Author: catheraine

From 1921 to 1977, Main Street Library was known as Eastern Branch. Even though it opened the same year as Dufferin/Saint Clair and three years before Gerrard/Ashdale, Main Street no longer resembles its 1920’s cohorts from the outside.

A well-intentioned renovation in 1977 added a glass and red metal entrance that in my view contradicts the original vision of Chief Librarian George Locke (1870-1937). Locke had aimed for “English domestic architecture” (A Century of Service: Toronto Public Library 1883-1983, p. 26), but post-renovation Main Street misses that target. For example, ivy-covered English cottages do not often utilize Lego-like red triangles for lintels.

Playful angles and arches in the front lobby compensated for what it lacked in historical character. I appreciated the many interesting corners on the first floor, such as the light-filled reading lounge visible through an arch, as well as the 1928 south extension with its powder blue walls.

The main floor also yielded a large central room and a north wing devoted to adult non-fiction (also painted powder blue). With so many windows and open spaces, the inside appeared much bigger than I had expected.

Despite my initial disappointment with the tacked-on modern  entrance, the upper level restored my image of Main Street as a heritage branch. The wooden ceiling even smelled pleasantly old!

After spending a few moments gazing at Main Street’s delightful attic, I could sense its historical kinship to Gerrard/Ashdale branch. Two 1920’s attics, beautifully connected!

The south wing of Main Street’s attic featured exposed brick walls, long wooden tables, and dignified window frames, giving this home for children’s books and the juvenile French collection a scholarly yet comfortable atmosphere.

Warming the bricks of the east wall was a quilt stitched in honour of Toronto’s 1984 Sesquicentennial, the same occasion that inspired the quilt at Beaches Library. Without the thematic flow between each section that characterized the Beaches tapestry, the one at Main Street lent itself to individual panel study.I especially liked the quilt blocks that contained a mule pulling a Canada Bread cart, zany leaves, and Fire Station #17.

As I was studying the textile art, one attentive mom was listening to her child read a counting book while another prompted a young reader to respond to an illustration, “Is that a squirrel? Is she painting with her tail?” The latter parent was sitting in the north wing, which had armchairs in front of dormer windows and some steps leading to a reading nook under the west eave.

It made me happy to see 21st-century families gather around books under the slanted beams of an early 20th-century attic. After all, the learning that happens inside the library is more important than the shape of its front door. I think George Locke would be proud to know that Eastern Branch is still fulfilling its purpose ninety-four years after it opened!

Harmonizing with the friendly round shape of the roof, the interior of S. Walter Stewart branch projects a pleasing openness. Near the checkout desk, circular shelves of videos and DVD’s echo the wheel shape of a skylight above. Wooden beams in a radial pattern support the translucent dome, and a blue band featuring the four compass points in gold encircles the area below the dome. (With such a classic setting, dancers at a Jane Austen costume ball could glide about with ease under the skylight so long as they minded the re-shelving carts).

Along the periphery of the main floor are large open study stalls with wide desks between the brick partitions. Readers can gaze through expansive windows to the lawns and bungalows beyond. Fanning out behind the desks, tall and steady shelves of books in Chinese, Greek, Macedonian, and Serbian join rows of fiction, non-fiction, and reference books.

The basement level seems equally engaging. A blue linoleum floor cosmically graced with moons, stars, and planets leads the way to vending machines, a large auditorium, and a lively KidsStop complete with a giant red and silver rocket.

The KidsStop room also has three original Barbara Reid plasticine illustrations that she made for Read Me a Book (2003). A giant copy of this book is attached to the wall, and as I flipped through it, I recalled the other Reid pieces on display at Parliament Street and Oakwood Village Libraries.

From inside to outside, I love this library’s architectural commitment to circles and arcs. The central atrium, shelving patterns, reading lounge, curved window bench in the Teens’ section, downstairs auditorium, and even the carpet design celebrate the circle and semi-circle. These eternal shapes make visiting S. Walter Stewart an artistic as well as educational experience!

Like the pigeon above, I have always found Riverdale Library’s solid red-brick structure a restful place to perch.

On my first visit, I appreciated the heavy wooden doors that opened to the spaciousness of the lobby, inviting patrons to breathe freely. A soaring white ceiling, skylight, columns, and wide aisles all worked together to create a sense of freedom and possibility.

I felt my spirits revive when I gazed at the skylight of this Georgian Revival edifice, prompting me to send a silent message of thanks skyward to Andrew Carnegie. As recorded in A Century of Service: Toronto Public Library 1883-1983, Carnegie provided the initial funding for this library and three others in 1903 (Penman, p. 16). Ultimately, he would finance ten TPL branches.

My instinctive window-seat antennae led me to the northeast side of the library, where I found a wide curving bench. This lovely piece of reading furniture was an integral part of the children’s area, which also boasted a double-sided hearth and a Children’s Program Room with a matching window seat on the west wall.

When I went inside the program room, I found a puppet theatre and a leafless tree with a sign that read “Riverdale Tree: Do Not Move.” Five years later, the note had been removed and the tree positioned in a new location. Not only had it travelled, but it was now gussied up with leaves, a salamander, and bedazzled fruit.

Back in the main section of the children’s wing, I noticed a pirate ship on top of a central shelf and Paddington Bear high overhead, secured to his chair-swing with massive quantities of packing tape.

