I thoroughly enjoyed my recent
trip to Montreal, Quebec City, and Ottawa, having not previously visited any of
these cities. All three are historically rich, presenting ample and fascinating
evidence of their beginnings as French or British colonial settlements. While I
admired the distinctive urban morphology and many landmark buildings (some dating
back as far as the early 17th century) each city can boast, some of the more
prominent recent developments attracted me as well. Of these, the projects
designed by Israeli Canadian architect and urban planner Moshe Safdie
stand out.
Moshe Safdie’s architectural
career presents a fascinating blend of utopian ambition, humanistic principles,
and the inevitable compromises that arise from large-scale projects in a
globalized world. His work, from the visionary Habitat '67 in Montreal to
the iconic Marina Bay Sands Resort in Singapore, reflects both the ideals he established early in his
career and the evolving demands of contemporary architecture.
I aimed to visit some of
Safdie’s notable works during my trip—or at least that was my goal. I brought
my well-worn copy of Safdie’s 1982 book Form &
Purpose to (re)read during downtime at the airport and on the plane. I
wanted to revisit Safdie’s critique of present-day architecture, particularly
his call for a return to human-centered, environmentally responsive design. As
he states in the book, “. . . when it comes to design—the design of our
environment, cities, buildings, houses, utensils, clothes, furniture, cars, and
planes—there is one overriding test: Is it done with a deep sense of commitment
to people, a commitment in the broadest sense to man in all his complexities—his
desires, hopes, fears, and, above all, his well-being? It is a surprisingly
simple test.” This perspective remains deeply relevant in discussions about
architecture today. I hoped to apply this test to the Safdie projects I wanted
to see.
Habitat 67 (photo by Parcours riverain - Ville de Montréal from Canada, CC BY 2.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0>, via Wikimedia Commons)
One of my targets was Habitat
'67, the modular housing project that first brought a precociously young Safdie
international acclaim. Unfortunately, my time constraints and the project’s relative
inaccessibility precluded seeing it up close. Built for the 1967 World’s Fair (Expo 67),
Habitat '67 (an adaptation of his thesis project while an undergraduate at
McGill University) emerged during a time of social and political upheaval. Safdie
envisioned an inclusive community, reflecting the optimism of the era while
addressing the challenges of urban density. However, critics called attention
to its shortcomings, pointing out that despite its ambitious intentions, the
project is isolated from the urban fabric it aimed to enhance, revealing the
complexities of translating visionary concepts into practical, livable
solutions. I fully agree on this point.
National Gallery of Canada (my photo)
One of the National Gallery of Canda's top floor rooms (my photo).
While in Ottawa, I visited the
National Gallery of Canada, one of Safdie’s most celebrated projects. Completed in
1988, the building resonated with me on many levels. The extensive use of
glass, particularly in the Grand Hall, floods the space with natural light and
creates a profound sense of openness. Safdie’s design emphasizes transparency,
allowing the surrounding landscape to frame the architecture itself and
fostering a connection between the building and its environment. This alignment
with Safdie’s belief that architecture should serve both human needs and the natural
world struck a chord with me.
The National Gallery stands as
an exemplary representation of Safdie’s principles. It avoids the pitfalls of
excessive symbolism or aesthetic novelty that he critiques in Form &
Purpose, instead offering clarity of form, light, and cultural sensitivity.
The massive building is “of” Ottawa, fitting in while punctuating the cityscape
in a way not unlike the capital city’s other landmarks. The building encourages
public engagement, blending truly grand, monumental spaces with more intimate
areas that prevent overwhelming visitors. The project is an example where
Safdie’s utopian vision seems fully realized, merging functionality, beauty,
and environmental responsiveness into a coherent whole.
John G.
Diefenbaker Building. I struggled to find a satisfactory perspective from which
to take a photograph. This shot, taken from a vantage I did not have access to, is by JustSomePics, CC BY-SA 3.0
<https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0>, via Wikimedia Commons.
I also visited Safdie’s expansion
of the John G. Diefenbaker Building in Ottawa. This project sparked controversy during
its design and construction, particularly due to disagreements between Safdie
and the City of Ottawa regarding both design and cost. The friction during its
development reflects the compromises architects often face when tackling
complex public projects. The Diefenbaker Building is a thus a balance between
ambition and practicality, and perhaps belies Safdie’s claims of working
without arrogance.
The tension between his
utopian ideals and the demands of a global, commercialized architectural
landscape have marked Safdie’s career. His early work aimed to create
architecture that responded to both human and environmental needs. Habitat '67
sought to humanize urban housing by offering privacy, green spaces, and
individuality in a dense environment. Yet, as with many utopian projects,
economic and logistical challenges complicated efforts to implement such a
vision on a broader scale. Habitat’s cost and complexity have made replication
difficult, and while it remains an architectural landmark, its inaccessibility and
lack of integration with Montreal’s urban fabric are problematic.
Marina Bay
Sands, Singapore (photo by Someformofhuman, CC BY-SA 3.0
<https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0>, via Wikimedia Commons)
Safdie’s later work
increasingly reflects the commercial realities of modern architecture. Projects
like Marina Bay Sands in Singapore primarily serve as luxury developments aimed
at global tourism. Although these designs (the Jewel Changi Airport,
also in Singapore, is another example) remain visually stunning and innovative,
they prioritize commercial appeal and iconic status over the social idealism
that characterized Safdie’s initial work.
Despite this shift, Safdie’s
commitment to human-scale design and environmental responsiveness shines
through many of his projects. The National Gallery of Canada thoroughly
impressed me. It exemplifies Safdie’s belief that architecture should serve the
community and its cultural context while maintaining a connection to nature. It
stands as a monument to his early ideals, offering a coherent blend of beauty,
functionality, and public engagement.
Habitat '67 challenged
conventions of urban living. The National Gallery of Canada demonstrates how humanist
and environmentalist principles can apply to architecture on a grand scale. At
the same time, the challenges and compromises of more recent projects, like
Marina Bay Sands, illustrate the complexities architects face in balancing visionary
ideals with the realities of contemporary practice. The work of Moshe Safdie speaks
to his enduring belief in the potential of architecture to shape society for
the better.