Gehry in Gear

As for the motorcycles, upright on pedestals including some exuberant Gehrian wave forms, they sing zestily, as even someone who doesn't dance to their song can perceive. Starting with piquant antiques, you breeze up the ramp past evolutionary hunks of tacitly vrooming steel. The higher you go, the more densely bikes are arrayed, becoming a heaven mainly for cognoscenti. "They sort of bunch up at the top like bugs in a swimming-pool filter," a friend of mine remarked aptly.


'The Art of the Motorcycle'
The Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum
1071 Fifth Avenue
Through September 20

But by then, you are snugly right under the grand umbrella of Wright's skylight. Look down. My chronic acrophobia took a day off, for once, partly on account of the balustrade-heightening metal and partly because the view was so beguilingly strange. Piled-up, bounced-around, swimmy light suggested a colossal aquarium in which motorcycles were like coral formations and people like exotic fauna. What with biker contingents, I didn't have to squint to conjure the exotic part. Joy was general.

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