When Progressive Conservative Premier John Robarts commissioned Raymond Moriyama in 1964 to design the Centennial Centre of Science and Technology, a gift to citizens of the province that would tell the story of the development of science and technology in Ontario over the past century, the architect made a diary entry describing the structure he envisioned.“It must be fun. It must arouse curiosity. It must be a place of wonder.”In designing the rough-concrete edifice spilling into 180 acres of Don Valley parkland, the 35-year-old Japanese-Canadian architect realized floor plans could only go so far. Exhibits would make the difference.The success of Moriyama’s design would depend on the imagination of chief designer Taizo Miake. In the collaboration process, the pair stumbled upon a concept that effectively hadn’t existed: the interactive museum.Even at 93, Moriyama continues to receive praise for his Ontario Science Centre design. His first significant commission made his reputation and placed him on the international stage. Today, Moriyama gives credit to Miake and the team of imaginative creators who conceived over 400 exhibits, including a hair-raising demonstration of static electricity and a bicycle generator using pedal power to generate an image on a television screen.Speaking by telephone from his Toronto home, Moriyama said, “It was the spirit of all Taizo’s exhibits, combined with the architecture, that made the Science Centre successful.”The Ford government plans to shutter the Science Centre in Flemingdon Park and transplant it to new Ontario Place digs as part of that attraction’s overhaul. The announcement was unpopular with the general public. Olivia Chow is on record as opposing the Ontario Place redevelopment, and her accession into the mayor’s office has the potential to disrupt Ford’s plans.For all his creative genius, the media-shy Taizo Miake, who turned 97 in May, remains largely in the shadows. Moriyama and Miake were strangers when hired to turn Ontario’s centennial project into a reality. Miake was recruited from the Layton School of Art’s teaching staff in Milwaukee, which at the time ranked among the top five art schools in the United States. He arrived in Toronto with a team of seven former students handpicked for their inventiveness from the Layton School and California State University, Long Beach, where he also had taught.Neither Miake nor any of the ex-students had science degrees. This lack of scientific education appealed to Moriyama. “It was a good thing,” he says. Miake “tended to look at things from a humanity side.”In the project’s early days, Moriyama and Miake initiated social events to bring their teams in line with one another. Moriyama remembers a meet-up on a farm outside the city, where they organized a kite-flying competition. He recalls it was great fun even though his team lost. “Their designs flew much better than the kites designed by architects.”Win or lose, camaraderie developed, and as Moriyama saw it, “Our minds were starting to work together.” Creative juices really started flowing when the teams commenced a weekly quitting-hour routine. “Every Friday at five o’clock, we would get together in what we called the beer sessions — it was really to get close to one another in our thinking.”Brainstorming over cold ones at Moriyama’s Church Street office often lasted into the wee hours of the morning. “The important thing was the partnership.” Even after all these years, Moriyama stresses that no imbibing ever occurred on provincial government property.It didn’t take long before friendship blossomed between Moriyama and Miake. “He was a bright guy. He was a very trustworthy person.” The duo grew fond of one another. Moriyama said, “It was like being in a very close family — like two brothers who become close by working together. Our minds started to work together.” The elder of two children, Taizo Miake was born in 1926 in Tokyo and moved at age three with his parents and brother to Hawaii, where his father, a Buddhist priest, oversaw a mission in central Honolulu. When the U.S. declared war on Japan, his father was repatriated while the rest of the family remained in Hawaii.Miake enlisted in the U.S. Army in 1946 and after a year of service applied to Pratt Institute in New York on the GI Bill. After graduating with an arts degree, he studied anthropology at Florida State University and was hired by a Tallahassee department store to decorate display windows. He curated his first exhibit at the FSU Museum and Art Gallery in 1952, which was praised for its intelligent, sensitive arrangement of exhibits. The following year he became the museum’s installation director.He taught at universities in Wisconsin and California before being poached in 1965 by the Ontario tourism ministry and paired with Moriyama. Construction delays and staff resignations pushed the centre’s opening past July 1, 1967. An additional two years lapsed before the official ribbon cutting. In the meantime, Miake and his team, which had grown to about 100 staff, concocted and assembled exhibits in a huge rented workshop on premises in a nearby industrial park.Calls went out to private citizens and businesses interested in suggesting potential exhibits. They had to have widespread appeal and a scientific bent with no commercial hard sell. If a proposal passed muster with an educational, scientific, technical and budgetary panel, Miake’s team would build it.Students from local elementary schools visited the site to test-drive exhibits in progress. Gateway Public School students were awed at the site of a replica Apollo space capsule. They were encouraged to interact with the display, a concept foreign to youngsters more familiar with the traditional museum directive of look but don’t touch. Jaws dropped when Miake’s staff instructed students to hop inside, take the controls and attempt to land the capsule in a simulated splashdown.Miake told a reporter, “Education is a learning, not a teaching process.” He said he believed in the benefits of educating through play, pulling levers, pressing buttons and engaging the senses.The Centennial Centre of Science and Technology, shortened to the Ontario Science Centre, opened in early autumn 1969, after much public grumbling, two years late, and millions over budget. All was forgiven by adoring crowds