailored bodice, it reflects fashion’s historical roots in contrast with unfussy modern design.

The powerful silhouette and electric blue tone bring a seriousness to an otherwise radical or performative aesthetic. Positioned in the exhibition, it reminds us how modernity is always tethered to historical influences.

The exhibition showcases how catwalks have become crucial for brand marketing, merging art, commerce and entertainment, while engaging global audiences through digital channels. It includes invitations and artwork from key designers, along with miniature models of Chanel’s 2014 Supermarket and 2017 Space Rocket shows, offering insights into the intricate yet monumental scale of catwalk productions.

The curators have seamlessly integrated Scotland’s contribution to catwalk history too, charting the influence of fabrics like tweed and tartan, and featuring photographs from Glasgow’s Empire Exhibition in 1938, possibly Scotland’s earliest fashion show. There are also fascinating images from Dior’s inaugural Scottish shows in 1955 in Glasgow and at Gleneagles, echoed almost 70 years later with a 2024 Dior show (under designer Maria Grazia Chuiri) where models walked the exquisite topiaried gardens of Drummond Castle in Perthshire.

The exhibition includes the coveted label Le Kilt, featuring an outfit from the 2024 show, created in collaboration with Dior, further highlighting the the fashion house’s Scotland connection. Prominent Scottish designers are also featured, such as Christopher Kane, Charles Jeffrey and the poignant inclusion of an outfit by the late Pam Hogg who died last November.

The exhibition highlights how catwalks can mirror societal changes and evolving beauty standards. I was thrilled to see the inclusion of Rick Owens’ Spring/Summer 2016 presentation, where a 40-strong group of female “steppers” stomped down the runway in poses and expressions that defied typical beauty expectations.

The show caters to diverse audiences and ages, featuring dynamic catwalk and backstage photography by British photographer Robert Fairer, who has captured the energy and spirit of the fashion industry since the early 1990s. Engaging and interactive exhibits also let audiences in on the inner workings of fashion shows, including hairstyling and make-up.

Fun selfie opportunities allow visitors to engage with fashion’s more flamboyant side which make you feel like part of the exhibition, rather than merely an observer. This excellent V&A show truly challenges and expands our perception of the catwalk, leading audiences towards a lasting and deeper respect for the art of fashion and its important and enduring influence.

Mal James, Personal Chair of Fashion Design, University of Edinburgh, Edinburgh College of Art, University of Edinburgh

Milan Design Week: Get into the Gruuve - Fluid Forms and Free Thinking by Patricia Urquiola

The Gruuve sofa by Patricia Urquiola that is being exhibited during the Salone del Mobile. Cover picture of the Gruuve chair at the Moroso showroom in Milan by Jay Zoo for DAM.

At Milan Design Week, where experimentation sets the tone for how we will live tomorrow, Moroso introduces a new kind of statement piece with Gruuve by Patricia Urquiola, a design that shifts seating from static arrangement to immersive experience. It unfolds as a fluid composition of forms that invites movement, interaction, and spontaneity, signalling a decisive move away from more rigid living room conventions toward something altogether more expressive and communal, writes Antonio Visconti

Spanish Designer Patricia Urquiola

in her studio. 

IN Milan, a sinuous new seating system by Patricia Urquiola that reimagines the living room as something fluid, social, and unexpected was unveiled at Moroso. Neither conventional sofa nor sculptural installation, Gruuve is conceived as a dynamic landscape, an invitation to inhabit space differently.

Urquiola’s latest work builds on her earlier Lowseat concept from 2000, but here the language is more grounded and generous in scale. The modules are fuller, their rounded silhouettes extending all the way to the floor, creating a sense of visual continuity and physical presence. There is a deliberate softness to the forms, yet also a structural clarity that anchors the system in contemporary interiors.

The spirit of the 1970s hovers over Gruuve, not as nostalgia but as attitude. This was a decade that challenged domestic life, and Urquiola taps into that same nonconformist energy. The system’s irregular, flowing modules can be arranged freely, linear, angular, or labyrinthine, encouraging users to choreograph their own environments. 

What distinguishes Gruuve is its duality of use. The front offers a more traditional seating posture, while the reverse invites a looser, informal occupation. This subtle shift transforms the sofa into a social catalyst, supporting conversation from multiple directions and dissolving the hierarchy of “front” and “back.” In open-plan interiors or hospitality settings, the effect is particularly striking: Gruuve becomes a kind of soft architecture, shaping movement and interaction.

