Recently, when Tiffany Shaw, principal of Edmonton-based Reimagine Gathering, an Indigenous-owned design studio, was asked to co-design five legal offices in British Columbia, she anticipated a challenge. Her client, the B.C. First Nations Justice Council (BCFNJC), wanted to create safe, welcoming spaces where diverse communities could not only access free services but also see themselves reflected in the design.
“Especially on the West Coast, the Haida formline type of graphics has come to be indicative of all B.C. Indigenous peoples,” says Shaw. “But there is a lot more variety. The way an Indigenous artist from the Okanagan region would represent themselves is extremely different from an artist from the coast. Even within a relatively small area, like the Lower Mainland, there are numerous regional differences.”
To Shaw, a citizen of the Métis Nation of Alberta, avoiding visual clichés and culturally inappropriate references was paramount. Her results in the stunning BCFN Justice Centres reflect a broader, burgeoning shift within Canadian design. A growing cohort of Indigenous creatives is asserting distinct cultural identities and insisting on specificity over pan-Indigenous generalizations or bland, non-descript modernism. Their output is striking in part because, while contemporary, it is not generic or the kind of thing that could be found in any big city around the world. Instead, it is deeply grounded in what makes their communities distinct: their singular art, history and languages.
Many of the BCFN Justice Centres are in relatively close proximity, all located in the southern part of the province: two on Vancouver Island (Nanaimo and Victoria), two in the Lower Mainland (Surrey and Vancouver), and one in the Okanagan (Kelowna). Despite this geographic clustering, no two share the same aesthetic. “They are all very contextual,” says Shaw. “Everything was curated to reflect the nations in the immediate vicinity, including the language on the signage. The signage in Victoria looks wildly different than in Surrey.”
In the Kelowna office, a copper tulle mat by Syilx artist Mariel Belanger hangs behind the reception desk. Traditionally, such mats were woven from reeds for a variety of domestic purposes, including floor coverings and tepee walls. Here, it is elevated with metal while quietly signalling to visitors that they are welcome and that this is a place where they can feel at home.
In Vancouver, where many clients are from Coast Salish nations, the decor takes a different direction. Local artists, including Mack Paul, Ocean Hyland and Austin Harry, referenced culturally significant animals such as owls, as well as Indigenous plants from the Lower Mainland, in patterns applied to front windows and glass partitions. Many of the motifs are taken from those found on traditional House Posts, hand-carved statuary used to greet new visitors and welcome old friends and family home.
Overall, 29 regional artists — many identified by Shaw’s colleague Tiffany Creyke, a design consultant and member of the Tahltan Nation — were brought on to outfit the offices. To Shaw, the artists were central to the project’s success. “They understood the context best [and] helped create unique identities,” she says. “More than a third of the budget went to supporting Indigenous artists. That’s another way this project has had a direct benefit for Indigenous communities.”
Several of the Justice Centres are housed in buildings with colonial undertones. The Nanaimo location occupies a former Canadian Bank of Commerce, a Classical Revival structure with Doric columns reminiscent of European capitals. In Victoria, the centre is set within a former Carnegie library, entered through a coffered archway. The siting, which Shaw was part of, was an intentional act of reconciliation. “But it’s not about erasing history,” says Shaw. “It’s about layers. We wanted to showcase Indigenous art and creativity on the same level as colonial spaces. You’ll notice the coffers of the ceiling in Victoria are still there, now painted with a beautiful mural.”
Achieving such thoughtful results was especially notable given the tight timeline. Originally, Reimagine Gathering, in conjunction with sister studio Reimagine Architects, was given one year to open all five offices. While permitting delays pushed some openings, the team worked quickly to bring each Justice Centre online.
“Our firm is based on a workshop approach,” says Shaw. “We always try to make the room bigger and bring as many experts to the table as possible and make decisions by consensus. It can be messy, but it also supports faster decision-making. It allows us to move forward with diligence and strength.”
