Brandon Donnelly

Daily insights for city builders, delivered every morning at 6 AM ET. I’m Brandon Donnelly — a Toronto-based real estate developer and founder of Globizen. I’ve been writing here since 2013.

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Category: Architecture

  • Toronto’s first apartment boom (1900 to 1920)

    North American cities have long had a problem with apartment buildings.

    One the one hand, they were viewed as an important requirement for world-class status. Regardless of whether there was an economic imperative to build in this way, you needed grand buildings to communicate that you were an important and sophisticated city.

    But on the other hand, apartments were viewed as clearly inferior to low-rise houses. Apartments were too dense; they were thought to morally corrupt people (infidelity meant just walking down the hall); and by definition — until the rise of condominiums — they were filled with renters.

    I recently stumbled upon this 1989 research paper by Richard Dennis (through Bob Georgiou’s blog) and it is a fascinating account of Toronto’s first apartment-house boom from 1900 to 1920:

    One of the first apartment houses to be completed in the city was the Alexandra Palace Apartments (pictured above) on University Avenue near Elm Street:

    The next building to be completed, the Alexandra, on University Avenue, was on an even grander scale. It was promoted by the Union Trust Company, but subsequently owned by the specially constituted Alexandra Palace Co. Ltd., and opened in 1904. The building, of stone, brick and steel construction, comprised 72 suites on seven floors; it also included dining rooms. In 1905 more than a quarter of its suites were vacant, mainly on the upper floors (although the very top floor was fully occupied); its tenants included a leading judge, two barristers, a professor, a doctor and a prominent real estate agent, but otherwise its social standing did not quite match that of St George Mansions. In 1915 occupants included Professor James Mavor. There were more tenants aged in their thirties than in St George Mansions, but overall the average age of 42 and household size of 2.6 was not dissimilar.

    But perhaps the most interesting part of the paper is Toronto’s reaction to this apartment boom. We moved to stop it:

    Nonetheless, it is clear that the attempted invasion of high-status single- family areas in Parkdale and, more especially, Rosedale and Avenue-St Clair, provided the catalyst to action. For all the moral outrage and sanitary evidence, there was little concern as long as apartments stayed downtown or in lower-status neighbourhoods. This becomes even more apparent when we examine what happened in the months following the passage of the by-laws.

    Toronto’s housing stock has changed dramatically over the last 100 years or so, and we are now nearly 50% apartments/condominiums over 5 storeys. But at the same time, some things seem to never change.

  • Learning from Kyoto’s machiya

    Japan has a building typology known as machiya. They are found throughout Japan, but my understanding is that they are most closely associated with downtown Kyoto. The typical machiya consists of a long wooden home with a narrow street frontage, and at least one interior courtyard garden.

    But perhaps the most interesting aspect of these townhouses is that, for the centuries that they have existed, they have always been mixed-used. The front of the building traditionally served as a kind of “shop space”, and the private residential spaces were tucked behind it (though this line between public and private was fairly fluid).

    And so for hundreds of years, the humble machiya became a flexible building typology that allowed shops, restaurants, and various other small businesses to flourish. This has changed over the years. People went off to work in offices and Western ideals around housing started to infiltrate Japan, among other reasons. But that doesn’t mean that there aren’t important lessons to be learned from Kyoto’s machiya.

    Here in Toronto, we remain deeply terrified of things like triplexes creeping into our single-family neighborhoods and we remain reticent to allow non-residential uses outside of their designated areas. Old habits die hard.

    But take a walk, cycle, or drive across one of our non-Avenue-designated arterial roads (which I did yesterday), and it’s hard not to imagine something much better. My mind immediately goes to an improved streetscape with (1) less on-street parking, (2) a lot more homes (as-of-right), and (3) flexible ground floor permissions that allow for crazy things like a “shop space”.

    And then, what kind of city might we have if we had fewer barriers in the way of infill housing and if we allowed for low-cost spaces that could flex up and down based on the needs of small entrepreneurs? I’m pretty sure it would be a better one. And of course, it’s been done before.

    Photo by Akira Deng on Unsplash

  • World’s largest 3D-printed community

    I’m not sure how I missed this before, but ground has just been broken on what is being called “the world’s largest 3D-printed community.” Co-designed by ICON and Bjarke Ingels Group and “implemented” by Lennar, the community, which is located north of Austin, Texas, will consist of 100 homes ranging from 1,500 to 2,100 square feet. There are 8 different floor plans and 24 different elevations to choose from. Each home will also come with rooftop solar panels.

