The Inherent Beauty of the Architecture of Immigrants

Griffintown circa 1896

I am a subversive wanderer. While I walk in Griffintown, one of the oldest communities in Montréal, I seek the continuation of a past consciousness that still haunts this old neighborhood. This consciousness, I see it in the secret language of architecture. I listen to it freely for it speaks to me. I ponder why a neighborhood, which has its roots buried in Irish misery, leads us to believe that there is an inherent beauty in architecture that has witnessed all this destitution. The stoic buildings are far from being oppressive despite their authoritarian character reminding us of the economic times that erected them. I think of my mother when we use to walk in Ottawa's Lowertown as she would cast a tender glance at the older homes that had once echoed with the accent of Franco-Ontarians and Jewish families in early last century. She always whispered : if those walls could only talk. I do not remember if I could detect a sense of regret or resignation in her voice, but are they are not two elements that make up nostalgia?

Irish Immigrant's House circa 1896

Ambling down the narrow sidewalks in Griffintown, I breathe in a sense of nostalgia that is not mine. This culture and this time have nothing to do with me. Yet I attach myself freely to this immigrant song. Its eloquence comes from the silent language of iconic architecture. Montréal has sometimes been criticized for its architecture as if it wanted to remain modest after Expo 67 and the Olympic Games of 76. The new Champlain Bridge woke some citizens from their torpor to debate between pragmatism versus iconic signature. How far can carte blanche be given depends on our tolerance of generic architecture. Basically, shouldn't bold architecture represent our cultural identity?

After much thought, and a little bemused by my rêverie, I concluded that heritage is premium and this is why Griffintown is so important. Its brick buildings and large windows, where people once worked hard for their daily bread, are now ultra chic boho lofts. Minimalistic condos dot the streets of Griffintown, but it is the grand dames in

Boho Chic Bistros of Griffintown

Revitalization of the urban landscape

red brick that have the last word. I think if the inherent heritage of architecture is to be preserved, the transformation is worth that leap of faith. Keeping the shell of a building to transform the interior as per new building codes and environmental considerations is a realistic approach. However, should we allow the same heritage value for all cultures that make up our society? Is there is a larger ethnic rhetoric that wants to keep so-called ancestral architecture iconic? It's while looking at the real estate ads that one questions the very ancestral designation of a property and how it is determined. Does the heritage designation of architecture have more importance because it was built by the founding families? Is immigrant architecture less iconic and less valuable? Griffintown is the living proof regarding this dichotomy and I can live with that answer because its roots are deeper than we think.

 

The history of Griffintown goes back into time in its purest sense. In 1654, the Religious Hospitallers of St. Joseph received this stronghold which they transfered in 1792 to Thomas McCord who sold it to Robert and Mary Griffin. The Lachine Canal was created in 1825 and the population began to build in the area. These were the landed Irish immigrants from Grosse Île who in 1847 erected the Victoria Bridge and the Lachine Canal.

House where murder occurred

I imagine during that era, that Griffintown resembled the infamous Whitechapel district of London during that time when Jack the Ripper haunted dark alleys in search of new prey. The legend of Griffintown resonates the same terror. Mary Gallagher, a local prostitute was brutally murdered by another woman. It is said that Mary comes to haunt William Street. In a jealous rage, Susan Kennedy would have beheaded the poor woman with an axe and dropped her head in a basket because she shared the same customer and the latter seemed to prefer Mary. Urban legend requires us to believe that every seven years, Mary roams William Street in search of her head. For my part, my visit to Griffintown is not to bump into headless Mary, but to unearth some antiques or objets trouvés.

The old brick walls on William Street

So here we are on William Street in search of ARTÉ, L'Artisan du Renouveau et de la Transformation Écologique, a re-use center for eco-centers of the city of Montréal. One of our goals for building our residence is to be green and this involves repurposing and recycling instead of buying everything new. I love to contrast shapes and textures from older eras with the clean lines of our house plans. It's a beautiful dialogue between eras demonstrating a unique synergy not only symbolically but to also convey an important message: that the reuse of materials from the past or discarded on the curbside, is as noble as the use of stone and wood as raw material. The value of these ancient architectural pieces has a particular resonance because we give it a second life. The visit to ARTÉ is the subject of my next post, because what we found deserves its own story.

For what is Griffintown, I will come back often, not to see the new condos, but to walk along the large red brick walls to hear them whisper their immigrant song. This is a past that is part of our heritage because there was more than one people living the same life struggle. The proof: we are all still here.