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| 1. | Brandon Donnelly | 14M |
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Yesterday, we spoke about a slender single-stair apartment building on a small 60-square-meter site in Tokyo. Today, let's talk about a different kind of proposal. Earlier this month, the Park City Planning Commission heard a redevelopment proposal from the Kensington Investment Company for a site near Old Town at 1500 Kearns Boulevard. The site is 2.71 acres, and the existing building houses 48,000 sf of office and retail space.
The proposal is for a new mixed-use development including:
117 residential apartments (97 market-rate and 20 affordable)
Over 9,400 sf of commercial/retail space
Over 20,000 sf of amenity space (including a rooftop terrace and patios)
210 underground parking spaces
Some of the key development approvals being asked for include:
Master Planned Development approval & Conditional Use Permit
A reduction of the north setback from 25 feet to 10 feet
A building height exception to 49.5 feet (from the 35 feet currently allowed)
A formal vote has yet to take place, though apparently, the project is somewhat controversial. The developer is asking to increase the maximum height from three storeys to four. Ordinarily, the Planning Commission would want to see an increased setback accompany this ask, as opposed to a reduction.
But here we have a classic development trade-off. The developer could, in theory, build more density under the existing permissions, but the ground plane and the overall development wouldn't be as pleasant. So, the request is to build incrementally higher, but then open up the site more.
Here's a comparison between the developer's proposal and what is permissible by-right:
It'll be very interesting to see how Park City votes on this one.
Images via Building Salt Lake
Sometimes I am an advocate for big, bold urban change. This is where I tend to be closely aligned with urbanists like Joe Berridge, co-founder of Urban Strategies. (We sat on a panel together this past October at the Council for Canadian Urbanism Forum, and I found myself agreeing with him on this point.)
For example, last week I tweeted that the edges of High Park would be better off looking like Central Park in New York. By this I meant that High Park is an urban park with a major subway line running on top of it — we should not be shy about embracing a more urban future.
This stretch of Bloor Street, at the north edge of the park, has got to be one of the dullest stretches of street along the entire line. It's hardly fitting for Toronto's most famous urban park.
Some of you didn't like this tweet. Serendipitously, it also happened to align with a heated community meeting for a major two-tower rental development in High Park North. But this project is one block from a subway station, and it should be approved. The unfortunate reality is that we have underdeveloped much of the land around our transit infrastructure.
At the very same time, I am a strong advocate for small-scale, incremental change. We've spoken a lot about this topic over the years, particularly in the context of Tokyo. Japan is renowned for its flexible approach to zoning and for the way that it allows small, ground-up interventions. The result is an approach to urbanism that is often referred to as emergent.
Yesterday, we spoke about a slender single-stair apartment building on a small 60-square-meter site in Tokyo. Today, let's talk about a different kind of proposal. Earlier this month, the Park City Planning Commission heard a redevelopment proposal from the Kensington Investment Company for a site near Old Town at 1500 Kearns Boulevard. The site is 2.71 acres, and the existing building houses 48,000 sf of office and retail space.
The proposal is for a new mixed-use development including:
117 residential apartments (97 market-rate and 20 affordable)
Over 9,400 sf of commercial/retail space
Over 20,000 sf of amenity space (including a rooftop terrace and patios)
210 underground parking spaces
Some of the key development approvals being asked for include:
Master Planned Development approval & Conditional Use Permit
A reduction of the north setback from 25 feet to 10 feet
A building height exception to 49.5 feet (from the 35 feet currently allowed)
A formal vote has yet to take place, though apparently, the project is somewhat controversial. The developer is asking to increase the maximum height from three storeys to four. Ordinarily, the Planning Commission would want to see an increased setback accompany this ask, as opposed to a reduction.
But here we have a classic development trade-off. The developer could, in theory, build more density under the existing permissions, but the ground plane and the overall development wouldn't be as pleasant. So, the request is to build incrementally higher, but then open up the site more.
Here's a comparison between the developer's proposal and what is permissible by-right:
It'll be very interesting to see how Park City votes on this one.
Images via Building Salt Lake
Sometimes I am an advocate for big, bold urban change. This is where I tend to be closely aligned with urbanists like Joe Berridge, co-founder of Urban Strategies. (We sat on a panel together this past October at the Council for Canadian Urbanism Forum, and I found myself agreeing with him on this point.)
For example, last week I tweeted that the edges of High Park would be better off looking like Central Park in New York. By this I meant that High Park is an urban park with a major subway line running on top of it — we should not be shy about embracing a more urban future.
This stretch of Bloor Street, at the north edge of the park, has got to be one of the dullest stretches of street along the entire line. It's hardly fitting for Toronto's most famous urban park.
Some of you didn't like this tweet. Serendipitously, it also happened to align with a heated community meeting for a major two-tower rental development in High Park North. But this project is one block from a subway station, and it should be approved. The unfortunate reality is that we have underdeveloped much of the land around our transit infrastructure.
At the very same time, I am a strong advocate for small-scale, incremental change. We've spoken a lot about this topic over the years, particularly in the context of Tokyo. Japan is renowned for its flexible approach to zoning and for the way that it allows small, ground-up interventions. The result is an approach to urbanism that is often referred to as emergent.
To achieve this, they rely on "soft infrastructure" such as local shops and grocers, hotels, housing, workspaces, restaurants, regenerative agriculture, lifelong learning centers, and more. In other words, they are focused on the nuts and bolts that make for thriving local communities and that can be easily missed if you're too focused on the bigger picture.
