unimaginative2
Senior Member
Bay building construction a thing of beauty
Nov 29, 2007 04:30 AM
Christopher Hume
What you see is what you get, and never more so than at the Hudson's Bay store at Queen and Bay.
The old Simpson's building, or rather its 1929 addition, an Art Deco beauty, is now under renovation. As a result, a giant tarpaulin has gone up around the store that's unlike any architectural wrapping seen so far in Toronto. Where normally we'd see little more than a plastic sheet covering a scaffold, probably a vile blue colour, this time the contractors have put up a covering that has a life-sized photographic representation of the building it hides.
The effect is remarkable; it's almost as if the structure remains in full view. Given that this is one of the most exquisite examples of commercial architecture in the city, the kind of thing that hasn't been built in these parts for half a century or more, it's nice not to have it disappear from the corner.
Indeed, reproduced in this form, the building becomes a picture, one that's not only hard to ignore, but one that demands our attention.
This is good. It reminds passersby of an architectural treasure that's easily overlooked.
More than that, it can't help but make one wonder about the possibilities of this new genre, the scaffolding-as-image, architectural rendering.
The potential is huge: Think of all the buildings that could be transformed into objects of beauty, if only temporarily.
The Four Seasons Performing Arts Centre, the world's newest and most reluctant opera house. Sitting on the southeast corner of Queen and University, three of its four facades are little more than blank brick walls. Perhaps we could bring the place to life simply by draping it in some kind of spectacular mural. Maybe the imagery could be adapted from whatever opera is being performed inside. Or perhaps it should be disguised as some other, better-known and more celebrated opera house.
Given that the Four Seasons is your basic box, it would be relatively easy to wrap it, Christo-like, in some deliberately deceptive tarp.
The Bay, which should consider a similar treatment of its store at Bloor and Yonge. This ranks as one of the nastiest, most unpleasant buildings in Toronto, so who would argue that it could use an overhaul? Its mean features might be softened and improved by one of these architectural tarps. In this instance, like that of the Four Seasons, the imagery would be an architectural fiction, but there's nothing wrong with that.
First Canadian Place, the tallest tower in the country and one of its least distinguished. Standing 72 storeys tall, it could be reinvented in any number of ways; maybe a giant Christmas present for the seasonably sensitive or, better yet, a vault. This is the headquarters of the Bank of Montreal, after all, and what's more appropriate for a financial institution than to impart a feeling of security?
Who can say where all this might lead? Architects could start designing buildings that are nothing more than empty shapes specifically intended to be decorated with such awnings. We could put a new face on these changeable landmarks – parking lots, garages, as well as buildings – whenever we grow tired of the old.
Think of it. Toronto would become whatever we desired. At last, what we'd see would be what we'd want.
Nov 29, 2007 04:30 AM
Christopher Hume
What you see is what you get, and never more so than at the Hudson's Bay store at Queen and Bay.
The old Simpson's building, or rather its 1929 addition, an Art Deco beauty, is now under renovation. As a result, a giant tarpaulin has gone up around the store that's unlike any architectural wrapping seen so far in Toronto. Where normally we'd see little more than a plastic sheet covering a scaffold, probably a vile blue colour, this time the contractors have put up a covering that has a life-sized photographic representation of the building it hides.
The effect is remarkable; it's almost as if the structure remains in full view. Given that this is one of the most exquisite examples of commercial architecture in the city, the kind of thing that hasn't been built in these parts for half a century or more, it's nice not to have it disappear from the corner.
Indeed, reproduced in this form, the building becomes a picture, one that's not only hard to ignore, but one that demands our attention.
This is good. It reminds passersby of an architectural treasure that's easily overlooked.
More than that, it can't help but make one wonder about the possibilities of this new genre, the scaffolding-as-image, architectural rendering.
The potential is huge: Think of all the buildings that could be transformed into objects of beauty, if only temporarily.
The Four Seasons Performing Arts Centre, the world's newest and most reluctant opera house. Sitting on the southeast corner of Queen and University, three of its four facades are little more than blank brick walls. Perhaps we could bring the place to life simply by draping it in some kind of spectacular mural. Maybe the imagery could be adapted from whatever opera is being performed inside. Or perhaps it should be disguised as some other, better-known and more celebrated opera house.
Given that the Four Seasons is your basic box, it would be relatively easy to wrap it, Christo-like, in some deliberately deceptive tarp.
The Bay, which should consider a similar treatment of its store at Bloor and Yonge. This ranks as one of the nastiest, most unpleasant buildings in Toronto, so who would argue that it could use an overhaul? Its mean features might be softened and improved by one of these architectural tarps. In this instance, like that of the Four Seasons, the imagery would be an architectural fiction, but there's nothing wrong with that.
First Canadian Place, the tallest tower in the country and one of its least distinguished. Standing 72 storeys tall, it could be reinvented in any number of ways; maybe a giant Christmas present for the seasonably sensitive or, better yet, a vault. This is the headquarters of the Bank of Montreal, after all, and what's more appropriate for a financial institution than to impart a feeling of security?
Who can say where all this might lead? Architects could start designing buildings that are nothing more than empty shapes specifically intended to be decorated with such awnings. We could put a new face on these changeable landmarks – parking lots, garages, as well as buildings – whenever we grow tired of the old.
Think of it. Toronto would become whatever we desired. At last, what we'd see would be what we'd want.