The central section of Riverdale contained a corner reserved for teens to flop on some pink and yellow cushions, a computer bay, and magazine racks. Along the curved west wall, rows of tall shelves fanned out in a radial pattern.

Following the curve to the southwest corner, I saw a sign which said “Quiet Community Room.” I opened the door and discovered that it wasn’t quiet at all. About ten women were sitting at various tables with big thermoses and some snacks. When a couple of them gave me half-smiles of “Do we know you? What are you doing here?”, I realized that I was disturbing the morning study break of an ESL class. I apologized and retreated.

To support the class and other learners, a strong ESL collection was only a few strides away from the classroom. There was also a small Vietnamese holding and a much larger one that offered Chinese fiction, non-fiction, DVD’s, and more. On my 2015 visit, I enjoyed the lobby display in honour of Chinese New Year, especially the colourful card, book covers, and flowers.

From the multilingual bookcases against the south wall, I moved further into the interior and sat down between two high shelves. With my head resting just below a wooden windowsill, I surveyed the materials available in my temporary domain: French dictionaries, self-help books, SAT preparation texts, mathematics books, and fashion guides. I inhabited my bookish retreat for several minutes, leafing through some sale magazines and pausing to admire how vast the overhead space appeared from floor-level.

After getting to my feet, I returned to the window seat to experience it in more depth. I took off my shoes, nestled against the wall where it formed a right angle with the seat, and rested my left arm on the upper ledge. It was the perfect place to write in my journal.I felt very fortunate to inhabit a quiet corner of this beautiful old library, enjoying the trees outside as well as the rumble of passing streetcars on Broadview Avenue. I also felt connected to the lucky Torontonians of the early 20th century who welcomed Riverdale Library into their city and their hearts.

The opening of Toronto Public Library‘s 100th branch is reason enough for excitement, but Scarborough Civic Centre raises the pitch even higher with its visionary beauty, innovation, and attention to detail.

From the basil leaves embedded in playful towers to the 3-D printer, reading garden, and green roof, TPL’s newest library provides an outstanding community facility for the McCowan and Ellesmere neighbourhood. After only nine days in service, it already feels comfortably familiar; not a trace of plastic-on-the-best-sofa starchiness in sight.

Playing hooky with a purpose, I took a day off work to spend some time at Scarborough Civic Centre branch. After taking pictures for an hour and a half, I sat down at an epic table in the grand hall to better experience the character of the place. The sounds of happy kids in the KidsStop early literacy centre, keyboard tappings, and the voices of staff and patrons filled the space.

From where I was sitting, three sets of giant wooden hurdles met overhead. I liked the way the supporting beams tilted inward to support the overhead beam that joined them. With strength drawn from cooperative leaning, the structure’s airy openness was enabled by sturdy rustic supports containing the whole.

The building’s simplicity combined with details such as visible bolts served to create a secure framework to shelter readers and promote imaginative engagement with the decor.

The architects’ choice to use wooden instead of metal beams warmed the atmosphere and connected me to the greenery of the reading garden, the maple leaves in the pink tower, and memories of Camp Oakledge in Warsaw, Missouri.

The seeds, beans, and flowers embedded in the KidsStop towers glowed with poetry in the sunny southeast corner of Scarborough Civic Centre.

As a resident of Scarborough, I am more than proud to call this extraordinary library my new neighbour. Scarborough Civic Centre, thank you very much for your vision, poetry, and generosity!

If you thirst for open space, artistic beauty, and sunlight on wooden beams, Morningside Library is the branch for you.

At first sight, its sun-filled interior resembled a rectangular barn turned art studio, and I felt calm and purposeful as I walked from the entrance into the thick of the shelves. Even though the entire library was limited to a single story, I found so many objects, images, and angles to photograph that I had to scold myself, “Catherine, how will a picture of a leaflet stand, a glass bowl full of blue and silver ornaments, or a fox in a mural push your narrative forward?”

Despite the inner reprimand to take fewer photos, I still rejoiced in visual details such as snow in the skylight, a miniature Christmas tree on the checkout desk, and a Victorian village made out of illustrated cardboard. As Rumi said, “There is ecstasy in paying attention.”

After looking at the library’s collection of ye olde churches, houses, hotels, and stores, I wandered over to a generously wide window seat to the right of the check out area. It seemed the ideal spot to “read, imagine, dream, (and) escape,” which the large mural on the west wall invited me to do.

Completed in 2009, this vibrant wall painting was the result of a collaboration between Rob Matejka and seven youth artists. I liked how the knight was brandishing a brown book with TPL on the cover and proudly sporting TPL’s blue and white (as seen on signs and library cards). When I studied this champion of literacy, my thoughts turned to 2011 city politics: “Just let Rob Ford joust with this righteous advocate for tax dollars well-spent! Confronted by the equestrian’s upraised book, our mayor might tremble in his cost-cutting, gravy-stomping boots.”

In addition to the stirring mural, Morningside branch boasted a wealth of artwork: photographs, watercolours, and oils. Two of my favourites were Adam Hussain’s tall bird and Evette Forde’s abstract piece.

Not only was Morningside art-friendly, but the ceiling, windows, and window seats were artistically pleasing. Even the long wooden table attached to the north wall was lovely in my sight. On the day of my first visit, every spot was taken — a row of laptops glinting in the sun.