    Here’s a short description on how the overall construction process is working:

    To automate the manufacturing of homes ICON is using its Vulcan robotic construction system, a large, transportable printer that can be used in tandem with Magma, a cement mixing machine. The homes are being constructed out of Lavacrete, a durable-concrete polymer added in layers to form the structure’s facade and foundation by Vulcan. Their design blends Texas ranch vernacular with sustainable technology, providing a model for the future of large-scale 3D construction. The residences will adhere to a common design, featuring metal roofs, concrete floors, and distinct curvilinear and rib-textured concrete walls, which are the product of 3D printing.

    It is quite a different looking construction site:

    Now, there is certainly a conversation to be had about what these machines are building as a housing typology: This is still suburban sprawl, regardless of how the homes are being made and if there are solar panels on the roof. But if you ignore all of this for a minute, there is obviously something pretty incredible about 3D printing being able to now deliver stuff at the scale of a suburban housing project. It represents a fundamental change in how we build, in an industry that has a long history of changing very little.

  • Distributed Japanese capsules

    Japanese Metabolism was a post-war architectural movement that was based around the idea that cities and buildings should be able to grow and transform just like other organisms. There are other elements to the movement, but this was at its core. And perhaps the best example of the Metabolism movement was the Nakagin Capsule Tower in Tokyo (pictured above).

    Constructed between 1970 and 1972, the 13-storey tower consisted of two structural elements and 140 self-contained / prefabricated capsules that were hung off the building’s cores.

    The original intent was that these capsules could be removed and replaced over time and that the building could evolve just like any other organism might. But that never really happened and, coming on the end, only about 30 of the 140 capsules were apparently still being lived in, with the others being used for various purposes, such as storage, or not at all.

    And so after a whole lot of debate, the building was disassembled earlier this year, which isn’t quite the same as a straight demolition. The pods were removed and then the core came down.

    But a number of the pods have been salvaged. The architect’s family took 4 pods and created an Airbnb retreat a few hours outside of Tokyo. And a longtime resident in the building decided to quit his job, acquire 23 of the capsules, and dedicate his life to now getting these things into museums and other commercial settings.

    I don’t feel like it’s my place to comment on whether disassembling the tower was a good idea or not. But I do think there’s something poetic about an icon of Metabolism having its capsules removed, restored, and then sprinkled around various places. Wasn’t that always kind of the intent?

    Photo by Roman Davydko on Unsplash

  • Celebrating Stool 60

    This stool, Stool 60, was originally designed in 1933 by celebrated Finnish architect Alvar Aalto. And it’s pretty much perfect, which is why the design has remained untouched for almost a century. But here’s an interesting collaboration. Wood Wood — a Danish streetwear and design company — approached Artek — the furniture company that Aalto, his wife, and others founded — to see if they could experiment with different color stains for the stool. The objective was to still allow the natural grain of the birch to come through, but to also add some color, so as to get people to relook and what is for many people a very familiar piece of furniture. The result is three new colours: bothnia blue, powder pink, and factory yellow. I think they’re beautiful. There is also a good story behind them. And isn’t that often what we end up buying — a narrative?

    Image: Wood Wood

  • Construction site day

    Thursday mornings have become my construction site time. I start off at Junction House. I walk the site with the team. We meet and use a lot of profanities. And then I head over to One Delisle for a similar set of activities. It is one of my favorite times of the week because, as a developer, you get to see all of your work coming together in a real and physical thing.

    The views can also be pretty nice. Here is photo of the downtown skyline from Junction House this morning (there was a bit of fog):

    I know this goes without saying, but I think it is crucial to walk one’s sites. There’s no way to do this in sweatpants over Zoom. You need to see the details. You need to build relationships. And you need to problem solve with the team. It’s also a great opportunity to learn — generally and from mistakes — and get better as a professional.

    Here’s the thing about development: sometimes you’re flying at 10,000 feet and sometimes you’re talking about how many layers of drywall are appropriate for demising walls. It’s a lot of fun.

  • Building on top of existing buildings

    There is a growing trend in Toronto right now where people want to build on top of existing buildings. We are proposing to do this in midtown at 1 St. Clair Avenue West and, this week, this proposal was announced for the Cambridge Suites Hotel in the Financial District (shout out to Len Abelman).

    Generally speaking, this is something that an owner and/or developer might want to do when you have an older building and there is now “unused” density on the site. By “unused” I mean that if you were developing the land for the first time today, the resulting density would be higher than what is currently on the site.

    Alongside this, it can also be a way to reposition the existing asset. In the case of the Cambridge Suites site, it sounds like the existing 231 hotel keys will be converted to residential.

    At some point in the process you will probably also look at whether it is “better” to tear down the existing building and build new, or whether you should try and build on top. The former is obviously very bad from an embodied carbon perspective but, for whatever reason, this may be the preferred option.