who lined up to experience Moriyama and Miake’s collaboration first hand. Within months of opening, the one-millionth visitor passed through the turnstile.The centre almost fell victim to its success.All the interaction resulted in breakdowns. Large crowds forced the repair shop to work overtime to keep exhibits operational. Adults complained that youngsters swarming displays made the experience unpleasant. The remedy? Children entering after 6 p.m. had to be accompanied by an adult. Ultimately, it proved a good problem to have. Touring the premises in the centre’s early days, accompanied by the press, Miake liked what he saw and told a reporter, “This place belongs to the people, and in this day and age, not very much does. People always feel institutions belong to someone else, to government. Everyone here is smiling.” The Ontario Science Centre is considered a trailblazer in the curatorial community. Miake’s groundbreaking use of audiovisuals, lighting, sound effects and sensory experiences, known as object theatre, are now commonplace and replicated globally. Asked to explain the centre’s overwhelming success, Moriyama said, “Go to most museums around the world, and the architecture and exhibits don’t blend. There’s the content and the container — a lot of them don’t match. They are not complementary to each other like at the Science Centre.” Moriyama’s architectural career skyrocketed upon completion of the Science Centre. He was in demand internationally. In contrast, the unassuming Miake rented an apartment across the street from the centre, where he remained the director of programs.His contribution did not go unrecognized, however. He too gained an international reputation and sat on numerous advisory boards, including the Smithsonian in Washington.Taizo Miake worked at the Science Centre until 1975, when he quit to become an independent consultant creating exhibits for a diverse cross-section of major science museums worldwide from Charlotte, N.C., to Riyadh, Saudi Arabia.Lightning struck a second time in 1981 when Moriyama and Miake collaborated again on Science North in Sudbury. Miake relocated to the nickel belt city in northern Ontario. Today he lives in a Sudbury long-term-care facility. (The Star was unable to arrange an interview with Miake.) Moriyama has only positive memories of collaborating with Miake. “We came up with an idea that changed museums. Taizo and I influenced science museums that followed.”More than five decades later, the current Progressive Conservative government intends to raze its gift to the people. It would demolish Moriyama’s building and move a few of Miake’s exhibits to a new location at Ontario Place.Although Moriyama and Miake have been out of contact for ages, Moriyama is confident his thoughts on this decision align with his dear friend’s when he states unequivocally, “It is ridiculous to support a for-profit enterprise (that includes) a spa. It is a bad idea. It is not going to fit.”Edward Brown is a Toronto-based writer. Visit his website at edbrownwriter.com
When Progressive Conservative Premier John Robarts commissioned Raymond Moriyama in 1964 to design the Centennial Centre of Science and Technology, a gift to citizens of the province that would tell the story of the development of science and technology in Ontario over the past century, the architect made a diary entry describing the structure he envisioned.
“It must be fun. It must arouse curiosity. It must be a place of wonder.”
In designing the rough-concrete edifice spilling into 180 acres of Don Valley parkland, the 35-year-old Japanese-Canadian architect realized floor plans could only go so far. Exhibits would make the difference.
The success of Moriyama’s design would depend on the imagination of chief designer Taizo Miake. In the collaboration process, the pair stumbled upon a concept that effectively hadn’t existed: the interactive museum.
Even at 93, Moriyama continues to receive praise for his Ontario Science Centre design. His first significant commission made his reputation and placed him on the international stage. Today, Moriyama gives credit to Miake and the team of imaginative creators who conceived over 400 exhibits, including a hair-raising demonstration of static electricity and a bicycle generator using pedal power to generate an image on a television screen.
Speaking by telephone from his Toronto home, Moriyama said, “It was the spirit of all Taizo’s exhibits, combined with the architecture, that made the Science Centre successful.”
The Ford government plans to shutter the Science Centre in Flemingdon Park and transplant it to new Ontario Place digs as part of that attraction’s overhaul. The announcement was unpopular with the general public. Olivia Chow is on record as opposing the Ontario Place redevelopment, and her accession into the mayor’s office has the potential to disrupt Ford’s plans.
For all his creative genius, the media-shy Taizo Miake, who turned 97 in May, remains largely in the shadows.
Moriyama and Miake were strangers when hired to turn Ontario’s centennial project into a reality. Miake was recruited from the Layton School of Art’s teaching staff in Milwaukee, which at the time ranked among the top five art schools in the United States. He arrived in Toronto with a team of seven former students handpicked for their inventiveness from the Layton School and California State University, Long Beach, where he also had taught.
Neither Miake nor any of the ex-students had science degrees. This lack of scientific education appealed to Moriyama. “It was a good thing,” he says. Miake “tended to look at things from a humanity side.”
In the project’s early days, Moriyama and Miake initiated social events to bring their teams in line with one another. Moriyama remembers a meet-up on a farm outside the city, where they organized a kite-flying competition. He recalls it was great fun even though his team lost. “Their designs flew much better than the kites designed by architects.”
Win or lose, camaraderie developed, and as Moriyama saw it, “Our minds were starting to work together.”
Creative juices really started flowing when the teams commenced a weekly quitting-hour routine. “Every Friday at five o’clock, we would get together in what we called the beer sessions — it was really to get close to one another in our thinking.”