I did not initially resonate with the giant wooden oval that hovered mid-ceiling. Likely it was designed to highlight the Children’s area below and its carpet: stripes of brick red, green, blue, and an orange block.

Nevertheless, I am beholden to the wooden feature, for it led me to the lively book covers shown below: kittens playing tennis under a Tamil title, an Urdu-English tale about fortunate corn, and a French story about a grandfather’s maple syrup business. Outside the purview of the elevated oval, the Adult multilingual section had Tamil materials and Hindi DVD’s but nothing in French or Urdu.

All in all, Morningside Library’s open spirit of learning was reflected in its books, paintings, and window seats. At a time when the city budget is being debated, attacked and defended, a library like Morningside exemplifies what truly matters: people over politics, books over tax-cuts, and beauty over pettifoggery.

This bookmark celebrates the branch head of Bayview Library, Jerry Lomoro, who spoke with me on the phone before my visit in 2011. The bookmark’s muse kindly took me under his wing when I arrived on site; he offered me tea, gave me a visitor’s badge, and told me about Bayview’s impressive circulation numbers (372,036 in 2010).

While he chatted with me, Jerry tidied up the remains of the Tea and Books event, which had just finished. It had actually been the debut of the group, and more than a dozen patrons, mostly seniors, had gathered in front of the library’s only windows to discuss Writing in the Age of Silence.

The Tea and Books elderly participants represented a traditional demographic in the library’s history.  Jerry said, “Bayview used to be pretty homogeneous, mainly seniors, Jewish or WASPy, but now we have more immigrant families.” He attributed the greater diversity to the construction of nearby condominiums in recent years, which has attracted new Canadian families. “Last summer (2010) we had 80 kids in our reading program.”

The theme of that’s summer reading program was Destination Jungle, and one of the 80 children had illustrated this fun jungle scene with an alligator gliding down a waterfall. Almost a year later, intrepid yet patient giraffes were still awaiting their turn to go down the falls.

I enjoyed the 2011 bookmark contest display, which had yielded the portrait of Jerry above. One child who was more inspired by jungle animals than branch head librarians had drawn this cheerful (yet comparatively risk-adverse) giraffe.

Inspiration was also present in the interactive decor of Bayview’s Children’s Section. Tinted translucent circles that demarcate the north side of the area promote playfulness and creativity. For example, Jerry told me that kids often peer at each other through the circles and play games with them. Library design that engages patrons is not just an abstract concept at Bayview!

I loved how there was a deepening of the space as I walked towards the north wall. Carpeted steps brought me lower, as if the lobby and lounge comprised the deck of a large pool and the steps took me down into the water.

There was even a handrail to help patrons transition into the pool of children’s books at the centre of the branch. And the multi-coloured steps turned the ordinary act of descending stairs into something extraordinary.

Around the corner from the kid’s area was a very pleasing nook. It was the kind of place that made me want to do some homework, any homework. Alas, I didn’t have any, so I had to make do with taking pictures of books. Even though Bayview is small, it has respectable Chinese, Korean, and French collections, so I had plenty of material to choose from.

The image of a garden dance brings this post to a close, but I must not leave without sending a big Thank You to Jerry and the other Bayview Library staff (especially Norm) for making me feel so welcome at this bustling yet restful branch. Each of you deserve a joyful bookmark portrait in your honour!

The first time I visited Cliffcrest Library was back in 2007. When I showed up at Cliffcrest Plaza for a second visit in 2010, I was surprised to see that this storefront branch had scooted over from 2977 Kingston Road to 3017 Kingston Road.

When I saw Cliffcrest’s 2010 incarnation, I regretted having missed the opening celebration in April 2008. Nevertheless, it was worth the wait to witness the transformation of a formerly drab library into a fabulous one!

Sharing my enthusiasm for the renovation, the branch head mentioned that the dramatic improvements had drawn a lot more youth to the facility. Sure enough, the L-shaped banquette in the northeast corner was fully occupied by web-browsing teens in the 3017 Kingston Road location.

In addition to youth patrons on the bench seating, Cliffcrest was populated by Seniors reading newspapers and using the computers in addition to families searching for books and DVD’s. For background music, one child kept crowing “cockle-doodle-doo!” followed by monster growls.

Unfazed by the growls, I enjoyed the cheerful greens and blues as well as the sunniness that filled this one-room branch. With only a parking lot to gaze upon, it was helpful to have decor that symbolized the natural beauties (including a real lakeside cliff!) not far away.

The library was so home-like and comfortable that it was tempting to lounge there for a long time. In fact, I ended up losing a long-term sitting competition with another patron on the banquette pictured above.

It all started with my silent wish to take a picture of the banquette’s entire length. Not intuiting this wish, my bench rival camped out on its east side from 11:30 to 1:00, at which time I had to leave for work. It didn’t feel right to ask her to move, and I was both impressed and exasperated by her sitting power.

Around the corner from the contested banquette was an eclectic collection of stuffed animals. A frog and a puma were having some boundary issues, but the rest of the creatures were sharing the space peacefully. A shark and a bear were getting along just fine, as were a parrot and a three-headed dragon.

Most of Cliffcrest’s open-facing shelving (earning it the title of TPL‘s first “browsing branch”) didn’t contain multilingual material, but its children’s section had a small French collection. I borrowed the book seen below because I liked the exuberant cover art and the opportunity to practice reading in French.

