Ah, the dreaded “keyword.”
Like the myriad passwords that buzz like flies around twenty-first century heads, the keyword — with or without a hashtag fronting it — must be harnessed during even the most menial of Facebook or Pinterest tasks and, of course, whilst conducting scholarly research. A wrong word choice and one can be led down the garden path.
Which begs the question: what magical keywords might unlock an architect’s heart so that they might produce an interior one would never want to leave? Could the words be vague? “Light,” “Meditative,” “Open”? Or do they need to be more specific? “Open back wall to allow light,” “A room without clutter so I can think,” and “Kitchen and family room to flow into each other”?
While architects Claudia Bader and Timothy Mitanidis of Toronto-based Creative Union Network do ask for keywords on the two-page questionnaire they hand to new clients, they also don’t mind a “long gestation” period: “Working through the ideas, discussing them, coming up with concepts, changing our minds [and] circumstances changing,” says the soft-spoken, salt-and-pepper bearded Mitanidis.
Mitanidis is thinking of a house he and wife/business partner Bader designed for Shelley Simmons and Paul Haley in Toronto’s Little Portugal neighbourhood. Simmons, a video game innovator, was able to produce multiple sketches — a visual wish list rather than a (key)wordy one — of what she wanted her semi-detached house to look like, and, with the onset of the pandemic and materials delays, there was ample time for back-and-forth.
Keywords, however, tend to describe a macro view: no keyword could ever account for the light-filled spot in Adrian Myers’ and Laura Salisbury’s house designed specifically so Myers’s mother can sit and watch her son cook. “We spent the whole pandemic just hating our house,” laughs Salisbury of the Junction Triangle detached home she shares with Myers and their young son.
Whether using keywords, conversations or sketches, Creative Union has a knack for reshaping old, outdated-and-cramped Toronto interiors into wide-open, modern living miracles. A wasted corridor morphs into usable space which handles circulation from time to time; an overall layout is honed and refined to the millimeter; and a problematic constraint is wrestled into an opportunity. Yet rather than the let-down of revealing every design move right from the front door, there are still corners to turn, half-walls to shield, and hidden vignettes to keep visitors (and owners) delighted rather than dejected. “It’s always a surprise,” confirms Myers. “Every morning, I wake up and walk out there and [I’m] in this new space.”
A Wider World View
Perhaps Europe has something to do with their space planning expertise. Born in Frankfurt, Germany, Bader, 50, received her diploma in architectural drafting at Philipp-Holzmann-Schule in 1998 before an exchange program at Toronto Metropolitan University (then Ryerson) led her to her future husband. The pair then embarked on an educational journey to Germany together: at the Frankfurt University of Applied Sciences, Bader got her degree while the Toronto-born Mitanidis, 48, worked toward a postgraduate degree in conceptual architectural design.
While Bader continued to hone her skills in Frankfurt on projects as varied as the Ministry of Oil for the government of Iran and school cafeterias for the German government, by the mid-2000s Mitanidis was off to work for UNStudio in Amsterdam. There, he worked on a sustainable headquarters for a biotech company and a prize-winning building for the Dutch Ministry of Revenue. And, if that weren’t enough, the couple “renovated three old houses in Greece while spending summer breaks there,” says Bader.
Moving permanently to Toronto in 2007, Bader crafted private residences — one the complex conversion of an old industrial building — and community centres at a few different firms while Mitanidis immersed himself in the intricacies of people- and machinery-moving at SGA-IBI Group, designers of transit stations for Metrolinx and the Toronto Transit Commission. Once the Creative Union Network shingle was hung between 2012 and 2013, that macro world view could be applied to the microcosm of Toronto’s old Victorian and Edwardian housing stock.
Portugal Village House I
Before Shelley Simmons and Paul Haley put their heads together with Creative Union, their 2,200-sq.-ft. bay-and-gable, like most Victorian homes, suffered from a light deficit mid-way through the main floor. There were pokey bits, too, such as a raised, boxy, modern fireplace jutting into the living space, which made for awkward circulation patterns. And while the kitchen was nice, the island was too large for the narrow house, and there was an orphaned cabinet off to one side. There was talk, too, of the need for an adults-only floor with principal bedroom and an indulgent ensuite.
After that aforementioned “gestation” period, the couple broke ground in 2021 and were able to move in 14 months later (they waited six months for appliances). While Creative Union has respected the home’s heritage vis-à-vis crown moulding and an orderly geometry of uses, they’ve also added a few non-90-degree angles, curves in the drywall, and manipulated light penetration to produce a soothing, womb-like environment.
