In Toronto’s East York, a collection of architectural wildflowers

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Architect Reza Aliabadi calls them a “positive virus.”

Drive the tidy streets of what was once “Canada’s only borough,” East York, and there they are: “Charcoal House” near Pape Avenue; “Shaft House” east of Woodbine Avenue; his first built project in Canada, “63º House” – which angles the façade by, well, you guessed it – a stone’s throw away; and then, of course, there is “Whale House” and “Totem House.”

But a virus? In light of recent years, that brings to mind troubling images. So how about seeds? There does seem to be something in the East York soil that allows Mr. Aliabadi’s imaginative designs to get noticed, spread like architectural wildflowers, and take root.

In these parts, his work as RZLBD is so well known that Marjana Simic and Nikola Pejcic didn’t bother looking elsewhere: “We wanted to find an architect who has worked in this neighbourhood,” says Mr. Pejcic. “He knows the ins and outs of these houses. … Rez was a perfect match.”

Much of the East York’s residential stock was built between the wars, and much of it looks just like the tiny, one-storey bungalow Ms. Simic and Mr. Pejcic purchased in 2011: a single storey of cramped, dark rooms with small windows and big expanses of wainscotting, one bathroom, and, if finished at all, a basement for folks under 5-foot-6. Perfect for the 1920s, but not befitting an active 2020s family of four who crave natural light and crisp Modernism with a touch of warmth.

It was when their second daughter was on the way that they called RZLBD for their very own wildflower. But as they talked through possible designs, Mr. Aliabadi stressed that there should be no exchange of inspirational photographs – no Pinterest boards, no magazine clippings – since those do more to block creativity.

“Always verbal,” Mr. Aliabadi says with a chuckle. “Let’s say we appreciate a Scandinavian look and feel [with its] material palette, white oak, white light, light grey [furnishings], but it was never ‘We want a kitchen like that or a staircase like that.’”

“The one thing that was most important to us,” Mr. Pejcic says, “was the light – that was something we weren’t ready to compromise … because we lived in that old bungalow.”

But there were compromises. The first design, which was drawn up about five or six years ago, included a full second storey. But, after receiving quotes from builders, it became clear the budget wouldn’t allow for that scale of renovation. And, unfortunately, as the couple mulled over what to do, the pandemic hit, and the price of lumber skyrocketed.

“We exchanged 965 e-mails for this project,” says Mr. Aliabadi. “And there was one e-mail, it was from Marjana – at least this is how I read it – there was this little bit of a sad tone in it. … I got this feeling that the project wouldn’t be moving forward.”

So, Mr. Aliabadi took a chance, and brought them a sketch. A sketch of what would become “Periscope House.”

“We liked it,” Ms. Simic says with a laugh.

It featured a stepped-back, half-second storey, an innovative system of clerestories to bring light in from all sides, and, with compromises such as stucco over brick, a guarantee that the numbers would crunch better this time. But compromise, too, can be a dirty word. So why not call it an opportunity, says Mr. Aliabadi?

“The idea was we have this dark, black apparatus,” he says. “Could be black brick, could be black siding, could be stucco, whatever. Yes, affordability, but compared to siding it introduces less seam lines, it maintains that monolithic look and feel.”

However, a passerby would never use the term monolithic since, visually, Periscope House looks no taller than the untouched 1930s bungalows on either side. Strange, maybe. Or freaky-cool. Perhaps even ‘not my taste.’ But should that passerby be welcomed inside, she would likely gasp at how, in the hands of a talented architect, a little house can seem freakishly large.

How is that achieved? Light from those camera bellowslike pop-ups, certainly, but there are subtle things too: a meticulous attention to symmetry – the kitchen sink lines up perfectly with the cooktop, the skylight is perfectly centred over the kitchen island, the cabinets on either side of the cooktop are identical – keeps the mind calm and focused only on light and air (if there were chunky bits of crown moulding atop those cabinets, the eye would rest there); baseboards that are flush with the drywall; open-tread stairs; cantilevered window boxes at front and rear, which mimic the old bay windows, project the space outward; and little delights, such as a teeny-tiny window in the primary bathroom, extend views.

Yet if, upon first blush, that same visitor feels overwhelmed by too much white and too much light, there are moves that mitigate: the whimsical, long shelf full of colourful paperbacks in the living room; the imperfect dining table– “the idea was to get rid of it as soon as we moved back in, but I’m starting to like it,” Mr. Pejcic says with a laugh – that has a little heart carved into it; and pocket doors to create instant coziness.

And none of these things required a bothersome trip to the committee of adjustment: “All of these projects I did in East York … are done within the zoning and bylaws,” Mr. Aliabadi says. “I believe we can save time, we can save money, and not take the risk of opening the playground to the neighbours to comment on the design.”

Then again, with architectural flowers as lovely as these, who would take offence?