Finally, a few steps away from the children’s section was the program room. It contained funky tiling, a Historical Highlights display, and some nature photography by Ann Brokelman.

Upon arrival at the library few hours earlier, I had expected to find the same tired 1970’s strip-mall facility that I’d seen in 2007. The plaza remains dreary, but it now flaunts a colourful jewel: a rejuvenated Cliffcrest Library!

I first visited Goldhawk Park in 2009, and my original write-up included Steeles and Bridlewood branches as well. This time I’d like Goldhawk Park to have its own post. It deserves it!

Goldhawk Park’s most salient attribute is its restful park setting, and I loved how the library’s wide windows made the most of the views, especially when paper snowflakes accessorized the panes in winter.

In addition to the window art, I was impressed by a group of elderly T’ai Chi devotees who were performing liquid moves in a courtyard on the north side of the library. Not to be outdone, the indoor seniors were equally committed to constructive activities. For instance, I noticed one man reading a newspaper with a large magnifying glass, soaking up the sun beside a window.

While the morning sun warmed the backs of mature readers, it created scattered lattice shadows everywhere I looked. A quiet library transformed into a solar gallery!

Even the books seemed brighter, and I enjoyed selecting volumes to showcase Goldhawk Park’s multilingual collection.

My second and third visits to this calming branch felt like a celebration of sunshine! Thank you, Goldhawk Park, for your light, your trees, your snowflakes, and your peace!

Located on the left side of a walkway leading to the mall, Steeles Library was very compact, and the homey impression created by its lime green walls was taken up a notch by the presence of several stuffed creatures on top of a high shelf: a gorilla, Tweety Bird, and Marvin the Martian.

These stuffed entities lined the south wall of the library, not far from a reading corner for youngsters. A padded bench along the east wall had been placed under a bank of windows overlooking the covered walkway. This bench seemed ideal for small readers with big imaginations. Sheltered below eye level, they could read without being detected by the mall shoppers who bustle back and forth outside. “Heh heh!” a thought bubble might say, “I’m reading here and you don’t know it!”

Despite Steeles’ limited size, it was possible to find areas of expansiveness, including some restful views of trees and parkland from the north windows. I even saw a bird on a branch!

The program room floor was a carpet of stars and planets, a reminder of the limitless world of creativity contained in books. Where else could a cat share a swing with birds or a frog dress up like a tourist?

As I prepared to leave the library, I took a moment to admire how busy the library was at 10:30 on a Friday morning. Nearly every chair was occupied by a reader, and it made me happy to see so many folks consuming words instead of mall-products.

Steps away from the exit, a diagonal length of bike rack pointed the way to some open recreational land behind the mall. I loved how the same sense of openness and possibility filled the deceptively small confines of Steeles Library!

When I pulled into the Agincourt Library parking lot at ten o’clock in the morning, almost all of its 85 spaces were taken, and as I walked through the branch, I observed that the interior was also densely populated. In my travels, I came across only two free tables, even witnessing a 30-second transfer between the vacating of a study carrel and the next occupant rushing in to claim the space

In addition to Agincourt’s impressive rate of usage, I noticed a lot of positive changes since the 2009 renovation. When I complimented the Branch Head on it, she said the branch looked more open now. Open was an apt word to describe the circular atrium that offered a view of the second floor and the interior of a pyramid at the apex of the building.

Another round structure filled the interior of a short turret in the Children’s area. Two tiers of cushioned seating in a horseshoe shape made for a magical and comfortable storytelling theatre.

I was also taken by the sight of jungle animal cutouts on the wall and the sound of voices singing Alouette in the nearby program room.The song’s notes lilted from the open door of the program room, spilling cheer into the corridor. As I passed by, I caught a quick impression of rainbow mats, a large screen with a film playing, and a lot of lively family interaction. One caregiver was in the hall with a baby who was delighting in a row of silver hangers. As he played them like a xylophone with his hands, he laughed in response to their rattling chimes.

From the hanger studio, I walked over to the stairway to the upper level. I loved its grandeur and the way the perspective narrowed to a focal triangle at the top. Was it the base of an ancient temple or an urban library surrounded by grey buildings?

Once I climbed the steps, the sturdy learning centre grounded me, as did the murmuring of study groups and discreet slurpings from McDonald’s coffee cups and thermos flasks. I wondered if the patrons sitting cheek by jowl lived in the blocks of high rises I could glimpse from the windows. From the manner in which many folks had camped out with bags, laptops, drinks, and mending piles, it seemed as though they were creating a temporary home away from home.

One downside of Agincourt’s popularity was that the Teen Area was serving as an overflow basin for patrons who couldn’t find an available patch of Wi-fi real estate. I worried that laptop-toting adults were crowding out real teens from their library space. While visiting other branches, I’ve witnessed grown-ups being shooed out of teen zones after school hours, so I hope the same practice happens here.

Before I left Agincourt, I took some time to admire the astonishing range of languages at this district library: Arabic, Chinese, French, Hindi, Italian, Japanese, Korean, Spanish, Tagalog, Tamil, and Urdu. I also paused to study a row of acrylic paintings by Daniel Wilkes. My favourite was Der wold und sein Nordlicht (The Wolf and his Northern Lights), especially because the Northern Lights belonged to the wolf.

Finally, I returned to the parking lot and gazed at the iron structure over the entryway. It resembled a pull-out bed on a railway carriage, perhaps a symbol of the library’s role as a second home for citizens of a megalopolis. With so many hospitable facilities on offer, Agincourt has undoubtedly earned its remarkable popularity.

