A concrete library shows the power of renovation

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Sometimes architecture can work magic. The Albert Campbell Library in Toronto is proof. As I walk from the front entrance into the building, the low-ceilinged foyer seems to explode upward, a cathedral-like space rising three storeys as curving carpets of wood furl toward the distant glow of the afternoon sun.

Originally designed by Fairfield & DuBois, the building recently got a remake by LGA Architectural Partners that retains some of its old labyrinthine complexity while adopting a new language of lightness, wood and transparency. It is one of 10 winners of 2024 design excellence awards from the Ontario Association of Architects, presented last week.

The project has two clear lessons for governments everywhere: Renovation can be a powerful strategy, and hiring the right designers is crucial.

“This shows us the power of renewal in architecture,” argues LGA partner Brock James, who led the $18-million renovation project during the pandemic. “Renewal can get us just as far as building new – and in lots of cases, even further.”

The project retains almost all of the old building, preserving the emissions generated during its construction and saving considerable amounts of energy, material, time and money.

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Yet LGA, a fine Toronto firm that specializes in public architecture, had to argue to keep the old library. “We didn’t appreciate the beauty in the building,” admits Susan Martin, the library’s manager of capital planning and implementation. “The fixtures were tired, and our staff were struggling with how to do their work efficiently. There were too many distractions.” This is a typical scenario in a 50-year-old structure. The most common response is demolition.

However, the architects argued successfully that a reno was possible and worthwhile. “We were intrigued by the building,” LGA partner Brock James recalls. “Our work was trying bring out its great qualities.”

Albert Campbell was designed by the architect Macy Dubois, an important figure in Canadian architecture, and his then-partner Susan Dubois. It captured a certain architectural mood of the late sixties, sculptural, intricate and aloof. Clearly inspired by the buildings of Paul Rudolph, the library was a three-dimensional maze of balconies and overlooks. Its walls were made of square concrete blocks and its ceilings curving surfaces of aluminum panels. Its exterior was painted in a bold red.

But – in addition to the “tired” atmosphere – it had poor accessibility and lacked room for the TPL’s desired programs, including study rooms and a digital makerspace.

LGA’s solution was to find room underground. The front door was on the second level, reached by a long yard sloping upward from the street. The renovation excavated that yard, revealing an underground workroom and mechanical rooms ready to be repurposed.

Now you enter by moving downward, past a new garden and a mural by Red Urban Nation Artist Collective, into the lobby. This is a tight space – “which could have been viewed as too small to be comfortable,” Mr. James points out. However, it’s now part of a choreographed sequence: you move through it into the cathedral-like central room, which is now wider and three levels high, and your heart lifts. This is an old trick that Frank Lloyd Wright called “compression and release.”

The upper stacks and reading areas, while reconfigured, retain some of their previous atmosphere. The concrete-block walls have been polished and retained in what Ms. Martin calls “urban archeology.” New windows make the lower level and a basement auditorium highly agreeable. The exterior is now clad in black and grey panels, rather than red, which is a change for the worse; otherwise, the design feels timeless.

Nonetheless it’s a profound transformation of the old space, and Mr. James acknowledges that the design process took “a lot of time and a lot of effort.”

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The effort paid off. Ms. Martin says the construction costs of $695 per square foot was significantly cheaper than a new build, and the project significantly quicker.

Yet this sort of project is an exception. In bureaucratic terms, it’s shockingly easy to demolish and build new. Fixing an old building is inherently unpredictable and it is often thought to be more expensive. New buildings are easy to like and they win architectural prizes. The path of least resistance involves the wreckers.

Demolishing this building should never have been on the table. It received an eight-page showcase in Canadian Architect magazine in 1972. Mr. Dubois designed the Ontario Pavilion at Expo 67 and the landmark Central Technical School’s Art Centre. He also won a Governor-General’s Medal for architecture.

Albert Campbell should have been listed as a heritage building decades ago. But it wasn’t. Toronto heritage planners often overlook the city’s own buildings. Toronto, like most of our governments, neglects its own design history.

In a related phenomenon, the city does a poor job of new architecture. It buys “architectural services” the same way it buys garbage bins: with an emphasis on price. LGA were willing to do the job for a fee of 6.9 per cent of construction cost, which is brutally low. That’s how the game of design procurement is played. Library design jobs (or parks) go to the same handful of firms, who do it for the prestige or the love, often at a loss.

This is a bad system. It strangles the country’s architectural culture and produces mediocre buildings. It encourages laziness and aimless construction. Albert Campbell is a rare good result. In it, you can see the work of deft, ethical designers – and the traces of an older era when everyone knew how much architecture matters.