Materials, tectonics,
and the honest making of space.

A timber threshold between shelter and landscape — collecting rain through the roof assembly and giving it back to a built-in bench that doubles as a planter.

TimberFever is an annual design-build competition challenging teams to design and construct a full-scale timber structure in under 24 hours. Our proposal, the Watering Can-opy, explored the threshold condition between shelter and landscape: a structure that gathered and redistributed rainwater while creating an intimate covered gathering space within the larger competition field.

Working as a team of six, we moved from final drawings to a standing structure in a single day. Cutting, jointing, and assembling timber under real time pressure fundamentally changed how I understand the gap between a line on paper and a thing you can sit inside.

We placed third, presenting to a jury of practitioners who responded to the clarity of the structural concept and the warmth of the joinery.

A material and structural split: a heavy metal podium rooted to the ground, a timber-framed upper volume rising with transparency and warmth.

The project investigates the tension between stereotomic mass and tectonic lightness as a framework for reimagining 325 Church Street as a new home for Toronto Metropolitan University’s Department of Architectural Science. The dichotomy is not merely aesthetic — it drives the spatial organisation, the structural logic, and the experience of moving through the building.

The lower floors house public and collaborative programmes, anchored by the weight of the base. Studios and maker spaces are suspended within the lighter timber structure above, flooded with light and oriented toward the city. A central atrium weaves the two systems together, with a cascading stair that makes the transition between them legible and inhabitable.

A 1:50 fragment model in cardboard and acrylic studies the threshold condition where heavy becomes light — the most inhabited space in the building.

A pedestrian bridge conceived as a viewing instrument as much as a crossing — approach, threshold, suspension, descent.

Athabasca Falls is a site defined by geological drama, the force of moving water, and the experience of standing at the edge of something vast. The steel arch frames the falls and the surrounding boreal landscape, creating a compressed moment of arrival before releasing the visitor into open air above the gorge.

The structural system is a tied-arch in weathering steel, with tension hangers suspending a perforated deck that allows light and sound to pass through. The arch base is pinned to precast concrete foundations anchored into the canyon walls. Every connection is designed to be visible — the bolted plates, the welded clamps, the hanger joints — because in a landscape of this scale, craft at the detail level is what makes the structure feel inhabited rather than merely engineered.

A Toronto laneway duplex investigating the fine line between public and private, and the moments where that line can be deliberately blurred.

The design introduces a shared vestibule as the primary threshold: a space that is neither fully public nor fully private, belonging to both occupants and to neither. This logic extends vertically — a shared rooftop balcony and communal exterior storage at grade create additional zones of overlap, where the boundary between units softens into something more like a neighbourhood than a floor plan.

The material strategy reinforces this reading. A brick veneer base anchors the building to its laneway context (heavy, permanent, shared) while a Corten steel upper volume distinguishes each unit’s private interior world, weathering differently over time as each household leaves its mark.

A 1:100 sectional model studies the central stair as both shared element and boundary — the place where the two units are most proximate and most distinct.

A set built around the idea that threat is not always at eye level — a death motif staged in shadow, beneath the sightline.

Don Giovanni is a raging narcissist whose life ends violently. This set design brings to light the subtle death motif woven through Mozart’s opera, using the architecture of his private rooms — the dining room, the hallway — to tell a story through visual dynamics rather than explicit statement.

A skull shadow, cast at floor level by a carefully positioned light source, operates below the sightline of the performers and the audience alike. It is present without announcing itself — a threat that exists in the peripheral and the low, consistent with a character who never confronts his own mortality directly until the final scene.

The spatial arrangement is designed so the shadow is most visible from the audience’s seated position, making the viewer complicit in seeing what the characters cannot.

A climate-fiction graphic novel set in a near-future Toronto transformed by rising water levels, collapsing food trade networks, and the social fractures that follow.

The project uses architectural world-building as its primary method: every space in the narrative was designed before it was drawn, with attention to how the built environment reflects and amplifies the political conditions of the story.

It explores how architecture communicates threat, scarcity, and resilience through spatial atmosphere rather than explicit statement. Spaces of power are monumental and opaque; spaces of survival are improvised, layered, and materially honest. The graphic-novel form allowed for a mode of architectural representation — sequential, temporal, atmospheric — that conventional drawing types cannot access.