A large district branch near Lawrence and Bathurst, Barbara Frum Library honours the famed CBC broadcaster and journalist who died of leukemia shortly before the library opened in 1992.

Barbara Frum’s library impressed me with its comfortable elegance, a composite of palm fronds, floral vine diamonds, high windows, and soaring ceilings. There were signs of wear and tear, such as graffiti in the study rooms, but it must be a challenge to keep such a large and busy branch in perfect condition.

I loved the dignified staircases to the second floor and third floors. The landing provided a grand perspective of the temple-like columns beside the main entrance.

The columned lounge on the east wing of the main level wowed me with its expansiveness and sweepingly high walls.

The Children’s Area in west wing did not disappoint either. I was especially charmed by a semi-circular window bench on the north wall. An informal puppet show must have recently taken place there, for a lone cow puppet lay discarded on the windowsill.

Whimsical decor prevailed in the Children’s Area, as manifested in tabletops with eyeballs in a dark forest and hand-painted chairs that invited sitters’ wrists to rest on flowers.

In addition to a playful spirit, the west wing housed a large multilingual collection that included French, Hebrew, Hungarian, Russian, Tagalog, Chinese, Somali, and Yiddish.

The main level of the branch is also home to the Jewish Mosaic Collection, which contains materials on “anti-Semitism, the Holocaust, Jewish biographies, music, Kosher cooking and literature” (TPL website on the JMC).

Thank you, Barbara Frum Library, for offering knowledge, classiness, palms, and quirky furniture, all of which help celebrate the memory of a Canadian media icon.

Trowell Avenue ranks high on my list of pleasing street names, and the charm of Evelyn Gregory Library lived up to its address. A stand-alone building with a low roof, big trees on the lawn, a large rock, and a picnic bench, it blended well with its residential surroundings. In this respect, Evelyn Gregory reminded me of Bendale, Victoria Village, and Mimico Centennial branches.

Completed in 1968, Evelyn Gregory’s interior also conveyed a domestic vibe. Its central checkout area had a warm brick wall behind it, which complemented the low ceiling and informal atmosphere. The patrons seemed right at home, which was confirmed when I overheard a librarian asking an elderly gentleman if he had enjoyed his holiday.

To the left of the staff’s friendly bailiwick was the Teens and Children’s Zone. The south wall of this section contained a large window next to group of trees, greenish light pushing through the canopy. While I was gazing out the window, a ghoulish scream made me jump. I swiveled to my left and saw a grayish-green zombie face on a nearby computer screen.

Composure restored, I walked to the west wall to study a mural that looked several decades old. Against a pale blue background, kids were sledding, rollerskating, building sand castles, playing leapfrog, and blowing bubbles.

The east side of the library lacked murals, but there were inviting carpeted ledges that jutted out from the base of two sets of wide windows. The ledge was too narrow to be an out-and-out bench, but there was just enough room to accommodate patrons with a resolve to perch.

One young reader had snagged the coveted corner where the two ledges met to form a right angle. This spot afforded a more secure surface from which to lean back against the warm glass and fall into the pages of a book. (On my second visit to the branch in 2012, I was disappointed to see signs that banned ledge-sitting).

Near the popular reading corner, tall shelves were filled with non-fiction materials, including Spanish, Portuguese, and ESL offerings. A few shelves away, Evelyn Gregory’s DVD collection was especially robust, and I quickly found a good movie for later that evening. Bidding the branch farewell, I checked out The Secret Life of Bees and returned to the shaded sidewalks of Trowell Avenue.

Like its sister branches, Wychwood (1916) and Beaches (1916), the interior of Carnegie-funded High Park Library boasts a high timbered ceiling on the second floor. Its Edwardian dignity creates a calm, even sanctified atmosphere; one of the librarians told me that patrons often ask if the building used to be a church. At Christmas time, High Park’s spiritual character is highlighted by carolers who find a natural perch on the minstrel gallery on the east side, projecting their voices into the depths of space.

On my first visit, I trotted up the steps to the singing platform, glorying in the perspective it provided. Standing on this interior balcony, I could take in the entire south wing of the upper level.

I enjoyed looking at the dark brown timbers, the central stripe of orange paint, the stone hearth, and the painting above it. From this elevated roost, I could imagine the thousands of thoughts, from the dullest to the most sublime, which have floated in the ether above readers’ heads for almost a century. Once upon a time, gentlemen in cravats and cuff links composed purple poems to ladies with puffed sleeves, the soaring ceiling a container for daydreams.

I appreciated the solitude of the lofty gallery, the way it provided a place apart to study and think. When I returned to the second floor proper, I discovered another nook along the south wall. This alcove held the Jobs and Literacy collection and a hopeful skylight, the perfect spot to set goals for personal and professional development.

After tilting my head back for a serious bout of window-gazing, I walked to the north wing, only to find more windows to appreciate, especially the large one facing the side of Emmanuel Howard Park United Church. The Teen corner (with its bench shaped like a corner of a picture frame) had an air of openness thanks to the high windows that overlooked the greenery below.

The expansiveness of the upper floor gave way to a cozier lower level, which was primarily devoted to children’s materials. The Kid’s Section was supervised by a friendly whale in mid-leap who hung suspended from a library ceiling. Despite its amiable expression, vexing this marine mammal would be inadvisable, especially as it guards access to the air conditioning unit.