The spirit of the 1970s hovers over Gruuve, not as nostalgia but as attitude

Gruuve sofa with its dynamic curve and modular design. 

The collection extends beyond modular seating to include an armchair and chaise longue, reinforcing its versatility across residential and public contexts. Upholstery plays a key role in its identity, with custom textiles designed by Urquiola adding a graphic layer that enhances the system’s sense of rhythm and movement.

For Moroso, a brand long associated with experimental design, Gruuve represents a confident continuation of its dialogue between craft and innovation. For Urquiola, it is another chapter in a career defined by material sensitivity and spatial intelligence. Here, those qualities converge in a piece that feels both instinctive and highly considered.

In an era where the boundaries between living, working, and socialising continue to blur, Gruuve offers another proposition: a seating system not just to sit on, but to gather within.

Frank Gehry, the Architect of the Unconventional, the Accidental, and the Inspiring

The sinuous forms of Frank Gehry's Walt Disney Concert Hall in Los Angeles. Photograph: Sean Pavone/Getty Images. Cover picture of the architect's Guggenheim Museum and Bilbao River. Photograph: Maremagnum/Getty Images.

By Michael I. Ostwald

Architect Frank Gehry in his studio

with models of his designs. 

In April 2005, The Simpsons featured an episode where Marge, embarrassed by her hometown’s reputation for being uneducated and uncultured, invites a world-famous architect to design a new concert hall for the city.

The episode cuts to the architect, Frank Gehry (playing himself), outside his house in Santa Monica, receiving Marge’s letter. 

He is frustrated by the request and crumples the letter, throwing it to the ground. Looking down, the creased and ragged paper inspires him, and the episode cuts to a model of his concert hall for Springfield, which copies the shape of the crumpled letter. 

By building Gehry’s design, the people of Springfield hoped to send a signal to the world that a new era of culture had arrived. As it often did, this episode of The Simpsons references a real-life phenomenon, which Gehry was credited with triggering, the “Bilbao effect”.

In 1991, the city of Bilbao in northern Spain sought to enhance its economic and cultural standing by establishing a major arts centre. Gehry was commissioned to design the Bilbao Guggenheim, proposing a 57-metre-high building, a spiralling vortex of titanium and glass, along the banks of the Nervión River

Using software developed for aerospace industries, Gehry designed a striking, photogenic building, sharply contrasting with the city’s traditional stone and masonry streetscapes.

Finished in 1997, the response to Gehry’s building was overwhelming. Bilbao was transformed into an international tourist destination, revitalising the city and boosting its cultural credentials and economic prospects. As a result, many cities tried to reproduce the so-called “Bilbao effect” by combining iconic architecture and the arts to encourage a cultural renaissance.

Gehry, who has died at 96, leaves a powerful legacy, visible in many major cities, in the media, in galleries and in popular culture.

Guggenheim Museum, Avenida Abandoibarra, Bilbao, Spain. Elizabeth Hanchett/Unsplash

An architect’s life

Gehry was born Frank Owen Goldberg in Toronto, Canada, in 1929 and emigrated to Los Angeles in the late 1940s, where he changed his surname to Gehry. He studied architecture and urban planning and established a successful commercial practice in 1962.

It wasn’t until the late 1970s, when he began experimenting with alterations and additions to his own house, that he began to develop his signature approach to architecture. An approach that was both visionary and confronting.

Gehry and his son, Alejandro, in the yard in front of his self-designed home, Santa Monica, California, January 1980. Susan Wood/Getty Images

In 1977, Gehry purchased a colonial bungalow on a typical suburban street in Santa Monica. Soon after, he began peeling back its cladding and exposing its structural frame. He added a jumble of plywood panels, corrugated metal walls, and chain-link fencing, giving the impression of a house in a perpetual state of demolition or reconstruction.

Its fragmented, unfinished expression offended the neighbours but also led to his being exhibited in the landmark 1988 Museum of Modern Art’s Deconstructivist Architecture show.

At this event, Gehry’s house was featured alongside a range of subversive, anti-establishment works, catapulting him to international fame.

The Walt Disney Concert Hall, Los Angeles, California, United States of America. Tim Cheung/Unsplash

Unlike other architects featured in the exhibition – such as Coop Himmelblau, Rem Koolhaas and Daniel Libeskind – Gehry was not driven by a political or philosophical stance. Instead, he was interested in how people would react to the experience of architecture.

