Occasionally, writing a daily blog has its perks.
Last month I wrote a post called "The radical transformation of Greater Paris" and, in it, I mentioned that Apur (a French non-profit focused on urbanism that I follow) had just published a new book called Atlas de la Métropole du Grand Paris.
I also mentioned that I hadn't been able to find a shop that would ship to Toronto, but that if anyone happens to be in Paris, it's available in bookstores over there. Volume is apparently a great store for people who like the kind of things we talk about on this blog.
Following the post, I got an email from Ryan Taylor at Parcel Economics who more or less said, "Hey, I'm leaving for Paris soon. Want me to grab you a copy of the book? I've learned a lot from your blog over the years and thought I would offer."
Now I have the book:
Ryan, thanks for transporting what is a fairly substantial book across the Atlantic. If any of you are in need of a land economist, reach out to Ryan and the folks at Parcel Economics. He's both a nice and smart guy.
Enjoy the long weekend, everyone.
This post is ultimately going to be about architecture, but bear with me while I get there. The international standard for paper sizes has three series: A, B, and C. From this standard comes A4 paper, which many of you might recognize as the most common paper size in the world, serving as the standard for most business documents. However, not all countries use this sizing. Canada and the US, for instance, use Letter-sized paper instead of A4, which is simply a result of a historical norm. Canada tried to switch to the international standard (ISO 216) when we started adopting the metric system in the 1970s, but our deep economic integration with the US made it simply too cumbersome to juggle different sizes of paper.
The beauty of A4 paper is that it follows something known as the Silver Ratio (which equals 1 : √2 or 1 : 1.414). Its exact dimensions are 210 x 297 mm. What's important about this ratio is that it allows for a perfectly recursive system. It works like this: A0 paper is 841 x 1189 mm (the same Silver Ratio) or exactly one square metre. If you fold this paper in half along its long side, you get two pieces of A1 paper with the exact same ratio. If you repeat the same fold, you will then get A2 paper, and so on, all the way down to A10 paper. The Silver Ratio is the only rectangle where, when you fold or cut it in half, the proportions stay exactly the same. This is a neat feature because it means there's no waste when manufacturing different paper sizes.
So, what does this have to do with architecture?
Well, the Silver Ratio is heavily embedded in Japanese architecture and heritage. In fact, it's also known as the "Japanese proportion." It has long been appreciated for the scale it creates — it's more square and humble, as opposed to rectangular and grand — and for the modularity that it affords. Indeed, the recursive nature of the ratio makes it practical for construction and perfectly suited to the Japanese concept of mottainai, which is a term that describes a deep sense of regret when things are wasted. A good example of this concept in practice is the recently completed Circularity Cabin by architect Takaaki Fuji. A simple family home made from standard store-bought timber, the 60 m2 structure follows a strict modular system to minimize waste and improve efficiency.
Mottainai might be my new favourite Japanese concept.
Cover photo by Takuya Seki via Never Too Small
Toronto Pearson Airport has just announced a $3 billion investment called LIFT, which stands for Long-term Investment in Facilities and Terminals. (This feels like a "how do we make this acronym work" kind of name.) The investment includes an upgraded baggage system, an expansion of the airfield to 2.2 million square metres, and a bunch of new tech.
Following this, the plan is to refresh Terminals 1 and 3, and look for opportunities to create some net-new terminal space. And when it's all said and done, the program is expected to grow the airport's capacity to about 65 million passengers per year by the early 2030s.
My first reaction when I read the announcement was, "Great, let's make Pearson better." My second reaction was, "Why only 65 million passengers? Why not 100 million or even 125 million?" (Side note: I love airports and I think it would be a lot of fun to design and/or work on one.)
For those of you who are curious, here are the top 10 busiest airports in the world by annual passenger volume (according to Gemini):
My follow-up question to Gemini was my second reaction: Why not target 100 million passengers? The response I got was, "Yeah, well, the airport is physically constrained and simply doesn't have the room for this kind of volume." So then I asked it to give me the land area in both acres and square kilometres for the same list of airports:
The obvious question: If Tokyo and London can achieve close to 100 million passengers on less than 4,000 acres, why can't Toronto? Gemini then said, "Okay, yeah, I guess it might be possible," but then gave a number of reasons why it's currently more challenging; everything from the layout of the runways to the high percentage of origin & destination travel over connecting flights.
I frankly don't know enough about the operations of international airports to comment intelligently, but at the end of the day, the LIFT program is fundamentally about densifying the existing airport lands and unlocking additional capacity. And that's what it will take to eventually get to 125 million!