As we face the changing realities around us—where housing must be built, sustainability prioritized, and the slow, steady work of repair and reconstruction continues—there’s a small, joyful detail that never fails to make me smile.

No matter how many sidewalks are torn up or how many crosswalk detours I take to avoid a hole in the street, I still love the tiny, colourful flags that Victoria uses at construction sites.

Every time I see them, it feels less like a disruption and more like a spring fair or a birthday party. They remind me that the construction of a better city, in all its messiness, is still worth celebrating!

I was in my happy place, in line at Crust Bakery on a peaceful Sunday morning.

The person next to me in line drew my attention up, looking out through an upper window to the building across the street (the British American Trust Company at 737 Fort Street). Although I had passed it countless times, I had never taken notice of the Roman soldier at the peak of the bank façade. As I remember the conversation, this person shared his interest in how legionnaires were given a pension of land and olive oil.

Since that day, I pause to acknowledge the friendly face that looks down onto Fort Street, reminding me of the pleasures of chance meetings, of those brief but enriching connections with each other.

One interpretation of “unseen” is simple—hidden from sight. As someone in the building industry, I think often about the many elements that get covered up by drywall and exterior cladding. For those of us who deal with the “guts” of a building daily, there are countless unseen components, each with its own story. These elements serve specific functions and are shaped by laws, engineering requirements, and the skilled tradespeople who assemble them.

Take shear walls, for example—massive slabs of lumber nailed together with tie rods. These structural elements are essential for keeping a building stable during seismic events. In a way, shear walls are the calling card of the surrounding geology. They speak to the reality that the building isn’t just anywhere—it’s here, in Victoria, where seismic activity is a consideration. It’s a “Victoria special,” a unique aspect of the city’s design that’s largely hidden, but crucial.

One of my favorite things about living in Victoria is how easily I can access nature—by bike. The regional trail network, especially the Galloping Goose and Lochside, feels like a secret highway for cyclists. I glide past farmland, estuaries, forests, and creeks, all without ever getting in a car. The bridges—old trestles and sleek overpasses—carry me over rivers and roads, stitching the city to wild spaces.

Few places in North America offer this kind of seamless, scenic cycling infrastructure. In Victoria, getting from downtown to a beach, mountain or forest feels not only possible, but pleasant.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Beneath Victoria’s Broad Street lies a hidden layer of architectural history revealed through its distinctive sidewalk prisms. These small, often purple-tinted glass blocks are set into the pavement and were originally installed in the late 19th and early 20th centuries to bring natural light into areaways—basement spaces that extend beneath the sidewalks.

The prisms filtered daylight into what were once bustling storage areas, workshops, and service corridors, transforming dark basements into more usable and safer environments.

Today, they serve both as functional daylighting elements and as subtle reminders of the city’s layered past. On Broad Street, they create a unique connection between the contemporary pedestrian experience and the urban fabric of old Victoria, blending beauty, innovation, and utility in a timeless detail.

I walk past the public washroom at Broughton and Douglas almost every day. At first glance, it’s just a small structure—sleek, industrial, unassuming.

We don’t often think about bathrooms until we really need one. And for some people, that need isn’t occasional—it’s daily, urgent, and tied up with dignity. This one little unit feels like a step toward a more thoughtful city, one that sees the basic needs we all share and does something about them. It made me feel hopeful that we’re looking for, and building, ways to care for each other.

This GNS Campus celebrates its 90th anniversary this year. Before it was a school, it was the residence of Victoria’s most pre-eminent and storied architect, Francis Rattenbury (behind the Empress Hotel, Government House, and B.C. Legislature Building).

Built in 1898 as lechinihl (from FN's “a place where good things happen”), it wasn't to be. Both attracted a strong taint of scandal. Also known as ‘The Ratz’, he was an arrogant, corrupt man driven to success at all costs, with ruined lives around him.

Under multiple government investigations with complaints of theft and corruption, to lining his pockets and stealing materials to construct his own home. Investigation focused on the blue-gray granite blocks and marble fireplace custom-manufactured in England that was installed in Rattenbury’s home.

He attracted so much scandal for his personal and professional life that clients shunned him and his practice become dormant. With his social standing and career in tatters, he moved back to England and was murdered.

So next time you're walking by this idyllic shoreline setting, remember it wasn’t always the lechinihl it's now.

My connection to surfing—and to the South Island landscape—was shaped early on by my uncle. His stories of an existence based solely around surfing left a lasting impression. Later, it was my mother, who nurtured that passion, driving me to the beach for countless surf trips. Through her ceramic work I began to see the ocean’s rhythms reflected in form and glaze.