It was only after the Bilbao Guggenheim was completed that the world could see this vision.

Throughout the 2000s, Gehry completed a range of significant buildings, led by the Walt Disney Concert Hall (2003) in Los Angeles, which has a similar style to the Bilbao Guggenheim.

Gehry’s Museum of Pop Culture (2000) in Seattle is a composition of anodised purple, gold, silver and sky-blue forms, resembling the remnants of a smashed electric guitar.

Museum of Pop Culture, Seattle, Washington, United States of America. Getty Images

The Marqués de Riscal Vineyard Hotel (2006) in Elciego, Spain, features steel ribbons in Burgundy-pink and Verdelho-gold. The Louis Vuitton Foundation (2014) in Paris has 12 large glass sails, swirling around an “iceberg” of concrete panels.

Gehry only completed one building in Australia, the Dr Chau Chak Wing Building (2014) in Sydney. Its design, an undulating form clad in custom-made bricks, was inspired by a crumpled brown paper bag. Marge Simpson would have approved.

Recognition and reflection

The highest global honour an architect can receive is the Pritzker Prize, often called the “Nobel prize for architecture”. Gehry was awarded this prize in 1989, with the jury praising his “controversial, but always arresting body of work” which was “iconoclastic, rambunctious and impermanent”.

While the Pritzker Prize is often regarded as a capstone for a career, most of Gehry’s major works were completed after the award.

Tempranillo vines surround the hotel at Marqués de Riscal winery, Elciego, Spain. David Silverman/Getty Images

Gehry revelled in experimentation, taking artistic inspiration from complex natural forms and constructing them using advanced technology. Over the last three decades, his firm continued to produce architecture that was both strikingly sculptural and playfully whimsical.

He ultimately regretted appearing on The Simpsons, feeling it devalued the complex process he followed. His architecture was not random; an artist’s eye guided it, and a sculptor’s hand created it. It was not just any crumpled form, but the perfect one for each site and client.

He sometimes joked about completing his home in Santa Monica, even humorously ending his acceptance speech for the Pritzker Prize by saying he might use his prize money to do this. Today, on the corner of 22nd Street and Washington Avenue, partly shielded by trees, Gehry’s house remains forever a work in progress. Its uncompromising yet joyful presence has endured for almost 50 years.

Michael J. Ostwald, Professor of Architectural Analytics, UNSW Sydney

Last Weekend of the Exhibition at the NGV: How Self-Taught, Self-Made Mavericks Vivienne Westwood and Rei Kawakubo Redefined Punk

Rihanna wearing Commes des Garcons by Rai Kawakubo at The Met Gala in 2017. Photograph: Francois Durand/Getty 

By Sasha Grishin

Vivienne Westwood and Rei Kawakubo are two fashion designers who redefined “the look” of fashion on the street from the 1970s onwards.

They were born a year apart in the early 1940s, one in Derbyshire in England, the other in Tokyo in Japan. They were both largely self-taught, self-made mavericks who contributed to, and redefined, the punk scene in the 60s and 70s. Their use of unconventional materials and designs shocked the fashion establishment and helped to establish alternative realities of accepted dress codes.

The great achievement of many revolutionary National Gallery of Victoria exhibitions is the strategy of juxtaposing two vibrant artistic personalities, whereby a new and unexpected reality is created that allows us to establish a fresh perspective.

World’s End, London (fashion house), Vivienne Westwood (designer), Malcolm McLaren (designer), outfit from the Savage collection, spring–summer 1982. Pillar Hall, Olympia, October 22 1981. Photo © Robyn Beeche

Westwood and Kawakubo are household names in the fashion industry. But by bringing them together and clustering their works under five thematic categories, new insights appear.

It is a spectacular selection of over 140 key and signature pieces drawn from the growing holdings of the NGV supplemented with strategic loans from the Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York; The Victoria & Albert Museum, London; Palais Galliera, Paris; the Vivienne Westwood archive; and the National Gallery of Australia, among others.

Punk and provocation

Westwood, subsequently Dame Vivienne Isabel Westwood, initially in collaboration with Malcolm McLaren of Sex Pistols fame, helped to mould and dress the London punk scene.

For her, dress was never ideologically neutral but a lightning rod for social change.