Brainstorming over cold ones at Moriyama’s Church Street office often lasted into the wee hours of the morning. “The important thing was the partnership.” Even after all these years, Moriyama stresses that no imbibing ever occurred on provincial government property.
It didn’t take long before friendship blossomed between Moriyama and Miake. “He was a bright guy. He was a very trustworthy person.” The duo grew fond of one another. Moriyama said, “It was like being in a very close family — like two brothers who become close by working together. Our minds started to work together.”
The elder of two children, Taizo Miake was born in 1926 in Tokyo and moved at age three with his parents and brother to Hawaii, where his father, a Buddhist priest, oversaw a mission in central Honolulu. When the U.S. declared war on Japan, his father was repatriated while the rest of the family remained in Hawaii.
Miake enlisted in the U.S. Army in 1946 and after a year of service applied to Pratt Institute in New York on the GI Bill. After graduating with an arts degree, he studied anthropology at Florida State University and was hired by a Tallahassee department store to decorate display windows. He curated his first exhibit at the FSU Museum and Art Gallery in 1952, which was praised for its intelligent, sensitive arrangement of exhibits. The following year he became the museum’s installation director.
He taught at universities in Wisconsin and California before being poached in 1965 by the Ontario tourism ministry and paired with Moriyama.
Construction delays and staff resignations pushed the centre’s opening past July 1, 1967. An additional two years lapsed before the official ribbon cutting. In the meantime, Miake and his team, which had grown to about 100 staff, concocted and assembled exhibits in a huge rented workshop on premises in a nearby industrial park.
Calls went out to private citizens and businesses interested in suggesting potential exhibits. They had to have widespread appeal and a scientific bent with no commercial hard sell. If a proposal passed muster with an educational, scientific, technical and budgetary panel, Miake’s team would build it.
Students from local elementary schools visited the site to test-drive exhibits in progress. Gateway Public School students were awed at the site of a replica Apollo space capsule. They were encouraged to interact with the display, a concept foreign to youngsters more familiar with the traditional museum directive of look but don’t touch. Jaws dropped when Miake’s staff instructed students to hop inside, take the controls and attempt to land the capsule in a simulated splashdown.
Miake told a reporter, “Education is a learning, not a teaching process.” He said he believed in the benefits of educating through play, pulling levers, pressing buttons and engaging the senses.
The Centennial Centre of Science and Technology, shortened to the Ontario Science Centre, opened in early autumn 1969, after much public grumbling, two years late, and millions over budget.
All was forgiven by adoring crowds who lined up to experience Moriyama and Miake’s collaboration first hand. Within months of opening, the one-millionth visitor passed through the turnstile.
The centre almost fell victim to its success.
All the interaction resulted in breakdowns. Large crowds forced the repair shop to work overtime to keep exhibits operational. Adults complained that youngsters swarming displays made the experience unpleasant. The remedy? Children entering after 6 p.m. had to be accompanied by an adult.
Ultimately, it proved a good problem to have. Touring the premises in the centre’s early days, accompanied by the press, Miake liked what he saw and told a reporter, “This place belongs to the people, and in this day and age, not very much does. People always feel institutions belong to someone else, to government. Everyone here is smiling.”
The Ontario Science Centre is considered a trailblazer in the curatorial community. Miake’s groundbreaking use of audiovisuals, lighting, sound effects and sensory experiences, known as object theatre, are now commonplace and replicated globally.
Asked to explain the centre’s overwhelming success, Moriyama said, “Go to most museums around the world, and the architecture and exhibits don’t blend. There’s the content and the container — a lot of them don’t match. They are not complementary to each other like at the Science Centre.”
Moriyama’s architectural career skyrocketed upon completion of the Science Centre. He was in demand internationally. In contrast, the unassuming Miake rented an apartment across the street from the centre, where he remained the director of programs.
His contribution did not go unrecognized, however. He too gained an international reputation and sat on numerous advisory boards, including the Smithsonian in Washington.
Taizo Miake worked at the Science Centre until 1975, when he quit to become an independent consultant creating exhibits for a diverse cross-section of major science museums worldwide from Charlotte, N.C., to Riyadh, Saudi Arabia.
Lightning struck a second time in 1981 when Moriyama and Miake collaborated again on Science North in Sudbury. Miake relocated to the nickel belt city in northern Ontario. Today he lives in a Sudbury long-term-care facility. (The Star was unable to arrange an interview with Miake.)
Moriyama has only positive memories of collaborating with Miake. “We came up with an idea that changed museums. Taizo and I influenced science museums that followed.”
More than five decades later, the current Progressive Conservative government intends to raze its gift to the people. It would demolish Moriyama’s building and move a few of Miake’s exhibits to a new location at Ontario Place.
Although Moriyama and Miake have been out of contact for ages, Moriyama is confident his thoughts on this decision align with his dear friend’s when he states unequivocally, “It is ridiculous to support a for-profit enterprise (that includes) a spa. It is a bad idea. It is not going to fit.”
Edward Brown is a Toronto-based writer. Visit his website at edbrownwriter.com
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