I came to know the Hotel du Lac in Tunisia decades ago—long before brutalism was hyped by the recent acclaimed film. The theme had already been an instigating one for me, particularly since so many examples have proved to be absolute failures. But Hotel du Lac felt different. I’m fairly sure I first saw it in a movie, though I’ve never been able to confirm that memory.

It’s a bittersweet feeling. I’ve never been to Tunisia, and the building’s floor plan gymnastics would never pass the scrutiny of most of my clients. Yet there’s something magical about its unapologetically sculptural presence. And now, in just a few days, it may be gone.

Preservation is full of stories like this—memories forever lost. The old Toronto Star building. The original Penn Station in New York. Buildings erased that once shaped identity. There’s always a tension, and sometimes I envy the Japanese acceptance of impermanence and renewal.

I’m reminded of a massive development I once worked on in Toronto—forever delayed by City departments that wouldn’t talk to each other (sound familiar?). To this day, thousands of homes remain on the drawing board, in large part because of a warehouse.

That experience taught me a hard truth that many in our profession resist: with all respect to memory, to history, and to how difficult these decisions are… not every building is a Penn Station — or a Hotel du Lac.


Photo: David Vintiner