AlvinofDiaspar
Moderator
From the Star, by Hume:
It's torn up and bare, but mall's never looked better
Jul 16, 2007 04:30 AM
Christopher Hume
The underground mall at the Royal Bank Plaza is being renovated. The floor tiles have been torn up, walls and ceiling taken down, marble and chrome removed, concrete and cinder block revealed.
The place has never looked better. In a part of the city that appears to have been designed by a single person, the change is not just dramatic; it's refreshing.
Walking the length of this newly uncovered space, orange pylons at store entrances and CAUTION signs at every turn, one can't help but feel excited and intrigued. Suddenly the bones of the building can be seen; it becomes interesting in a post-apocalyptic way. This could be a glimpse into the future, a preview.
One is also reminded that beneath these utterly banal surfaces, there lies something much more engaging than the mindless commercialism we can never escape.
Besides, we live at a time when conspicuous consumption is fast losing its appeal. Check out First Canadian Place just up the road at King and Bay, the tallest tower in Canada and said to be clad with more Carrara marble than any other building in the world.
It looks awful, the exteriors washed out, dirty and dull. And since a large marble slab fell off several months ago, it has become dangerous.
In his book, Toronto Observed, the late architectural historian William Dendy called gold-tinted Royal Bank Plaza, "one of the most beautiful ornaments of the city."
He also extolled the virtues of the atrium at the Plaza and the fibre artworks commissioned to enliven its airy, light-filled spaces. They are long gone, of course, victim of the owners' desire for profit. The atrium was filled in and as a result Royal Bank Plaza is as ordinary an office tower as we have in Toronto.
The basement mall, however, never worked, and not just because the materials were so predictable.
But with the exception of the Toronto-Dominion Centre, the whole underground city is an exercise in the monotonous and mundane.
That's why the sight of so much raw concrete, of yellow and black warning tape and flashing red lights is such a welcome surprise. If nothing else, it represents a sudden reminder of reality, something that's usually kept as far as possible from commercial architecture.
Wandering through the underground city is like roaming television at night; there are endless channels but nothing to watch. Just more of the same.
Coming upon the Royal Bank Plaza – the Merchants' Mall, as it's called – is like suddenly finding the most gripping TV program you've ever seen – and in the middle of the night.
Of course, the renovations are progressing, if that's the right word. New floor tiles are being laid and already they reach well into the mall.
What a shame!
By the time the dust has settled, it will look exactly the same as if did before work began.
No one will be able to tell the difference, not that it will matter.
The point of the exercise isn't to produce a space that's memorable, or even remotely noteworthy, but to provide a generic, even invisible, backdrop for the shoppers and workers who pass by. For the most part, they are a captive audience, anyway, especially in winter when few are willing to brave the elements above.
Perhaps that's why little more is demanded or expected than an automatic response, the kind of generic design nameless but well-paid practitioners churn out in their sleep.
So, please, leave the concrete exposed, don't touch those pylons and bring on the heavy equipment. No one would accuse it of being pretty, but who could deny it's beautiful?
AoD
It's torn up and bare, but mall's never looked better
Jul 16, 2007 04:30 AM
Christopher Hume
The underground mall at the Royal Bank Plaza is being renovated. The floor tiles have been torn up, walls and ceiling taken down, marble and chrome removed, concrete and cinder block revealed.
The place has never looked better. In a part of the city that appears to have been designed by a single person, the change is not just dramatic; it's refreshing.
Walking the length of this newly uncovered space, orange pylons at store entrances and CAUTION signs at every turn, one can't help but feel excited and intrigued. Suddenly the bones of the building can be seen; it becomes interesting in a post-apocalyptic way. This could be a glimpse into the future, a preview.
One is also reminded that beneath these utterly banal surfaces, there lies something much more engaging than the mindless commercialism we can never escape.
Besides, we live at a time when conspicuous consumption is fast losing its appeal. Check out First Canadian Place just up the road at King and Bay, the tallest tower in Canada and said to be clad with more Carrara marble than any other building in the world.
It looks awful, the exteriors washed out, dirty and dull. And since a large marble slab fell off several months ago, it has become dangerous.
In his book, Toronto Observed, the late architectural historian William Dendy called gold-tinted Royal Bank Plaza, "one of the most beautiful ornaments of the city."
He also extolled the virtues of the atrium at the Plaza and the fibre artworks commissioned to enliven its airy, light-filled spaces. They are long gone, of course, victim of the owners' desire for profit. The atrium was filled in and as a result Royal Bank Plaza is as ordinary an office tower as we have in Toronto.
The basement mall, however, never worked, and not just because the materials were so predictable.
But with the exception of the Toronto-Dominion Centre, the whole underground city is an exercise in the monotonous and mundane.
That's why the sight of so much raw concrete, of yellow and black warning tape and flashing red lights is such a welcome surprise. If nothing else, it represents a sudden reminder of reality, something that's usually kept as far as possible from commercial architecture.
Wandering through the underground city is like roaming television at night; there are endless channels but nothing to watch. Just more of the same.
Coming upon the Royal Bank Plaza – the Merchants' Mall, as it's called – is like suddenly finding the most gripping TV program you've ever seen – and in the middle of the night.
Of course, the renovations are progressing, if that's the right word. New floor tiles are being laid and already they reach well into the mall.
What a shame!
By the time the dust has settled, it will look exactly the same as if did before work began.
No one will be able to tell the difference, not that it will matter.
The point of the exercise isn't to produce a space that's memorable, or even remotely noteworthy, but to provide a generic, even invisible, backdrop for the shoppers and workers who pass by. For the most part, they are a captive audience, anyway, especially in winter when few are willing to brave the elements above.
Perhaps that's why little more is demanded or expected than an automatic response, the kind of generic design nameless but well-paid practitioners churn out in their sleep.
So, please, leave the concrete exposed, don't touch those pylons and bring on the heavy equipment. No one would accuse it of being pretty, but who could deny it's beautiful?
AoD
