Renewal & Return

Everyone’s passionate about adaptive reuse and renovation. Not only does it provide environmental benefits, cut costs, and save old landmarks from destruction, but it supplies the local community with a bridge across time—splicing the new with the old. However, because of this meeting point of old and new worlds in architecture, renovation and adaptive reuse can also be an interesting flash point for opinions on the state of design.

Moreover, designers’ passions aren’t doused by the common challenges that crop up during an adaptive-reuse project. (In fact, it’s an element that attracts Gair Williamson, principal at Gair Williamson Architects, to these types of projects.) A common problem involves finding the proper documentation to uncover what has happened, from a construction perspective, in the duration of a building’s life. Connected to this is the element of the unknown—the fact that, when you open up a wall and what lies beneath is not what is expected, you’re pressed to innovate. Tyler Sharp, associate and project designer of Toronto-based Rounthwaite Dick and Hadley (RDH) Architects Inc., notes how you can also be limited in what you do by the existing structure. “With the Bloor-Gladstone Library, we had to do an awful lot of reinforcing of the existing structure for many of the design moves that we introduced,” he says, referring to one of RDH’s recent projects.

But it’s worth it, not only for the prestige that a successful overhaul of an old landmark can bring, but also due to the complex knot of culture, society, and environment inherent to adaptive-reuse and renovation projects. Older buildings are landmarks to the local population, and their rebirth as something with a new face—and often a new purpose—can cause complicated responses.

Generational cycles

At this stage in history, the adaptive reuse or renovation of historical buildings has to take in a broad sweep of styles, and from the layman’s perspective, not all of these are made equal in terms of immediate aesthetic appeal. Sharp believes that people do develop attachments to buildings, even if they aren’t attractive architecturally. “Naturally, the public has quite a positive response to the revitalization of an existing building that has fallen into dilapidation,” he says.

With a project like RDH’s Bloor-Gladstone Library, it’s an easy sell, as it’s a beautiful piece of neo-classical architecture that most would agree is aesthetically pleasant. On the flip side, RDH’s adaptive reuse of the Hamilton Public Library and its neo-brutalist, late-’70s concrete shell would perhaps, if you asked a roomful of people, draw a less enthusiastic response.

“But we found it very appealing because it has beautiful concrete work, and the craftsmanship of that concrete work is not something you’d be able to do today without spending a lot of money,” Sharp says. “And I also think that the general public goes through cycles of familiarity with architectural styles; after a certain amount of time, people intuitively seem to understand and appreciate a new style. From this perspective, the more modern styles perhaps haven’t been around long enough for the public to really develop an appreciation for it. However, you get a sense that midcentury buildings are beginning to develop a public appeal.”

A more “human” architecture

For Gianpiero Pugliese, principal of Toronto-based AUDAX Architecture, modern production methods and the speed of architectural development over the past century have exacerbated the public’s aesthetic issues. At one point in his career, Pugliese recalls becoming frustrated by how modern projects designed with rigid lines and naked materials would be erected to critical acclaim but public indifference or dislike.

“After a certain point, I got tired of defending this type of architecture,” he says. “Often you will find talented designers intellectualizing their architecture to such a degree that they end up producing something that people just don’t respond favourably to. I think we need to find a balance between respecting popular tastes without turning our architecture into something that is kitsch. We should find ways to inspire, not only the critics, but also the people who live in the neighbourhoods where our buildings are constructed and those who will live with these structures.”

Besides this ivory-tower detachment, Pugliese also believes that the gulf between public and industry is in part a result of a historical change in methods of production, materials, and scales of components. Pointing to the industrial revolution, Pugliese describes how materials for construction were suddenly pulled out of the human scale by machines able to create things of a size that were previously put together piecemeal.

“Building components and construction methods started to change and are now related to the industrial scale,” he says. “And I think people perceive that difference in the aesthetic treatment of modern buildings.”

Pugliese describes how in his work he is developing a new approach to the marriage between these separate scales, calling it “human architecture,” where design relates back to the human scale but is executed through contemporary methods. This thinking informed the Shops of Summerhill project, where Pugliese and his team referenced the scale of the largest pieces of limestone in the adjacent historical buildings and cut all-new building components to relate to those dimensions “We didn’t have any large panels,” he says. “Instead, it was all composed of assemblies of smaller components.”

A connection of a different kind

Adaptive reuse and renovation are often the first steps in the reinvigoration of a dilapidated area. In Vancouver’s historic Chinatown district, Gair Williamson Architects’ award-winning Keefer Hotel helped do just that. The same can be said for the Bloor-Gladstone library, during which the quality of the area seemed to rise in step with the progress of the project.

And while the overhaul of a single building probably isn’t the only reason for an area’s reinvention, it could be fair to say that the Bloor-Gladstone project and Hamilton Public Library achieved Pugliese’s human scale through a different route: the application of transparency.

“There was a very clear intention [of] creating a very strong dialogue between the library and the streetscape,” Sharp says. “A big part of the glass addition is a raised reading atrium, completely clad in glass and raised about five or six feet above street level. People walking by are able to see what’s happening inside of the atrium.”

RDH achieved the same effect at the Hamilton Public Library. Sharp describes the area around the site as quite run-down, with transparency at a minimum in the surrounding buildings. The addition was almost a storey-and-a-half-long extent of new glazing, giving the look of an office tower laid down on its back.

“It was interesting to take a block of Hamilton that was solid walls facing the streets and offer views into a vibrant new piece of architecture,” Sharp says. “Thinking about adaptive reuse, if you can transform these buildings and give them a new life with regard to contemporary culture, you will always get a positive public response.”

For Pugliese, this transparency is a physical manifestation of a new, inward-looking philosophy that signals a reassessment of what has come before.

“On an urban scale, we are returning to the city,” he says. “We want  more community interaction and involvement, and I think that will translate into our architecture. It’ll no longer be only about the sleek glass towers you can see from the freeways, but about the intimate infill sites that have articulated façades and rich materials. These types of buildings offer opportunities for gathering, can accommodate patios, are places of public interaction, and are pleasant structures to walk by and interact with. Things are turning around now, and that’s encouraging.”