To the right of the whale was a carpeted reading theatre. The stage was empty on the afternoon of my visit, but it was heartening to see a family gathered around a nearby low table. As a father read a story about pigs to his young daughter, I recalled the sound of my dad’s voice when he used to read The Little Engine that Could, Green Eggs and Ham, and The Tale of Peter Rabbit.

Before taking leave of this classy and historic branch, I silently gave thanks for all the caregivers who take the time to read to children and cultivate a love of words, books, and libraries.

From my seat at a wooden table in the north wing of Dufferin/St. Clair Library (1921), I can see books in Italian, Portuguese, and Spanish on the shelves to the right. On my left, four square columns in grooved wood separate me from the large central hall, location of the famous Reid and MCarthy mural (1925-32).

Confined to a painted arch, the panel entitled “Community” is most visible from my perspective. In this tableau, robed figures recline on boulders and lean against trees. Their receptive poses seem ideal for absorbing wisdom from their spiritual leader, a tall man with a beige jacket draped over his shoulders. His slack sleeves flap as he stands with a beige book in his hands, and lack of eye contact has made his audience inattentive.

More than static stoicism of the figures, it is the mural’s greens and browns that draw me into the next room to take a closer look at the entire piece. The mural’s panels cover the four walls of the original main room of Earl’s Court Library (1921), presenting a total of ten arches that frame different scenes: Community, Nature Study (seekers draped on large stones that ring a delicious pool of water), The Story Hour, The Family, Philosophy, and forest scenes with square windows gleaming between tree trunks.

In the four corners of the room, torches with scrolls wrapped around their bases fill the spaces between the panels’ arches. The scrolls bear the names of Tennyson, Carlyle, Chaucer, Shakespeare, Dickens, Scott, Kipling, and Barrie (echoing the names on the stained glass windows at Weston Library).

On the north and south walls, the spandrels contain blank open books with quill pens placed diagonally across them. More torches appear, this time with scrolls inscribed with Science, Art, History, Biography, Romance, Adventure, Religion, and Philosophy.

On the whole, I like the mural’s classical yet down-home sensibility, and I’m very glad the library decided to restore it. My only hesitation concerns the historical context of the figures’ clothing. Some of the outfits reference the toga, but others are more generic shapeless garments suitable for outdoor lounging in a variety of eras. Are the mural’s inhabitants ancient Greeks or mythical Canadians discussing literature in the bush? As long as everybody keeps reading and learning, perhaps the answer is not important.

Turning my attention from the mural’s mysteries, I find the Teen’s Section in a corner room off the main hall behind the checkout desk. Two benches that meet at a right angle compose a study nook, complete with table. There’s also a row of computers, a listening station equipped with headphones, and a nearby window bench.

Moving to the south wing, the Children’s Area is equally well-appointed, with wide, high windows, comfortable benches, and bright walls in lime green and dark purple. Even the bookshelves manage to be cheerful and fun; circular mirrors attached to their sides allow very young children to regard their reflections. Overhead, an amiable wooden dragon offers his tail as a frame for a KidsStop sign. The majority of the dragon’s body lies flush against the wall, but its tail juts into space, effectively folding the creature in half.

Below the wall-dragon is a magical entryway made of crossed wooden arches resembling a cathedral vault. The path under the arches leads to the KidsStop playroom which boasts a wooden puppet theatre and a large wooden dragon in the centre. On the dragon’s flanks hang magnetic letters, a colour wheel, a spin-a-story game, and a lever to press for the song “Heads, Shoulders, Knees, and Toes.”

Against two walls, a low wrap-around bench stores books underneath its seat, and a giant Read to Your Bunny book is attached to another wall for a stand-and-read experience. Opposite the arched entryway at floor level is a shadow box framed by a wavy red border. The box contains a phone that connects to Dial-a-Story, a library service that allows kids to listen to stories in a variety of languages.

Not to be outdone by the main hall, the playroom (formerly called the Children’s Clubroom) has its own recently restored mural, which was painted by Doris McCarthy in 1932.

Cinderella dominates the west wall, and in her loose-fitting gown she looks like an effervescent flapper, more apt to do the Charleston than waltz round a ballroom. The prince is handsome, but the gold nodules on his crown appear to have unnerved his love interest.

The south wall belongs to Jack and the Beanstalk. In this section, Jack’s mother is trying to dissuade him from climbing the stalk, even though the giant doesn’t look very intimidating in cross-gartered slippers. There’s also a diaphanous fairy with wings who bends over a window. With the window frame to support her upper body weight, her toes are free to dangle in a flower bed.

Jack the Giant Killer, Goldilocks and the Three Bears, Hansel and Gretel, and Puss-n-Boots occupy the east wall, where Mama Bear’s apron and a candy cane chimney stand out as interesting details. In contrast, Jack’s sword and the drop of blood oozing from the giant’s dead mouth make for disconcerting viewing.

The north wall is devoted to Little Red Riding Hood. In these panels, instructions are given by the mother and forgotten by the daughter, which results in a dangerous encounter. However, the wolf looks so outrageously comfy in his stolen pink nightgown and cap, he seems more likely to drift off into a deep sleep than gobble up a red-caped flibbertigibbet. (Perhaps Doris McCarthy painted the wolf to look so cuddly to avoid frightening very small library patrons).

