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.

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?

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.

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.

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.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

The area bounded by Douglas St, Tolmie and Topaz park is currently the site of Mayfair Mall but for the 70 years preceding it's opening, it was the home of a brickyard. 

In 1891, the Baker Brick and Tile Company was founded by brothers John and James Baker. By the late 1930's the business was managed by Aaron Parfitt and after the Second World War, the yard was operated by Evans, Coleman & Evans. 

The brickyard was a prominent feature of the area. Residents remember the piles of chopped wood stacked along Douglas street, and the specific way workers stacked wood around the bricks during the firing process. The weekend before the mall opened, all leftover bricks on site were being sold for penny; a local resident remembers her dad making several trips, including at night with a flashlight. Others still remember it as a premium spot for catching frogs and salamanders. 

For an unknown reason, only Baker bricks were made with a maker's mark, but this has made the bricks an easily identifiable piece of Victoria history. 

I grew up in Gonzales, and have a strong emotional connection to the Observatory, which for my whole life has felt like a sentinel watching over my neighborhood and home.

Designed collaboratively by architect William Henderson and meteorologist Francis Napier Denison as a home and observatory, it was built to further exploration of celestial realms.

Now, drowned in city lights, its purpose has faded. The exterior remains popular – a dramatic silhouette against the sky, a sought-after photography spot—but almost no one can step inside. Within, the original wooden dome still arches overhead, above empty rooms once designed to house an Observer, according to the original plans.

In my architectural thesis, I proposed repurposing it for an Artist in Residence program, welcoming cultural Observers to live and create within its walls. With renovation, it could become a space where artists turn their gaze inward and share those observations in exhibitions open to the public. Fitting its iconic appearance, the observatory could once again become a place of discovery— with a new, human-centered focus.