In smaller cities like Victoria, it's easy to feel we're missing the iconic architecture of larger centres. But sometimes, it's just hidden in plain sight.

Take the Saanich Municipal Hall. I've passed it countless times—always struck by its form. With a closer look, you can see the intention behind it: a civic building designed with clarity, permanence, and a strong visual identity. Its bold geometry and structured landscaping reinforce both its purpose and the spirit of its time.

What's fascinating is how these qualities can feel obscured—not just by added infrastructure like bike stalls or flower baskets, but by the climate itself. Concrete weathers differently here. Moss softens sharp lines. Rain leaves a patina.

There's a story here about how we see design in smaller cities. The boldness is there — it's just quieter, worn in, and softened by time.

I walk to Hollywood Park almost every day. It's a great park. There's a tennis court, basketball hoop, baseball and, most importantly, the perfect playground for my daughter. It doesn't matter if it's wet, dark, windy or all three – you'll find me there with her.

When I became a Dad, I started seeing the world from the perspective of someone less than 3 feet off the ground. I notice curb drops that help us cross at intersections. I notice utility poles in the middle of the sidewalk that force me to step into the road with the stroller. I notice whether shops have wide aisles, or carts available so I don’t have to carry my little one while shopping.

But more ominous is the audible warning from the zebra crossing I use to get to the park. It's accurate. Despite painted stripes, flashing lights and good visibility vehicles don't always stop. Sometimes the driver notices and makes apologetic gestures while others don’t react at all. So we look left, right, left and right again before stepping into the road.

On the corner of Fort and Vancouver Street in downtown Victoria stands a quiet yet impactful building that sparked my interest in passive design. At first glance, it blends in, but look closer, and its thoughtful design reveals itself.

1007 Fort Street is a mid-century modern commercial building, now used primarily for office space. What sets it apart is its intentional use of passive and biophilic design strategies that enhance occupant well-being. The ground level is wrapped in lush landscaping, connecting the structure to nature, while an interior landscaped courtyard welcomes you the moment you step inside.

Sunshades on the exterior reduce glare and control heat, and every office benefits from abundant natural light. Terraces and outdoor views further blur the line between indoors and out. The building is BOMA BESt Level 2 certified, recognizing its energy efficiency and environmental performance.

This building doesn't just serve its function—it elevates it. It proves that thoughtful design can improve productivity, comfort, and connection to nature.

Wouldn’t you want to work in a space like that?

Step inside Flore Botanical Alchemy and be transported to another era. This is not just a perfumery—it’s a sanctuary of scent, memory, and craftsmanship. Designed to evoke a turn-of-the-century apothecary, the space is filled with violet glass bottles, antique furnishings, and raw botanical specimens, all bathed in soft natural light. Monochromatic tones of black and white allow the golden hues of beeswax candles and vibrant tinctures to shine through.

Here, natural perfumes and elixirs are crafted slowly, using old-world techniques and rare ingredients. It’s a place where the pace of modern life is left at the door, and visitors are invited to pause, breathe deeply, and reconnect with something timeless. Whether you’re exploring the perfumer’s organ, browsing the cabinet of curiosities, or simply soaking in the mood, Flore is a rare and soulful escape—a hidden gem in the heart of Victoria.

Hidden in plain sight, along the asphalt desert that passes for a waterfront below Bastion Square, there are portals to a different and more romantic past.

At the turn of the 19th century the inner harbor was a bustling center of global commerce. Barques and schooners and elegant clippers arrived daily from trade routes all over the world carrying necessities and luxuries to a growing city.

The ships would line up in the harbor, waiting for a berth at the deep water moorings, where Red Fish Blue Fish now sits. Sailors would throw out their lines and shoremen would tie them off to great iron rings set into the rock. Rings that are still there and clearly visible today.

Then the work of unloading would begin. Planks, set up precariously against the wharfs, alive with men hauling bales and barrels to the maze of warehouses that covered the shore. One of the largest was Hudson's Bay which backed onto Wharf Street and had a warren of catacombs reaching under the road. The bricked up portals are all that remain.

Hidden in plain sight, along the asphalt desert that passes for a waterfront below Bastion Square, there are portals to a different and more romantic past.

At the turn of the 19th century the inner harbor was a bustling center of global commerce. Barques and schooners and elegant clippers arrived daily from trade routes all over the world carrying necessities and luxuries to a growing city.

The ships would line up in the harbor, waiting for a berth at the deep water moorings, where Red Fish Blue Fish now sits. Sailors would throw out their lines and shoremen would tie them off to great iron rings set into the rock. Rings that are still there and clearly visible today.

Then the work of unloading would begin. Planks, set up precariously against the wharfs, alive with men hauling bales and barrels to the maze of warehouses that covered the shore. One of the largest was Hudson's Bay which backed onto Wharf Street and had a warren of catacombs reaching under the road. The bricked up portals are all that remain.

In the forgotten corners of the city—beneath overpasses and inside abandoned, overgrown buildings—people are quietly reshaping space.

