For months in 2011 and 2012 I walked by the 8-storey building at 45 Charles St. E., a strange geometric concrete office structure that stood out in a city where the rectangular box usually rules supreme. Completed in 1966, No. 45 was an early piece of local Brutalism, something we built a lot of around the GTA during the 1960s and ’70s. Quite unique, it was being torn down then to make way for the “Chaz” condo tower that is now under construction.

Some buildings can succumb to the wrecking ball in a matter of hours, but 45 did not go down without a fight. Each day I passed by only a little bit more had been nibbled away, until just the elevator core was left. Then it, too, fell.

We are a concrete city, laid sidewalk flat or skyscraper high. It’s our building material of choice and it comes in a few forms. Brutalism is a reference to the roughness of exposed concrete, from the French phrase “Béton brut” or raw concrete. Other concrete structures are smoother and lighter, like the midcentury modern apartments buildings that so many of us live in.

Architecture suffers from fashion cycles like clothes do, and though Brutalism and conspicuous concrete fell out of favour, both are being rediscovered, especially in the United Kingdom where a new appreciation is growing. Even the BBC will soon air a pair of documentaries called “Bunkers, Brutalism, Bloodymindedness: Concrete Poetry.”

The potential for poetry is a reason to love concrete; few building materials can be as sculptural. If the architect or artist imagines a shape, it can probably be formed in concrete. See the linear facade of the Medical Sciences Building at the University of Toronto, the sweeping apartment buildings architect Uno Prii designed for The Annex, or his five curved Exbury Towers along Jane St. south of Sheppard Ave. W. A glorious 1959 North York gem is the Beth David Synagogue, a sculpture with people inside.

The heavier stuff, Brutalism, is a harder sell. The easiest way to start a Toronto argument is to tell somebody you like Robarts Library at U of T, the concrete peacock that celebrated its 40th birthday last year. I’ve been spending a lot of time in Robarts over the past year, sometimes with the great map collection on the fifth floor, with floor-to-ceiling windows and great views in all directions. If I need less temptation to daydream, I’ll go higher up where there are fewer windows. Often called “Fort Book,” all that concrete keeps the books safe, away from the sun, and separates scholars from the noise and distractions outside. It does what a library should do; cocoon us so we can think.

The popular international tumblr blog, F**k Yeah Brutalism, often features buildings in Toronto (and Canada), and, for an entire week over the holidays, it showcased the original part of U of T’s Scarborough campus, completed in 1966. Buildings like that one remind me of hikes on the Niagara Escarpment, with its exposed rock faces, vast spaces and cosy nooks. Brutalist buildings often have wood accents inside on handrails, almost like trees. Why is natural “concrete” better than human made? Aren’t the Rocky Mountains the most Brutalist things of all?

Toronto’s in a great position for a concrete rediscovery as the city experienced so much growth after the war and built in this style. One day we may desire exposed concrete walls the way we now value exposed brick.

Shawn Micallef writes every Friday about where and how we live in the GTA. Wander the streets with him on Twitter @shawnmicallef

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