    If you decide to build on top, your structural engineer will love you because the result — for them — will be a far more interesting project compared to a typical high-rise. But interesting comes with its challenges. Here’s how your structural solution might work:

    It’s a complicated project that will require a 10-metre-high bridge structure to be built atop the existing hotel where the roof is removed. The bridge will help bear the weight of the new tower, explains Len Abelman, principal at Toronto’s WZMH Architects, the firm designing the redevelopment for the property’s owner, Centennial Hotels Ltd.

    “It’s not a common technique, it’s challenging. We worked with a firm called RJC Engineers to do simulations of the massing and loading of weight and the lateral forces the building will face, to make sure it will work,” Mr. Abelman says.

    “Other projects in Toronto have added floors before, but it’s usually done with a big exoskeleton that goes over the entire building. This one uses technology that transfers some of the weight to the columns and the floors of the existing structure below,” he says.

    This is similar to what we are doing in midtown, except that we are proposing to retain all of the the existing facades along with the building. It is certainly not the easiest way to build. But we are likely to see more, not less, of it in the city.

    It is evidence of the immense development pressures that certain areas of our region are facing. When you restrict new supply, the market will find somewhere to build, even if it involves a lot of structural gymnastics.

  • Dismantling the capital of neon

    You probably already know this about Hong Kong:

    Neon signs exploded in popularity in Hong Kong after World War II, when the city’s economy started to take off led by its manufacturing industry. As consumerism grew, neon signboards became the go-to format of advertising for all kinds of businesses ranging from restaurants to mahjong parlors to pawn shops. In an era where shopping mostly took place on the street level, the biggest and brightest signs got the most attention.

    But this component of Hong Kong’s aesthetic is rapidly fading. As recent as 2016, it was estimated that there were some 120,000 outdoor signboards, including neon signs, in the city. Today, thousands of neon signs are being removed each year in an effort to “clean up” the city. The result is that about 90% of the city’s neon has now been removed. (Here is an interesting visual essay from Google showing how the city has changed over the years.)

    However, it is also partially a case obsolescence. Neon is a dying craft now that we have technologies like LED. And so as sad as it may be, it’s hard to imagine a world where Hong Kong ever returns to its former glory as a capital of neon.

    Neon signs exploded in the post-war years, but most of them were illegal and I guess some were dangerous by virtue of there being no real enforced standards. But the British clearly didn’t care. Signs were good for business and good for capitalism. And so they let them proliferate. But then the handover to China happened, and it would seem that the Chinese care a little more about neon signs.

    But I think my favorite part of this story is that the origin of these signs is, of course, informal and utilitarian in nature. It was a case of one person erecting a sign and then a neighbor saying, “hey, your big neon sign is blocking my big neon sign, so I’m now going to make an even bigger and bolder neon sign. Maybe I’ll even hang it in the middle of the street.” The result was a self-organizing system that ended up creating, through no overarching plan whatsoever, a unique visual language for Hong Kong.

    That system is now being systematically erased. But lots of people are working to preserve its various artifacts and to celebrate its cultural legacy. These are all good things. But of course, there are other options. At the end of the day, Hong Kong’s visual language is not disappearing because neon is disappearing. It’s disappearing because we’ve decided that is what should happen.

  • Some Sicilian inspiration for #KioskTO

    I have written before about how Lisbon’s kiosks both anchor and beautify the city’s public spaces. I have also written about how Toronto should have something similar — #KioskTO anyone?

    Some of you might remember an expanded street food program that the city piloted many years ago. It was a complete and utter failure. In my opinion (and from what I can remember), it was too heavily regulated. The food ended up being far too expensive and, frankly, none of it was very good.

    That’s not how this should work. The entire point of things like food trucks and street kiosks is that they are cheaper alternatives to a conventional physical location. You can also more easily place them in locations where demand is being underserved.

    The one pictured here is in Catania, Sicily. I carried my beer over from a panini shop down the street and then we ordered three espressos for a total of 2€. I tried to sit on a crate they had lying on the ground but I ended up breaking it. Sorry, guys. So we stood instead. It was all rather civilized.

    Let entrepreneurs figure out what to sell and where. It will be a boon for both small business and for our public spaces.

    P.S. I tweeted this photo out earlier today and it elicited a good discussion on Twitter. Toronto wants this.

  • The even narrower streets of Noto, Sicily

    So it turns out that the narrow streets in Le Panier (in Marseille) are actually far too wide at nearly 13 feet. What were the planners even thinking back in 600? Here’s a street I found in Noto, Sicily at just over 4 feet. I’m not sure if this is considered some sort of tertiary lane or not, but it had a street sign, addresses, and businesses in a courtyard at the end of it. So I’m going to assume it’s a bona fide street. It’s hard to imagine getting much tighter than this. I wonder if Jeff Bezos delivers here.