Surveying all four walls, I admire the imaginative system of borders that unifies the entire composition. The borders also ground the murals in the natural world; the top border contains rows of owls with leafy vines separating each bird while the side borders feature squirrels instead.

After passing back under the arches, I return to the main part of the south wing, noting a Preschool Lounge with a long window bench, computers, and circular tables with plastic chairs.

My final stop is the Earl’s Court Room, a combination study hall, community meeting room, and local history repository. As I gaze at old photographs of Earl’s Court, I reflect on what I admire about this historic yet colourful branch: the braided green of the central mural’s borders, the pink and white quilt of the youngest bear, and the gold of the prince’s playful crown.

On my first visit to Hillcrest Library in 2009, I was impressed by the lovely green spaces that surrounded it and how enthusiastically it celebrated Easter. The lobby showcased a holiday display on three shelves behind a glass screen.

Egg-blessed nests rested near stuffed rabbits who were kitted out with straw hats and carrot accessories. One bunny exuded pastel cool with pink spectacles and a purple felt hat with holes for his ears to flop through. Nearby, other rabbits could be seen wielding a wheelbarrow and gardening with a shovel. Framing the dynamic mammals were two large Easter baskets overflowing with chicks, eggs, grass, lilies, and yet more bunnies.

My second visit to Hillcrest fell in autumn instead of spring, but the harvest display was equally effective. I liked how the wheelbarrow once pushed by a rabbit had resurfaced to serve as a nut, corn, and pumpkin transporter for a fuzzy squirrel.

Moving into the library proper, I surveyed the large square room of this pleasant neighbourhood branch. Hillcrest’s size, layout, and atmosphere were very similar to those of Pleasant View, Elmbrook Park, and Goldhawk Park branches.

In addition to a comprehensive selection of fiction and non-fiction, Hillcrest Library had a solid ESL section, from which I selected an abridged reader about The Beatles for my class. Sizable French and Chinese collections were present, and I noticed Persian books on the shelves during my second visit.

In the northeast corner of the room, a window bench invited sun-loving readers to lounge for a spell by the broad windows. I didn’t see a bench in 2012, but the chairs in front of the windows were very popular. Fifteen minutes after opening time, every sun-chair had a claimant.

A few steps away from the lounge in the southwest corner was a shelf that contained lost and found items. On my 2015 visit, I was struck by the rich textures of the hats and scarves left behind, and I thought they made fun subjects for a photo shoot. The toque with a lime-green smiley face seemed especially personable.

One last distinctive Hillcrest detail was a satellite mobile that dangled from the ceiling near the checkout desk. The satellite was shaped like a jack, and its many limbs came in purple, green, yellow, blue, and pink. Purple balls jutted from the ends of each jack-extension.

Gazing at the psychedelic satellite was an excellent diversion while waiting in line, and in a cosmic second I was a book richer thanks to Hillcrest Library.

Guildwood Library bides in a strip mall, inhabiting a storefront that faces the main strip. Establishments across from the library include Sunny’s Bar and Restaurant and a dry cleaning facility that recycles metal hangers.

While homey, Guildwood is not noted for style, flair, or a dynamic colour scheme. However, during my second visit I noticed furniture improvements, especially the armchairs beside the storefront windows. I liked how the sunlight filtered through their wicker backs.

I also admired the homemade Christmas ornaments that I saw in 2011. Children had decorated paper cutouts of hot chocolate mugs, toques, snowflakes, skates, and snowmen, which were then strung from the ceiling in the Children’s Area.

Although the heap of fabric gift bags arranged on a shelf with an orangutan was festive, the only detail that puzzled me was the Santa figure’s remarkable lack of jolliness. Despite the regulation suit, he seemed far too young and stern to play the part of old Saint Nick.

With an undeniably grouchy expression, he looked more like a 19th century Prussian soldier than the embodiment of Yuletide cheer. I also found the hands encased in pantyhose off-putting.

Dwelling no further on Santa’s shortcomings, let me return to the many positive aspects of Guildwood branch. Testifying to its status as an essential neighbourhood resource, the library was fully occupied during my two visits, and the service users were from a mix of generations and backgrounds.

In addition to its success at attracting patrons, Guildwood features two notable romance titles: Warm and Willing and Criminally Handsome. While it may be a stretch to describe Guildwood as handsome, it is certainly a welcome source of community warmth in an otherwise bland strip mall.

On my first sojourn to Queen and Saulter Library, I walked right past it after I disembarked from the streetcar on Queen East. Doubling back, I looked up at a massive Neoclassical building in light brown, marvelling at its bulk and scale. Standing on the sidewalk in an overt display of gawk, I read an inscription about the history of 765 Queen Street East.

Designed by E. J. Lennox, the building was completed in 1913. Huge stone columns testified to its seriousness of purpose, which befitted an edifice that served as Postal Station G from 1913 to 1975. In 1980, Queen and Saulter Library became the new occupant of this substantial and venerable structure.

Heavy wooden doors that opened to reveal a second entrance confirmed the impression of gravity, as did the marble floor and check-out counter. However, the high windows brought dramatic life to the interior, offsetting the more subdued colours of the exterior and entryway.

To further soften the formality, pots of plants populated the broad windowsills, a glass case displayed cat figurines, and a belled toy dragon inhabited a ledge.