Vivienne Westwood (right) with the model Jordan (Pamela Rooke) and another punk, London, 12 April 1977. Photo © Tim Jenkins / WWD / Penske Media via Getty Images

Pornographic slogans, emblems anchored in fetish practices and sadomasochism, and dresses made of plastics and supplemented with safety pins and chains subverted the comfortable status quo and allowed her fashion sense to penetrate into the middle classes.

What was once outrageous became something daringly respectable.

Kawakubo was born into an academic family and came to fashion design when making her own clothing in the 1960s under the label Comme des Garçons (“like the boys”) in Tokyo.

Conceived as anti-fashion, sober and severe, she made largely monochrome garments – black, dark grey and white – for women, with frayed, unfinished edges, holes and asymmetric shapes.

A men’s line was added in 1978. The number of outlets in Japan grew into the hundreds. Later, her designs established a strong presence in Paris.

The themes that bring the two fashion designers together in this exhibition include the opening section, Punk and Provocation. Both designers drew on the ethos of punk with its desire for change and the rejection of old ways.

Breaking orthodoxies

A second section is termed Rupture for the conscious desire to break with convention, whether it be Westwood’s Nostalgia of Mud collection of 1983 or Kawakubo’s Not Making Clothes collection of 2014.

There is a strongly expressed desire to break with the prevailing orthodoxies.

World’s End, London (fashion house), Vivienne Westwood (designer), Malcolm McLaren (designer) Outfit from the Nostalgia of Mud collection, autumn–winter 1982–83. Pillar Hall, Olympia, London, 24 March 1982. Photo © Robyn Beeche

A third section, Reinvention, hints at a postmodernist predilection of both artists to delve into traditions of art history and from unexpected sources, such as Rococo paintings, revive elements from tailoring traditions, ruffles and frills.

Although both artists are rule breakers, they do not act from a position of ignorance. It is from a detailed, and at times pedantic, knowledge of garments from the past.

Comme des Garçons, Tokyo (fashion house), Rei Kawakubo (designer) Look 2, from the Smaller is Stronger collection, autumn–winter 2025. Paris, 8 March 2025. Image © Comme des Garçons. Model: Mirre Sonders

In the late 1980s, Westwood revived English tweeds and Scottish tartans. Kawakubo drew on the basics of traditional tailoring in menswear and applied it to unorthodox patterns and materials in her garments for women.

The ‘ideal’ body

A fourth section, The Body: Freedom and Restraints, perhaps most problematically challenges the conventions of idealised female beauty and the objectification of the female body.

It is argued in the exhibition that Westwood’s Erotic Zones collection (1995), and Kawakubo’s The Future of Silhouette (2017–18), may be viewed as attempts to redefine the female body.

Sarah Jessica Parker wearing a Vivienne Westwood wedding gown on the set of Sex and the City: The Movie, New York City, October 12 2007. Photo © James Devaney / WireImage via Getty Images

Kawakubo’s Body meets dress-Dress meets body collection, presented in 1996, systematically interrogates boundaries between bodies and garments. Westwood, at a similar time, played with padding and compression in her designs to question the ideals of a sexual, “ideal” body.

The final section of the exhibition is appropriately termed The Power of Clothes. This returns us to the recurring theme of employing fashion to make a statement concerning social change, whether this be the punk revolution or protests connected with climate change.

Installation view of Westwood | Kawakubo on display from 7 December 2025 to 19 April 2026, at NGV International, Melbourne. Vivienne Westwood Look 19, Jacket, shirt, knickers, bum pad, leggings, hat, crop, boots, 1994 and Look 34 Cape, shirt, corset, and boots and hat 1994 and Look 78, Dress, bum pad and shoes, 1994 from the On Liberty collection, 1994-1995. Courtesy of Vivienne Westwood Heritage. Photo: Sean Fennessy

Through their work, both Westwood and Kawakubo argue fashion is a political act and make broader social statements through their garments, particularly women’s wear.

Both fashion designers were prominent polemicists. As quoted in the exhibition, Westwood in 2011 declared,

I can use fashion as a medium to express my ideas to fight for a better world.

Kawakubo is quoted as saying in 2016,

Society needs something new, something with the power to provide stimulus and the drive to move us forward […] Maybe fashion alone is not enough to change our world, but I consider it my mission to keep pushing and to continue to propose new ideas.