From the front door, the eye travels along a herringbone floor to an enormous glass door at rear, which looks onto the couple’s rental property. This unimpeded eye travel is made possible by a much more linear and logical kitchen with a smaller island. And while it might seem counterproductive to wall up a formerly spindled, heritage staircase, the lack of visual clutter also helps with light and flow. New handrails sport hidden lighting that illuminates both wall and treads. To illuminate the middle of the main floor, a skylight rains millions of photons from the new third floor adult’s area via a perforated metal staircase, which looks light-as-a-creampuff but, underfoot, feels sturdy-as-an-oak.
And speaking of light, the third floor welcomes it through both a meditative, triangular alcove under the building’s prominent gable and a tiny outdoor courtyard/balcony with fully glazed walls: “On these old, existing buildings, a lot of them are too close to the property line to introduce new windows,” says Mitanidis. “So with that little inset, it allows us to increase to a larger percentage [of glazing] on that wall.”
By moving his-and-hers sinks and closets into the middle portion of the open concept floor — a sort of hallway washing and dressing area — the small bathroom can accommodate a very large shower with a long bench, which peek-a-boos through a triangular window into the main space. A freestanding fireplace beside a wall-curve adds the perfect touch of indulgence. “For me, I really focus in it,” says homeowner Shelley Simmons of the third floor. “It’s like a Cone of Silence.”
Portugal Village House II
Portugal Village House II, another bay-n-gable, had been divided into a triplex, and Creative Union was tasked with giving it a rebirth as a single-family home. Again, the front portion was allowed to remain formal: a foyer and stair hall with crown moulding; and, in the two front rooms, picture frame moulding. But, after the traditional dining room, the main floor explodes into a light-filled festival of twenty-first century family life for a family of five and a dog.
Like with many Victorians, a lean-to rear shed — which blocked off all communication to the backyard — was jettisoned in favour of a massive amount of glazing. Curves in cabinets, on walls, a rounded, plush, royal blue sofa, the use of warm woods, and clever, boat-like storage keep the eye moving and interested. Upstairs, neutral tones and luxe finishes keep things restful.
Junction Triangle House
Adrian Myers’s and Laura Salisbury’s 2,800-sq.-ft. home near the railroad tracks — tracks that once transported livestock to the stockyards to the north — wasn’t quite a bay-and-gable, but being of similar vintage, it presented similar challenges. “There used to be a room outside of this, a mudroom that someone had built,” says Myers as he stands in the now generous foyer where a built-in, red upholstered couch can be spied through a screen. “I think there was a skunk that died underneath it, and that was the impetus for this project,” he laughs.
After removing the poorly-built addition to “reclaim” the original street-facing façade, the matter of circulation could be addressed, since the collection of narrow hallway, staircase, and small rooms didn’t meet the needs of the family. Placing a power room where the stair used to be, the couple decided on a full perforated metal stair — they’d toured the Simmons/Haley house and were smitten — in the middle of the floor.
Despite being a tried-and-true light penetration method, it was trickier this time since the house featured an apartment building-style light well that pinched available floor space. But fill it in, and the proximity to the neighbouring house would suck away most of that precious daylight. “We were standing here with a measuring tape since we were really worried about this space,” says Bader. “I think we did reduce the breakfast counter by an inch.”
And despite the kitchen’s L-shaped floor doubling as a corridor to carry the family to the sunken family room — Myers’s mom’s perch (to watch her son cook) is tucked between two cabinets just before the two-steps-down — there isn’t a lot of elbow jostling: “It’s more functional than I thought, even when people are gathered,” beams Myers.
To add an informal, 1970s recreation room feel to the sunken room, CU tricked the space out with exposed rafters and curved-wood wainscoting: “That idea [of] the height of the kitchen really frames the space,” says Mitanidis. On the second floor, to achieve “compression and expansion,” a mauve-painted, curved tunnel leads to their child’s bedroom (it has a tiny loft that pokes into the former attic space) and a home office.
Salisbury’s office is interesting. Reached by its own stair and occupying the highest point of the house, it’s a quirky oasis with its own deck. It also provides a home to Salisbury’s father’s old-fashioned desk chair (he was a professor at McGill), and her grandmother’s Québec farmhouse chair, needlepoint, and a spoon collection. “What are we going to do with these things that do not fit with a lot of what we’re doing in the house,” laughs Myers. “Let’s make a little, weird, British Cotswolds-y room.”
Whether retail space, loft, garden or laneway suite, the full renovation of a 1938 house (all things they’ve done), Creative Union Network sweats the small things — that are really big things — such as where to hide HVAC, plumbing and electrical. They choose celebratory moments of expensive tile or custom metalwork sparingly so as not to break the bank, and they encourage clients to incorporate colour and curves to avoid sterility. If this writer had to choose keywords to describe them? Thorough. Friendly. Adventurous.
As featured in the January-February 2026 issue of Canadian Interiors magazine.