Small tapestries illustrating nursery rhymes and fairy tales warmed the south wall of the library, including one in which a wolf lurked in a fabric valley, his eyes focused on the top of a hill where a little pig was holding his ground in an arc of cloth.

On more recent visits to the library, I noticed that the tapestries had been taken down. Nevertheless, the welcoming character of Queen and Saulter remained as striking as ever, making me thankful that this old building still stands tall and serves the community as it has for over a century.

Catherine’s Toronto Public Library Pilgrimage:

Photos of 100 Branches

July-August  2015

at North York Central Library, Toronto

Second Floor, West Side of Atrium

North York Central Library

Artist Statement:

I began visiting and blogging about each branch in the TPL network in 2007 and taught myself digital photography along the journey. The 100 photos in this exhibit celebrate the beauty, diversity, and spirit of community service that I discovered on a pilgrimage through an extraordinary library system. (If you’d like to hear more about the origins of the project, please check out this short radio interview with CBC’s Matt Galloway).

Artist Biography:

Since 2007, I have been developing a diverse portfolio of collage, mixed-media, encaustic, textile, and photographic work. In 2011, I exhibited “Maps of Loss: Rivers, Ruins, and Grief” at Richview Library, which was followed by “Mosaic Dream Waves” at Runnymede branch in 2013. Last August, the Tate Gallery in London, England selected my collage “Jenny’s Purple Tuftscape” to be part of a Collage and Texture digital display.

I love teaching collage workshops at libraries, studios, and at Centennial College. I have also enjoyed enriching my art practice through weekend and evening classes at OCAD (encaustic) and the Toronto School of Art (drawing and collage).

Your attendance at this exhibit would be cause for dancing delight!

Tall pylons and chimney stacks near Bathurst and Finch provided the backdrop to Centennial Library, which stood in front of the Herbert H. Carnegie Centennial Centre, a recreational facility.

Beside the library’s entrance was a leggy sculpture by Ron Baird that I studied before entering a large square room with a central dividing wall that partly bisected the room.

Windows comprised the majority of the library’s south-facing wall, and plenty of reading chairs invited patrons to take advantage of this open and well-illuminated space.

On the first Saturday that I visited Centennial, every possible reading perch was occupied by patrons concentrating on their thoughts, goals, and lessons.

Books in French, Hebrew, Russian, Korean, Tagalog, and English offered opportunities for mental enrichment and self-improvement. And for those in search of lighter reading, the Romance section had Desert Ice Daddy and The Cowboy Wants a Baby.

The Children’s Area was on the west side of the central dividing wall and boasted a colourful spring scene made from paper. A long tree branch stretched across part of the west wall and presented its cherry blossoms to the viewer. A paper plate drenched in yellow served as the sun, and the cherry branch arched over a large mushroom that in turn sheltered a yellow bird under its eave.

I enjoyed Centennial’s unpretentious cheeriness, and it struck me as a down-to-earth branch that provides helpful services to patrons who live in the surrounding high rise apartments. For example, on my second visit, I noticed more than a dozen clients had lined up before opening time on a Saturday to take advantage of free MAP passes. By ten past nine, the passes for Ontario Science Centre and Royal Ontario Museum had been snatched up.

Even though I didn’t try for museum pass on that visit, I was grateful for the books and CD’s that Centennial Library lent me. Tucking the materials in a bag, I returned to the parking lot in the shadow of a mystically-looming Hydro pylon. And that was the end of my 73rd library visit!

When I called on Spadina Library in 2011 with my camera, it was fortunate that the branch was uncrowded, for I was able to gaze at dream catchers, artwork, and the extensive Native Peoples Collection without annoying patrons who might have needed to navigate around me.

As a viewer taking her time to look around carefully, I appreciated the diversity of the First Nations, Inuit and nature-themed objects that rested on shelves and hung suspended in the air.

For example, two hand puppets with fur-lined parkas stood a shelf away from a miniature canoe woven from plant fibres. A flamingo marionette hung next to a striking assortment of dream catchers that kept aerial company with a flying wooden duck.

Closer to the ground, librarians had created a path to the Children’s Collection by laying down animal tracks on circles of blue, green, and yellow paper. The book-loving animals that had imprinted their paws and hooves on the carpet included bears, raccoons, and deer.

Animal themes also animated the collection of Eleanor Kanasawe’s artwork on the walls. Placed overhead at well-spaced intervals were striking portraits of owls, spirit fish, turtles, baby robins, a bear reaching for a bee hive, a frog catching flies, a red-winged blackbird, a squirrel, a cricket, a raccoon, and a porcupine. I loved the way each piece embodied stand-alone integrity while simultaneously remaining part of an integrated whole.

Moving down the walls from art to books, the Native People’s Collection included novels and non-fiction material about culture, art, religion, history, and languages (plus DVD’s and videos on these subjects). The reference shelves displayed dictionaries in Cree, Micmac, Mohawk, Anishinaabe, Métis Cree, and Chippewa.

Although Spadina Library’s multilingual collection was small, it did contain language kits for most of the languages listed above, as well as Tlingit, Cherokee, Persian, French, Spanish, Vietnamese, Somali, and Hungarian. Crouching on the floor to study the kits, the plastic boxes seemed hopeful, holding the promise of travel and communicative adventure.

Inspired by the possibilities of new words and new perspectives, I closed my notebook and made tracks to Spadina subway station.