Surfing gave me a direct, immersive relationship with the coastline. Observing how those experiences could be translated into ceramics sparked my interest in design. Waves become curves, tide lines become texture, and movement becomes form. This lens shaped how I interpret the natural world.

The South Island surf community has a rich connection to small business owners in this city. Many of them share a common instinct: to see nature not just as landscape, but as inspiration—something to be honored and reimagined through their craft. I feel that its evident, by looking at someone’s work, whether they have a strong connection to their environment. And what better place to explore that than this beautiful island we call ‘home’.

Upon moving to Victoria in 2021, my painting practice took a new shape. I entered an almost obligatory period of landscape painting, as so many have done when moving to the coast. I became fascinated with observing the movement of the water and the changing tides.

I brought that fluidity and movement to my canvas through the use of line, shape, and colour. I created a series of hand painted patterns specific to this place through observing my surroundings, and I mimicked the repetition of the waves through mark making.

I took pause in the meditative process of hand painting a pattern, which created a feeling of calm similar to looking out over the ocean.

Every person in Victoria recognizes the Gate of Harmonious Interest—but did you know it holds hidden messages for the future?

Erected in 1981 on Fisgard Street, this striking 38-foot structure was designed by urban planner Mickey Lam to symbolize unity between Chinese and non-Chinese communities. Beyond its ornate beauty, the gate contains two thoughtful inscriptions: “To work together with one heart” and “To help each other achieve harmony.”

But perhaps the most intriguing detail lies inside—two time capsules are sealed within its structure, set to be opened in 2081 and 2096.

We all know design shapes how we live, but a recent evening with my mom reminded me just how much.

She recently installed the Umo app and while she’s fairly tech-savvy, she doesn’t have the built-in instincts of someone raised with digital tools. Thankfully, Umo’s design is friendly. Auto-pay is easy to set up, the scan button is pinned to the bottom navigation bar instead of inside a hidden menu, the app is bright teal, and there’s a cheerful little smiley face—she’s gotten on the bus!

But that’s not the case with all apps and she’s often come up against confusing menus or unintuitive design in the quest to book appointments, pay taxes or update an internet plan.

As services move increasingly into the digital realm, it’s a small but important reminder: good design makes life easier; bad design can become a real-world barrier.

“Signs of Lekwungen” is a powerful series of seven sculptures created by Lekwungen Master Carver Clarence ‘Butch’ Dick (Yux’wey’lupton). These sculptures are placed in locations of historical significance to the Lekwungen people. The spindle whorls are representative of a tapestry created by Songhees women and the sculptures were carved in cedar before their final casting in bronze.

This specific piece, “Whu-Sei-Kum” is located in the Inner Habour marks the place of a wide tidal mudflat, which had an abundance of clams. The mudflats were covered over and the Empress Hotel was built on top in the post-colonial era.

The sculptures stand as vibrant reminders of the rich cultural heritage that continues to shape Victoria today. Clarence Dick’s art not only enriches the visual landscape of Victoria but also fosters greater understanding and appreciation of the rich cultural traditions that continue to shape the area.

Many people only seem to see people riding bicycles on Victoria's bike & roll lanes. Read the letters to the editor in any of our local papers, and you will hear from people who unsee the people rolling on wheelchairs and mobility scooters.

Open your eyes and see.

You can see and listen to Sandra Hough describing why she rolls on Victoria's bike and roll routes at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1xC1yLLpQ1M

Cherry blossoms bloom,

Porcelain teacups dangle,

Springs unseen surprise.

In the blur of busy days, we often forget to look. We miss moments that quietly shimmer with meaning. Pause, take a breath, find the quiet poetry in the ordinary. See the unseen! A cherry tree might surprise you, teacups blooming amidst the blossoms. This is the magic of seeing the unseen, wonders hiding in plain sight, waiting for us to slow down.

The Tea Cup Tree in James Bay invites us to look up and to see beauty and grace. An ode to a feisty grandmother, the tea cup tree is organic design that creates community connections. For 15 years this tree has brought together friends, family, tourists and neighbours, inviting us to pause, slow down and marvel at the magic of seeing the unseen.

As a newcomer to Victoria, I'm not familiar with a lot of the city yet, but I loved exploring the oldest Chinatown in Canada- especially Fan Tan Alley!