These are not official projects, but they’re intentional and carefully made. Here, space follows the rhythm of movement, not formal rules. With quick insight and creative instinct, skaters build features where others see only decay. Concrete is molded by those who move through the city, not those who govern it. Transition takes shape from what's been left behind.

These anonymous builders read the ruins differently, finding paths and possibilities most people overlook. What they create doesn’t last long, but in the moment, it’s alive—architecture through action, not preservation. A kind of resistance, formed and reformed at the edges.

Is it just an overgrown hilltop—or a hidden fortress from which to rule a kingdom below? Using found materials like wood, moss, sticks, and grass, my children and their friends built what they call “the forts.” A series of secret hideouts, these structures allow them to observe friends and neighbors passing by, all while remaining unseen. It’s a space where their imaginations thrive—creating a secret world, both literally and figuratively.

To those walking by, it might look like nothing more than a wild patch of land. But beneath the surface, it’s alive with creativity and play.

Often, the places adults overlook or deem useless are the ones that hold the greatest potential for children’s play. As more abandoned lots and natural spaces disappear due to development, the chance for this kind of imaginative exploration is shrinking. Before we assume a space has no value, we should take a moment to consider how a child might see it.

As someone fairly new to Victoria—and to British Columbia—I can’t overstate how weird (and great) the truck parade is as an outsider. There’s something so, incredibly surreal (and great) about seeing the same cement mixer that pours the foundations of new buildings, or the snow plough that keeps people moving on the rare snowy days, now decked out with fog machines, tinsel, and being driven by the Grinch.

I don’t know how it started but I love it. I hope Victoria never stops celebrating with a truck-based Christmas parade.

Victoria’s Provincial Courthouse is easy to overlook. Built in the early 1960s, it follows the language of many mid-century institutional designs—concrete, brick, glass, and understated asymmetrical massing.

When I first moved in across the street I barely noticed it, but over time it grew on me. I’ve come to appreciate both the quiet intentionality of its details and what it represents: design hidden in plain sight.The cadence became clearer with time—seen in the repeated hexagon patterns in the retaining walls, railings, and window guards. The building is restrained, but not indifferent.

The site doesn’t encourage lingering—thresholds are elevated, benches few—but it rewards observation. Even from the sidewalk, a kind of legibility emerges—built through rhythm, proportion, and pattern.

Across the street, the YMCA site is set for redevelopment, and Christ Church Cathedral has submitted multi-phase plans for its own property. With these projects, and a children’s park directly adjacent, the courthouse may soon sit within a more active part of the city—and while it’s still here, let’s appreciate it for what it quietly offers.

The Japanese Pavilion at Esquimalt Gorge Park in Victoria holds a rich and important history. In 1907, Japanese Canadian entrepreneurs Hayato Takata and Yoshitaro Kishida created the first Japanese garden and tea house in Canada right in this park. Designed by Isaburo Kishida, it featured stunning elements like cherry trees, wisteria trellises, and a tea house, celebrating Japanese culture and offering a peaceful space for all.

During World War II, the garden was destroyed by vandals, and its creators were forcibly displaced along with many other Japanese Canadians, reflecting a dark chapter of racism and injustice in Canada’s past.

In 2022, a new pavilion was built, thoughtfully incorporating elements of the original garden, like a reflective pond and wooden features, to honor this heritage. It’s not just a beautiful space—it’s a place of healing, remembrance, and education, encouraging us all to reflect on the injustices of the past while moving forward together.

I’ve lived in Victoria long enough to notice when something’s shifting—and lately, it’s the bikes. Not just more of them, but all kinds: cargo bikes with wide front bins carrying groceries, multiple sleepy toddlers, or sometimes even full-grown adults. Dogs in little goggles poke their heads out of rear baskets. Cargo bikes you can rent at Victoria Electric Bikes. I’ve seen couches balanced across back racks, lumber strapped down with bungee cords, and one glorious rig with a full garden rake sticking off the back with a flag.

People are customizing bikes with paniers, child seats, and clever attachments, transforming them into full service vehicles. It’s like the city is slowly being redesigned at bike level. It’s a beautiful kind of practical, and it makes me feel like Victoria’s not just talking about sustainability—we’re pedaling right into it, one modified bike at a time.

To the non-human residents of the Breakwater—greetings from above! To the anemones swaying in tidal rhythm, the barnacles gripping stone, and the starfish lounging like living art—you’ve claimed the spaces between the massive concrete blocks.

Snorkelers float above, scanning for signs of your world. They surface grinning, water streaming from their masks: “Did you see that?” “I think it was an octopus den!” We come for a glimpse, drawn by curiosity, excitement, and awe.

But we know this place is yours. The Breakwater may be human-built, but it’s your home now—wild, alive, and full of quiet stories. Thank you for letting us visit your homes, even if only for a moment.

Working within Canada’s calm yet engaged communities presented initial challenges. However, our vision of connecting with the local community through rooftop gardens soon laid the foundation for lasting, positive change. From the start, our goal extended beyond creating green spaces—we aimed to foster a lifestyle rooted in nature, urban harmony, and human connection.