Veronica Burch, an interior designer with Reimagine Architects, worked closely with Shaw on the project. “This was my first project with Reimagine,” she says. “It was different. I’m used to more patriarchal structures where there’s a person at the top dictating what’s happening. This felt more matriarchal, a circle rather than a triangle, where everybody’s voice was heard.”
“One uses it to be in”
A similarly collaborative approach shaped the recent $15-million redesign of Toronto’s Gardiner Museum, an institution dedicated to ceramic arts. The new ground floor, designed by Montgomery Sisam Architects and Andrew Jones Design, is decidedly modern, with sleek, glass-walled vitrines displaying earthenware and other clay objects. Its centrepiece, however, offers a striking contrast. Juxtaposed against the clean lines — razor-straight ceiling slats and pale grey rectangular floor tiles — is the new Gallery of Indigenous Ceramics, a first for the institution.
Designed by Chris Cornelius, founding principal of studio:indigenous and a professor in the department of architecture at the University of New Mexico, the gallery is curvaceous, resembling a massive vessel whose rounded walls open on two sides. At the entrances, birch benches extend outward, inviting visitors to enter and pause. “The display vitrines inside the gallery rest on the ends of the benches,” explains Cornelius. “I wanted all the elements to feel integral to one another, one thing supporting another.”
The Gallery of Indigenous Ceramics focuses on pottery from the Great Lakes region, the traditional home of the Haudenosaunee Confederacy including the Mohawk, Oneida, Onondaga, Cayuga, Seneca and Tuscarora as well as other First Nations. “I’m Oneida,” says Cornelius. “I was inspired by containers of the Haudenosaunee, ceramics as well as basket-making. I wanted to design a vessel with the idea that these crafts are not from the past. They are present, evolving and alive, part of an ongoing tradition.”
Fittingly, the gallery itself — which Cornelius calls Yelákhwaˀ, an Oneida word for “container” but translates as “one uses it to be in” — transforms over time. Some changes are immediately recognizable. A circular oculus in the ceiling contains a digital screen that cycles through 24 hours of celestial imagery every 20 minutes, including night skies and birds in flight. “A connection to the sky is important across many Indigenous groups,” says Cornelius. “I wanted to bring that into the design, even though I could not connect directly to the sky.”
Other transformations unfold more slowly. While the structure is made of glue-laminated wood, it is clad in perforated copper mesh. “The copper will get darker,” says Franchesca Hebert-Spence, the Gardiner’s inaugural Curator of Indigenous Ceramics and a member of the Anishinaabe Sagkeeng First Nation. “Sometimes, in museums, we want things to last forever in perpetuity. That’s not practical. Our belongings have lives. They change. Sometimes they die. I think it’s beautiful that the material will continue to evolve.”
In the Great Lakes region, copper has long held cultural significance. “Where I’m from, in Wisconsin, there were very large copper deposits,” says Cornelius. “The Menominee and Potawatomi often used it in their ceremonies.” For the installation, Cornelius collaborated with Toronto fabrication studio McWood, demonstrating how to apply a proprietary mix of chemicals that produce varied hues in the metal, including browns and purples. “To me, making something that is Indigenous requires hands-on engagement,” he says. “Even at the scale of architecture, it’s invaluable to have an element of hand craftsmanship.”
Ultimately, Cornelius attributes the gallery’s realization not only to design vision but to collaboration. He worked closely with Hebert-Spence, along with an Indigenous advisory circle that included cultural leaders such as Mary Anne Barkhouse, Kent Monkman, André Morriseau, Duke Redbird and Tekaronhiáhkhwa/Santee Smith. “When I work with Indigenous communities, they’re usually not my own,” he says. “Listening has been a really important part of my work. I’ve found that projects go much more smoothly if I listen first, then try to understand what story needs to be told, and then reflect it back to the community to validate their input. When I’m finished, it’s like I want to say: ‘I heard you.’”
As featured in the May-June 2026 issue of Canadian Interiors magazine.