I didn't actually know about it before going there, and was already in awe at the design of the street and restaurants lined up past the auspicious gate entry into Chinatown. I stumbled upon the alley as I was leaving, and my curiosity was aroused when I saw the lights hanging between the crevice of two buildings, the tight circulation space inviting me to step through. After walking for a bit there is an opening with more shops and a museum of the history of Chinatown which was free to enter! I explored everything, it was so fun!

This alley is a staple of good design as there's a feeling of compression and release between the buildings, which naturally ignites people's curiosity and encourages them to explore.

Although it's technically well-known, it felt like I was discovering a hidden gem, which made my experience there so memorable.

I love this gargoyle-ish character in the gardens at Government House. I kick off each year's Movember campaign by doing a selfie with it. I did it the year I started and it feels like it has become a kind of spirit animal for me. It is an image on my journey to mental health. I love how people leave little offerings of flowers as if it were a creature in some animist shrine.

Growing up just around the corner from what is now Uptown Shopping Centre, it’s been inspiring to witness its transformation. What was once the small Town and Country retail strip, established in 1959, has evolved into a vibrant commercial hub that plays a key role in shaping Victoria’s city center.

Between 2010 and 2016, the 850,000-square-foot mixed-use complex that we now know as Uptown Shopping Center was under development. Designed to meet the needs of a growing population, the project introduced not only retail and office space, but also transit access, and community amenities strategically located at the junction of two major highways in the heart of Victoria. This evolution has made Uptown a central node in Victoria’s urban landscape, influencing how the city grows and connects.

My personal connection to Uptown has grown over the years, shaped by memories and experiences at every stage of my life. I remember the days before Uptown, when my mom and I would visit the old Town and Country plaza for grocery shopping or bowling. As a teenager, I spent weekends exploring the newly developed mall with friends. Now, as an adult, I've worked at two local stores within Uptown and still find myself there regularly. Whether it's getting my nails done, grabbing groceries or catching up with a friend over coffee. Uptown has remained a familiar and evolving part of my everyday life.

At first glance, the corner of Pandora Avenue and Government Street draws attention with its striking red dragon sculpture by Burnaby artist Ping Tsing. This bold, hand-carved symbol of prosperity marks the original entrance to Victoria’s Chinatown. What many passersby may not realize is that a powerful element of this public space lies beneath their feet. The paving tells an “unseen” story of cultural endurance and connection.

An undulating wave of coarse aggregate alludes to the Johnson Street Ravine, a natural divide once used to physically and socially separate Chinese immigrants from European colonists. At the residential entry, large concrete pavers symbolize the bridge that spanned that divide. These subtle gestures, often overlooked, speak volumes about the layered histories embedded in the urban landscape. Bamboo-inspired fencing and salvaged architectural fragments from buildings associated with exclusionary practices further root the site in memory. Together, these elements transform the space into a quiet map of resilience, inviting those who pause to read the ground.

Designed with support and guidance from then-City Councillor Charlayne Thornton-Joe and then-City Planner Mickey Lam in .

In our first conversation about their new work-at-home space, we stood next to a wonderfully massive bedrock outcrop dominating most of their backyard. The family told me how they especially loved the shape of a glacier eroded fold in the rock, and the sound of the rain flowing down it.

With no room in the backyard to avoid the rock and no desire from anyone to just blow it up, the space had to, in a way, become a part of the rock. Loose slabs were carefully shorn off to accentuate the fold. These stones were then repurposed to make a wall that follows the curving shape of the fold itself into the space, embracing the work area. This heaviness of the wall roots the flowing wood and glass structure into the landscape and supports a living roof with a diverse array of sedums, grasses, and flowers native to the area. This process of learning to live with our beautiful rocks has become integral to our work and is how this space, eventually called the 'Grotto' house, found its name.

Introduced in 1935 by Kodak as Kodachrome film, projector slides were most popular in the mid to late 20th century, specifically 1950s-1990s.

Many people’s special memories have since landed in thrift stores as donations as the technology becomes outdated. Witch changing times, what can we do with these keepsakes to help them live on in a new form?

I had the idea when I saw a basket of these at Thrift Craft in Victoria to make a shift dress similar to the iconic Gisele Bushden Polaroid dress. The dress includes over 200 slides connected with jump rings. The dress includes images mainly from the 60s-80s with mostly cars and blueprints.

Since the slides are mainly composed of paper, the dress is very delicate. Each time the dress is worn, it takes about 4-8 hours to repair, adding to the 50+ hours that went into making it. But sometimes that is the beauty of fashion and design, just nice to look at, but created without the use of new materials.