Our commitment to delivering a standout project grew stronger with encouraging feedback and visible results. Rooftop gardens are more than aesthetic features; they offer everyday value—places to breathe, relax, and come together.

These spaces promote a peaceful atmosphere amid dense urban environments, while also strengthening neighborly bonds and enhancing social interaction. Designed with sustainability in mind, they inspire environmental responsibility and help reduce the isolation of city life by encouraging community.

Today, witnessing the social and environmental impact of our work reinforces our belief in the transformative power of thoughtful landscape design. It motivates us to continue creating spaces that not only beautify, but also connect and uplift communities.

As an artist/painter I am always looking for subject matter that catches my eye. The most visually appealing subject matter to me is often right in front of me. As I searched for subject matter I had in mind, the fact that many a friend has been complaining about the intense growth in our city, the arrival of the high rise, the increase in traffic, the loss of old world charm, etc.

I wondered how I could best tell this tale of change in an artistic way.

Where to begin? It is not difficult to find a street with a new building under construction. As I walked down Cook St., camera in hand, right in front of me, asking to be recorded for posterity and history, were these enormous, rapacious vehicles carrying materials, blocking roadways, knocking down building sections. Here were the unfeeling instigators of the issues so repeatedly complained about by my friends. And the fledgling buildings themselves revealed so many materials, new ideas and shapes.

I was indeed inspired!

Today's hot topic is SSMUH and infill housing, and in 2002 it was the same as developers looked to add density to historic Rockland. The Pemberton mansion, a McClure masterpiece from the early 1900s, stood at a crossroads - demolition for five new lots or something new to add density while preserving the past.

The six-unit rooming house was thoughtfully decommissioned, with the original mansion initially converted to a duplex (later restored to a single-family residence). The innovation came in how they balanced density with heritage: four townhomes—two freestanding—were artfully positioned behind the mansion.

It was a delicate dance between old and new and marked the first time townhouses had entered Rockland's mansion district in such a configuration. The 906 Pemberton development created a heritage-sensitive density that honoured Victoria's architectural legacy while acknowledging modern housing needs.

The project is a lesson: our most innovative solutions often emerge when we refuse to choose between preservation and progress, instead finding the harmonious third path.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

A piece of our city I find fascinating is how Victoria adapts to the arrival of cruise ships. Every time one docks, thousands of visitors arrive—and it amazes me how smoothly the city adjusts.

The Inner Harbour area feels increasingly busy as the summer begins, but you can sense how Victoria’s design gently flexes to welcome these guests, without losing its rhythm. It’s a balancing act—being both a lived-in place and a temporary vacation for thousands—and Victoria pulls it off beautifully.

As someone who’s always loved to garden, I find great joy in seeing flowers bloom.

In Victoria, residents are generally allowed to plant gardens in the right of way—the strips of grass between the street and sidewalk that the city legally owns, reserved for telephone poles, mailboxes, signs, and more. However, many avid gardeners extend their efforts into these spaces as well.

It’s incredible to witness the care people put into these small patches of earth. Each garden tells a story, filled with time, love, and a passion for growing. It reflects a willingness to beautify our city and share that effort with others. There’s something special about watching people pause to smell and appreciate each other’s gardens, and how these small acts of appreciation bring us all together.

As an abstract artist based in Victoria, I've been creating ocean-inspired jewelry and mixed media designs. I’m drawn to experimental processes and aim to repurpose materials, weaving sustainability into my practice.

The ocean has always called to me—first at my family’s cabin on Gossip Island, where I spent childhood days exploring tide lines and channeling my inner mermaid. Since moving to Victoria in 2019, daily visits to the beach have become a grounding ritual. Foraging for “mermaid treasures”—sea glass, shells, and forgotten sparkles—I imagine their second life in art.

My summer collection reflects these landscapes, using repurposed chains, charms, and found objects. The crashing rhythm of ferries and cruise ships off Dallas Road echoes through the work, layered with memory and place. I revisit my father’s old fishing tackle box—shiny fish reflectors, hooks, pearls—and wrap a wishbone in wire for luck. My mother’s abalone shell shimmers in homage.

These pieces hold stories of the South Island—an intimate archive of land, ocean, and lineage. My work is an echo of home, shaped by waves, worn by wind, and guided by tide.

The Dandridge House, built in 1862 and now located at 1243 Rudlin Street in Victoria’s Fernwood neighbourhood, stands as an important marker of Black history in British Columbia. It was originally constructed by John and Charlotte Dandridge, African American pioneers who arrived in 1858 as part of a migration of nearly 800 Black settlers from California.

Invited by Governor James Douglas, these settlers sought refuge from racial discrimination and hoped to build new lives in the Colony of Vancouver Island.

The Dandridge family were among the first Black residents to own property in the city, and their home reflects both their resilience and contributions. Over the years, the house was moved and restored, and in 2003 it was granted heritage designation. Today, the Dandridge House is a rare and powerful reminder of the role Black pioneers played in shaping Victoria’s early history, community, and cultural landscape.