Heritage preservation and adaptive reuse comes with neighbourhood push-back

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Ecclesiastical architecture, like every other type of architecture, can be pre-eminent, merely beautiful, average, or utilitarian. And with all due respect to the original architect of 225 Brunswick Ave. in Toronto’s Annex neighbourhood, the former Christian Gospel Mission Hall (1910) was average at best. It featured a dramatically sloped gable roof with a little bell-niche underneath. Bold keystones over windows punctuated its solid red brick façade. At the rear, a pair of twin circular windows added whimsey.

But its best attribute was that it stood on its corner lot no taller than its residential neighbours on either side. It had a quiet dignity that fit in nicely with the leafy, affluent neighbourhood a stone’s throw away from the University of Toronto’s St. George campus. The thing was, the shrubbery around it was overgrown, the brick needed cleaning and repair, and, according to developer Jeff Kopas, it was horribly underused.

“It was technically in use, but they had five people that worked in there for years. … They bought it in 1988 so it didn’t owe them anything and it looked terrible.”

Over the years, Mr. Kopas, who lived in the area, walked by “tons of times” and thought about how, when he was younger and unmarried, he would’ve loved to live in a small building such as this. “I didn’t want to be in a tall condo tower, I didn’t want a house because I was travelling so much at that point for work, and it just didn’t exist. So, I thought, I want to build what I didn’t know at the time was called ‘missing middle,’ infill housing. And that’s when this long journey started.”

It has been a long journey indeed.

While Kopas Developments would purchase in 2019 and hire Suulin Architects to design seven boutique condominium units almost immediately, massive neighbourhood opposition threw a wrench in the gears. In August, 2021, the Toronto Star reported that “Friends of 225 Brunswick,” had started a GoFundMe campaign to raise money to fight the project, despite renderings that depicted complete retention of the building and no additional floors added. To add the density necessary, Suulin had inserted two ‘wings’ into the roofline’s voids which, it should be noted, would rise no higher than the peak of the 1910 roof.

However, after much study and testimony, in December of that same year the Toronto Local Appeal Body (TLAB) approved plans and the project was allowed to go forward.

Standing on the southwest corner of Brunswick and Sussex avenues on a mild afternoon last month, it’s hard to understand the opposition. The south façade, with its new, pie-shaped addition rising up from the original ledge over the second storey, is clad in dark siding – to play second fiddle to the original red brick – while, along the sidewalk, what once were basement windows are now full-length windows and doors into units … thanks to a dig-down and some clever landscaping. And, from here, one can still ‘read’ the original roofline.

“We were able to keep the overarching form visible,” confirms architect Amy Lin. “And [the city] got behind it as soon as they saw the design.”

On the north façade – hidden to the public by a house – a larger dark wedge emerges from the roof. To eliminate views into the neighbouring backyard, Suulin has incorporated a sawtooth wall so that windows face east rather than north.

Whereas, before, the building sat somewhat isolated from its neighbours, these two main interventions, when viewed as elegant architectural origami, seem to be having a more lively and interesting conversation with the other rooftops to the north and east.

A look inside a few of the units confirms that this architectural conversation doesn’t stop at the door. In penthouse 1 (1,120 square feet), for example, the visitor walks up the stair to step into the kitchen, where the first thing she’ll confront is one of the sawtooth windows as it protrudes, artfully, into the kitchen countertop (past the gas range, there is another). The ceiling is low and intimate and, in pure Frank Lloyd Wright style, will soar upward in the living room; until that moment, curves, wooden strips, and hidden lighting in the drywall keep things interesting.

“Keeping the double-height spaces, and the light, and the airiness of your prototypical gathering space was important,” says project architect Valerie Arthur as we walk toward the light.

“When you see all of the different units, you’ll appreciate how difficult it was to fit seven units in here,” adds Ms. Lin, “and we really focused on prioritizing the natural light and the feeling of the building going through, because you typically only have two good exposures.”

After inspecting the bedroom and the skylit shower on the second floor, our little group walks back outside and enters one of the 1,000-sq.-ft. garden units facing Sussex Avenue. The walls are castle-thick, with four layers of brick and now an added layer of insulation. The exposed brick and hidden lighting make it cozy and sheltering, yet bright and almost loft-like. … Not something one usually experiences in a semi-subterranean unit. Then again, in the hands of skilled architects, almost anything is possible.

The average-looking building at 225 Brunswick has been many things: after the mission hall, it was Petah Tikva Synagogue. After that, the Toronto School of Art. And then office-type uses that did little to animate the street. Today, it is a beautiful example of heritage preservation and adaptive reuse that has brought the corner to life while adding much-needed housing to an already-established neighbourhood.

And this, says Mr. Kopas, has turned some of his adversaries into supporters: “I feel some pride that we kind of won them over,” he says. “The amount of people that we’ve had walk up to us in the last few weeks now that all of the fences have come down; I’ve had six people apologize to me. … I’ve never had that happen.”