For those of you who have arrived at this the smallest of the built projects, let me first say “thank you”.
From the day my mother and I arrived in Toronto, to join my father who came a year earlier, and for the ensuing years, we lived in fifteen different flats. We would carry the few belongings on our shoulders and in the two cardboard suitcases. I got to know most of the alleyways in the College and Grace area. Each move was accompanied by a feeling of displacement and homelessness.
I imagined how my parents felt. The apathy from the external world must have given them anxiety and hopelessness. After the first few moves my father, disappointed with his lot in Toronto, decided to return to the poverty he left behind. I went to see my school principal, and within a few days he visited my parents. It was the first of many. My father did not speak English and Mr. Quinn did not speak Italian, but through gestures, smiles and other expressions, respect and hope for the future, not to mention many cups of espresso coffee, and more than a few glasses of wine, my principal, convinced my father to remain in Canada.
The moves continued and the distress diminished, still it seemed that the journey from the village we left behind would never come to an end. One day my parents purchased their casetta canadese. The small semi-detached one-story house became our home and my parents promised to stay there until the very end. “Staying put helps to grow roots” my dad used to say.
I felt no longer homeless and began to appreciate the various moves I made to places of study and work. These became the fertile soil that nourished my growth and presence in this land.
The First Office
Of particular interest is the place where I began my professional architectural journey: the old carper factory. The first handful of tenants, of which I was a part of, in that immense building came together as a truly artistic community, relying on one another for advice, opinions and criticism. A few remain etched in my memory: William Ronald, Aiko Suzuki, and Trish Beatty.
The Second Office
A few years later I relocated the office near Delisle Court
One sunny day a neighbour rushed and blurted out that a strong wind had knocked down her house that was being built.
I told her that she needed to talk to the architect who had prepared the plans and the contractor who was building it. She had spoken with them but had no idea on how to ‘straighten’ it. With the assistance of tow trucks, rolling pins and the adjacent empty parking lot the wooden shell was realigned. I stayed in that location a few years and one April’s fool day I received an unexpected surprise.
The Third Office
It was time for another move, and this brought me close to where my children were attending school. Their constant visit to the office reinforced the bond between us and constantly partook in their growth.
After more than two decades of intense dedication to the business of architecture, I began to reflect on the words of my late father. “My life as a peasant would find respite when the nature laid dormant, whereas the many years of schooling gives you only an interlude for a few days, because your profession is not one with the earth.” Thus, on a particular summer day I decided to pare down my practice from a staff of close to twenty to one: me.
My solitary re-entry into nature.
I began to reflect on the sense of unease that had remained inside of me due to the numerous moves and I came to the conclusion that I had to design and build my studio.
A simple but singular space in the rear garden of my house surrounded by urban nature, was the result. For more than two decades this ‘urban space‘ has given me the opportunity to work at home yet be away from the house. The vegetation has grown and multiplied. A wisteria has entwined itself with the metal skeleton of a gazebo forming an outdoor room where the ubiquitous espresso can be enjoyed daily. A raised vegetable garden reconnected me with my father’s background. The rain plays musical chords on the expansive skylight and the snow falls gently. It accumulates, and remains white’ for a long time. I clear a path though it wide enough for one. The interior is not meant to impress clients it merely displays those few things that have an intrinsic meaning for me. The few visitors that have visited the studio over time, have marvelled at its relationship with nature. This condition, nature, and architecture has been a springboard to explore other themes of interest.
In March 2020 the world was hit by the pandemic and myriad of people had to retreat at home, isolate themselves, and where possible work remotely. For many this became an irrepressible conflict between the consumerist lifestyle and the necessity of survival. The lack of personal contact and insufficient physical space have resulted in a few benefits and many drawbacks. I commensurate with them, knowing firsthand the energy and the willingness needed to make such a drastic shift.
However, it showed me the inability of some to safeguard their health by appealing to a sense of respect for the most vulnerable, and the inability to decline the sense of freedom with the responsibility of being an active part of a community’. A missed opportunity to show one’s belonging to the human community…
From my studio, I have the opportunity to hear the sound of rain on the large skylight and see the snow falling softly, while it accumulates and remains white for a long time. Each winter, even before the pandemic, I made a path from home to studio that is wide enough for one person.
In time the studio, my haven, is a repository of thoughts, dreams, and memories. Its open door suggests that life is impermanent. At any moment, an unexpected encounter can announce a new beginning. And this did take place when unexpectedly the studio was no longer for one but two.
No longer primarily a place of the past, now the studio is a place for the present with the promise of a future full of possibilities: an enchanted time. For this reason the woman responsible for this enchantment named the studio ‘Antonia’s Urban Chalet’ in honour of a migrant mother and her of trees…