when the guggenheim museum first opened in bilbao, spain, the gravitational pull was immediate. it was 1997. in the preceding decades, spain’s largest northern city was in decline as the local steel industry struggled to compete against lower-cost asian imports. the country’s internal battle between the northern basque region’s drive for independence was ripping bilbao away from the south.

the idea for a museum, part of a larger urban revitalization plan, was spearheaded by bilbao’s leaders in the early nineties with the support of the Guggenheim foundation. the project took flight with frank gehry as the chosen “star” architect. skinned in titanium panels, the Guggenheim museum’s muted silvery tones fuse gehry’s expressive curves to the adjacent riverfront. as a work of sculptural art, the building is beautiful but it does not feel local in any way (although the limestone foundation was quarried from Granada in southern spain). instead, it is gehry’s daring imposition on the cityscape that creates the strange attraction.

years after the opening, I journeyed to bilbao to visit the museum. my hotel was nearby, a recent design by the spaniard, javier mariscal. best known for his lively illustrations and colorful furniture, he created an interior space that was artful and inviting. upon entering my hotel room, i spied a small rubber sheep sitting on top of the pillow. the next night, a dog appeared, followed by the cat. though small in scale, the squeaky toys brought immediate joy. i imagined mariscal’s exuberant spirit sketching the designs, knowing in his heart that happiness is contagious. when i inquired if i could purchase one of the animal characters to take home, i was immediately rewarded with a bagful of creatures for free.

the sheep, the dog, and the cat are a few of my favorite things. they adorn the studio and keep the joy coming.