One recently completed project is Soil Nihonbashi in Tokyo's Nihonbashi-Kabutocho neighborhood. Designed by architect Kiyoaki Takeda, the project opened in September and includes a coffee shop, cocktail bar, dim sum spot (and other dining options), co-working space, parklet (bakery), rooftop agricultural garden, and 14-room hotel.
It's the kind of hotel that global brands tend to avoid like the plague. It's too small. Too many diseconomies of scale. But it's exactly the kind of hotel and mix of uses that is wonderful for local communities. Think of what the Drake Hotel here in Toronto did for West Queen West when it opened back in the day.
All of this brings me back to something I have said before. A good recipe for city building is to be stubborn on vision, but flexible on the details. Cities are at their best when you allow and empower bottom-up change. Get out of the way. There's no way that top-down planning will get it all right. So if you can combine bold vision with flexible implementation, well then, you've got the secret sauce.
Cover photo from architect Kiyoaki Takeda
This map, showing the right-of-way widths of Toronto's major streets, is one of my favorite maps. It tells you so much about the scale of the city.
Even if you were entirely unfamiliar with Toronto, you could look at this map and gather from the width and spacing of its major arteries that the orange streets (20 meters) represent the oldest parts of Toronto and that the red streets (36 meters) represent the newer and more suburban parts of the city.
It's also interesting to think about this map in the context of other cities. Manhattan, for example, has a famous grid plan that generally contains north-south avenues and east-west streets. Most, but not all, of the avenues are 100 feet wide, or ~30 meters. And most, but not all, of the streets are 60 feet wide, or ~18 meters.
I tried to get Gemini to create a New York version of the above map using the same color legend, but it hallucinated and didn't give me what I wanted. So you'll have to use your imagination. Manhattan's avenues typically correspond to the dark blue lines on Toronto's map, and its streets are even narrower than the orange lines.
If you were to overlay these two maps at the same scale, you'd see at least two things: one, Toronto doesn't have the same kind of broad avenues cutting through its most urban areas (meaning it's harder to move cars around) and, two, Manhattan has a much thicker web of urban streets. Consider the density that exists on Manhattan's 18-meter-wide streets.
Toronto did not lay out its urban grid ahead of time like New York did with its Commissioners' Plan in 1811. In many ways, Toronto feels more like an accidental global city. But that doesn't mean we can't look at our urban grid today and decide what it wants to be for the next 200 years. I think that would be a good idea.
Cover photo by Tianlei Wu on Unsplash
To achieve this, they rely on "soft infrastructure" such as local shops and grocers, hotels, housing, workspaces, restaurants, regenerative agriculture, lifelong learning centers, and more. In other words, they are focused on the nuts and bolts that make for thriving local communities and that can be easily missed if you're too focused on the bigger picture.
One recently completed project is Soil Nihonbashi in Tokyo's Nihonbashi-Kabutocho neighborhood. Designed by architect Kiyoaki Takeda, the project opened in September and includes a coffee shop, cocktail bar, dim sum spot (and other dining options), co-working space, parklet (bakery), rooftop agricultural garden, and 14-room hotel.
It's the kind of hotel that global brands tend to avoid like the plague. It's too small. Too many diseconomies of scale. But it's exactly the kind of hotel and mix of uses that is wonderful for local communities. Think of what the Drake Hotel here in Toronto did for West Queen West when it opened back in the day.
All of this brings me back to something I have said before. A good recipe for city building is to be stubborn on vision, but flexible on the details. Cities are at their best when you allow and empower bottom-up change. Get out of the way. There's no way that top-down planning will get it all right. So if you can combine bold vision with flexible implementation, well then, you've got the secret sauce.
Cover photo from architect Kiyoaki Takeda
This map, showing the right-of-way widths of Toronto's major streets, is one of my favorite maps. It tells you so much about the scale of the city.
Even if you were entirely unfamiliar with Toronto, you could look at this map and gather from the width and spacing of its major arteries that the orange streets (20 meters) represent the oldest parts of Toronto and that the red streets (36 meters) represent the newer and more suburban parts of the city.
It's also interesting to think about this map in the context of other cities. Manhattan, for example, has a famous grid plan that generally contains north-south avenues and east-west streets. Most, but not all, of the avenues are 100 feet wide, or ~30 meters. And most, but not all, of the streets are 60 feet wide, or ~18 meters.
I tried to get Gemini to create a New York version of the above map using the same color legend, but it hallucinated and didn't give me what I wanted. So you'll have to use your imagination. Manhattan's avenues typically correspond to the dark blue lines on Toronto's map, and its streets are even narrower than the orange lines.
If you were to overlay these two maps at the same scale, you'd see at least two things: one, Toronto doesn't have the same kind of broad avenues cutting through its most urban areas (meaning it's harder to move cars around) and, two, Manhattan has a much thicker web of urban streets. Consider the density that exists on Manhattan's 18-meter-wide streets.
Toronto did not lay out its urban grid ahead of time like New York did with its Commissioners' Plan in 1811. In many ways, Toronto feels more like an accidental global city. But that doesn't mean we can't look at our urban grid today and decide what it wants to be for the next 200 years. I think that would be a good idea.
Cover photo by Tianlei Wu on Unsplash
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