This exhibition will be seen as historically significant and it is accompanied with a weighty catalogue. The NGV has established major collections of over 400 pieces of Westwood’s and Kawakubo’s work that lays the foundation for any further serious exploration of fashion from this period anywhere in the world.

Westwood | Kawakubo is at the National Gallery of Victoria until April 19.

Sasha Grishin, Adjunct Professor of Art History, Australian National University

Selling Stolen Italian Art is Difficult, Why Organise a Heist? An Expert Explains

Italian police present the recovery of 37 art works stolen across Italy. Alessandro di Meo/EPA

By Anja Shortland, King's College London

It took less than three minutes for an organised crime gang to steal a Renoir, Matisse and a Cezanne painting collectively worth around €9 million (£7.8m) from a private museum near Parma, Italy in March 2026. This is the second high profile art heist in recent months, after the theft of jewellery worth €9.5 million (£8.25m) from Paris’s Louvre in October 2025.

The Magnani Rocca Foundation where 

three paintings were recently stolen,

The items stolen are clearly valuable. But, as an expert in the governance of criminal markets, I can tell you acquiring the goods is only the first step. Turning this loot into cash is fraught with risk .

The Italian government takes the protection of its cultural heritage seriously, with a whole department of the Carabinieri (Italian police) devoted to the theft of arts and antiquities. This department scans the global art trade for forged, stolen and illegally exported treasures, demanding their return.

There is little chance of selling the stolen masterpieces on the international art market – even at a knockdown price. Whereas in the past dealers and auction houses might have turned a blind eye to the fishy origins of an outstanding artwork, over the past two decades the norms and procedures of the market have tightened considerably.

Anyone who buys art without checking whether a former owner has registered their interest in the object fails the bona fide (good faith) test. This means that they cannot obtain a good title and so the legal property right remains with the person or institution the artwork was stolen from. Also sales of stolen art where the seller sidestepped due diligence can be voided, meaning the money must be returned.

So reputable dealers and auction houses take their duty of care very seriously. At the very least they check the freely accessible Interpol database of stolen art before the sale. However, private databases – like that of the Art Loss Register – provide greater peace of mind, listing many more lost and stolen objects and limit searching to those with a legitimate interest in an object. When a register finds that someone is trying to bring a stolen artwork into the open market, they collect and pass on all information that could lead the police to its location or the people involved in its sale or storage.

Anything fresh from a museum wall is therefore unsaleable – unless it is jewellery that can be broken up and sold as (expensive) scrap. So, what might be the financial motivation behind this theft?

A Bond-style villain ordering favourite paintings to adorn their lair is an unlikely explanation. Yes, paintings could be stolen to order, but buying art on the open market to launder money is less risky. With high rewards for information or the return of stolen artworks, security and omerta (the code of silence) would have to be completely watertight when displaying stolen treasures.

On the other hand, “rewards for information” could be a motivation for theft in itself. In the middle of the last century, insurers regularly paid “finders” with so little scrutiny that high-value art theft became a profitable low-risk occupation. Institutions like the Art Loss Register broke that cosy coexistence and instead used any leads to help the police conduct recoveries and sting operations.

Nowadays, it is only safe to negotiate a deal over a “finder’s fee” when a stolen object has changed hands so many times that the line to the original thieves is lost in the mist of time. Even so, the ultimate “finder” would be lucky to realise more than 10% of the painting’s value, which they would also likely have to share with the thieves and various shady underworld owners along the way.

However, there is a third reason to steal artworks. Organised crime groups sometimes use stolen artworks as bargaining chips to negotiate more lenient punishment. For example, the Dresden jewellery thieves kept a few pieces of their haul aside to use their recovery to negotiate shorter sentences. Penitentos (“repentant ones”) who want to leave mafia organisations also sometimes provide information on the whereabouts of missing treasures. If there is a perception that stolen artworks can used to reduce a prison sentence or financial compensation package, their underworld value can grow far beyond the finder’s fee.

While it is difficult to verify the assertion that stolen artworks are used as collateral in drug deals, several unique treasures have indeed been retrieved from properties owned by senior mafiosi. These works have not been found in temperature controlled galleries, but rolled up in dank places that make museum curators weep with despair. Let us hope that the beautiful artworks from Parma are treated with respect until we see them again.

Anja Shortland, Reader in Political Economy, King's College London