The Model Hospital

Next time you’re in Queen Elizabeth Hospital, I encourage you to go and find the original architectural model of the building (right now it’s tucked in under the stairs that lead down from the main entrance to the cafeteria and paediatrics).

The model, of course, is of the hospital as it existed in the planning stages, leading up to its opening in 1982. Since construction, it has  evolved significantly, with the addition of an expanded emergency department, cancer treatment centre, and ambulatory care area.

My favourite element of its design are the bright yellow flourishes that punctuate the cladding. Here’s a photo I shot just last week, showing the Physical Medicine department from the outside:

Unfortunately the additions to the hospital since its original construction have not included these yellow elements, leading to a lack of architectural continuity. Perhaps each new architect has needed to put their own stamp on things? I miss the yellow on the new parts: they seem unadorned, naked.

Over the last 33 years I’ve been through myriad experiences in the hospital, both my own and with those I love. 

I’ve had my gallbladder replaced, my elbow replaced, four colonoscopies, an earphone tip removed from my ear. 

Olivia was born there, she had a button removed from her nose there, and we rushed her there when she had the croup. She went to appointments with her paediatrician, the same paediatrician who was in the delivery room when she was born, every six months until she was 16.

Catherine had several surgeries over the years, and then received six years of cancer treatment there; she died in the Palliative Care Centre next-door. 

My mother had a stroke, and received quick and miraculous treatment in the hospital.

I’ve had a lot of coffees from the coffee shop, a lot of cinnamon rolls from the hospital auxiliary. I’ve never ceased to be enlivened by the fantastic art collection. 

Despite all the ups and downs, the anxiety, the spending time at the intersection of life and death, I love the place dearly, and a lot of why I love it is because it has such a strong and welcoming sense of place.

The hospital was designed by the partners—in life and architecture—A.W. Cluff and P.J. Cluff.

When P.J.—Pamela—died in 2023, her obituary showed evidence of how it came to be that we ended up with a delightful building, as she was clearly a delightful person:

In 1956, Pamela started both a family and an architecture firm, which became A.W. Cluff and P.J. Cluff architects after Bill joined her — their first office was at Belsize and Yonge. With seemingly endless energy, she’d design buildings and attend client meetings by day, then race home to change diapers, tell stories, cook dinner, hand out crayons and books, arrange playdates and parties and teach us to play chess, make pies, or jitterbug. When you came to our house on Manor Road – kids, dog, cats, parakeet, hamster, rabbit, visitors — you never knew what to expect.

Pamela spent the majority of her career designing and renovating hospitals, clinics, nursing homes, special care units and group homes for the sick, elderly and disabled, believing that good design (and the artful use of color) improved everything. On her initiative, she became involved in accessibility design and fought to remove physical barriers – helping the City of Toronto establish wheelchair accessibility standards, the curb cut program and Wheeltrans service. International recognition of her work and research brought invitations to lecture in the U.S., Israel, South Africa, Egypt, and Korea.

A fellow of the Royal British Association of Architects and Royal Architectural Institute of Canada, Pamela published many articles and received many awards, including the Premiers Award and OAA DaVinci Award in 1985 for her contributions to the field. She was interested in the role architects could play in shaping policy, building codes and the built environment, using her creativity and talent to develop solutions for those who would otherwise be shut out or were unable to speak for themselves.

Pamela was a skilled mentor and teacher who enthusiastically shared her skills and ideas with many people over the years, some of whom kept in touch with her for decades. She also loved to share her many interests with friends and family. She was a talented painter, diver and swimmer, an avid reader, and life-long patron of the arts, her music collection spanned every genre. She loved to travel and spent many happy times in Northern California and Bermuda. She was always up for a lunch out, a trip to the theater or symphony, or an interesting chat over a properly-made cup of English tea.

There is is: “the artful use of color.” 

This is how we ended up with our yellow. 

How lucky we were.