The Garden

We’re in the Garden, making a recording

It’s what you might call an urban park; a 50/50 mix of hard and soft surfaces, about eighty by a hundred feet. The north entrance opens to King St. and the south connects to an alleyway and a pedestrian path leading to Front. Church St. isn’t far to the west.

The north and south ends of the park are lined with container gardens and brick retaining walls and are bounded by wrought-iron fences and gates. To the east and west are the faces of two 19th century Georgian-style buildings. The second storey of the building to the east has an addition dating from the construction of the Garden in 1980. This is part of a restaurant called La Maquette.

The west-most area is a patio for the restaurant; a little east of that is a perfectly flat brick footpath leading north-south and aligning axially with the entrance to St. James’ Cathedral to the north. Occupying most of the east portion of the Garden is a large lawn that slopes down toward a seating area and waterfall to the north and north-east.

This seating area at the King St. entrance has four steps leading down to it. It’s probably less than two feet, so there’s no need for a handrail. In a sense there are two sets of steps: one for most of us and another for children to jump down.

Though it may be just two feet, this change of grade makes the seating area a specific place; it manufactures a section. You come down here and are partially enclosed; your head is protected from the street by the trees and foliage. If the grade were level you’d be much more exposed. But down here, when the waterfall is on, you might not hear the street at all. And the bench faces south, so on a clear day you can sun yourself.

The city generally wants to dissuade people from sleeping and congregating in parks, so they wouldn’t want this space too separate from the street. It’s an extended threshold, not only do you have this change in grade, but also a physical barrier that’s open – the wrought iron – and a distance of about ten feet filled up with the yews and taller trees making a canopy overhead. Plus the bricks. There are a half-dozen different thresholds brought together, but it’s still transparent: open but intimate. The gates open to the wall, which discourages the temptation to step up and walk along it.

The path and bricks

The walking path is in more-or-less the same brick as the retaining walls and that brick has even been taken right out to the street to make a clear connection to the sidewalk and the Anglican Cathedral across the street. You can’t park there so it’s always clear. Certain moments of change use different materials, concrete steps here, a stone by the south end, a stone semicircle describing the extent of the outdoor seating, echoing the observatory or sun room on the second floor.

I like all these objects strewn around near the restaurant: a birdbath, a sawn-off tree, a planter used as an ashtray; they all become sculptures in this space. A tarp covering some unknown objects.... The birdbath has some cigarette butts in it, some standing water. I just stepped on a nut.

The north retaining wall steps down, maybe to echo the descent to the water? The other, curved wall does it as well and you wonder if it used to have two drops instead of the one. There’s an area on the curve where there’s no overhang. That’s a bad repair. In April most of that wall will likely be replaced.

Look at the bizarre green of the brick on the east wall; you don’t see that in summer because the vines are in full growth. In winter, some people say, Toronto looks like a trailer park, but the garden has an appeal in winter…the way things are accented.

Reading the east wall

That one diagonal on the wall to the east marks the roofline of a building that was here before. You can also see windows bricked up, the wood lintel centered above the waterfall. There’s a lot of wood: likely just strapping that was used to nail another material to. Look at those chimneys on either side of the waterfall, above where the brick steps out; those bricked-up areas were probably fireplaces that were actually on this side, in the building that used to be here. The wall was shared.

You can even see an I-beam sticking out and cut off. And that line of bricks like a reverse step; that was a shelf for floor joists. The brick above it is a different colour, so they’ve patched it. And a half dozen brick repairs over the years.

Some of this brick is from the ‘70s or ‘80s. Those two piers beside the fountain going up to the reversed ziggurat, that stepped pyramidal form: that’s new brick. The chamfer going up, the bevelled edge, is new, but the ziggurat would have been to hold the fireplace. The fountain has that stepped area that echoes the brickwork in the wall. It looks like a Rachel Whiteread sculpture, or a loading dock. The piers on either side might be there to shore up the wall.

When the vines are covering the building and the water’s flowing it’s quite a different space. Water-based elements are difficult to operate in the winter; it’s expensive, you need bubblers, more maintenance. If water freezes it can cause spalling. You can see that in the flaking of the bricks around the base. Water gets under there and freezes and then the surface pops off. You see it in limestone and concrete too, although concrete has other issues: Water gets in and corrodes the rebar.

This same wall shows two structures. The yellow brick one would have come later. Yellow brick might have been cheaper in those days, since the rear façade is in red. Although the church is yellow brick and you’d think they’d want something more expensive. In any case, since it wasn’t going to be visible it didn’t need to match.

These windows were added later, with those concrete-looking lintels. The people in the window up there look to be doing housework. It’s actually the Aveda hairstyling school.

On the wall to the west

There’s a large protrusion from the restaurant into the space of the garden – it overlooks, and expresses some ownership. Around the time when this would have been built, the ‘70s and early ‘80s, people were excited about curves…the Pompidou centre, that kind of thing. Look at the rounded brick that wraps the base of the balcony. It’s almost like a fabric pulled taught around a rod. It recalls the idea of Gotfreid Semper that the original hut wasn’t made of logs and twigs, as Laugier proposed in the 18th century, but actually skins and fabrics. The window sill here doesn’t follow that language though; there’s a mix of things going on.

Also on this wall you can see several horizontal strips of wood, which you’d normally see on the inside. It was a way of attaching the lath. You’d have additional wood attached to that and then lath and then plaster, so again this façade was an interior wall. Today when you have two buildings side-by-side they usually don’t share a wall. Up there you can see those vertical parged, or patched, moments above the window; those are where ceiling joists penetrated the brick. A wandering line.

There’s a green stripe on the leftmost area of the west wall. The flashing changes at the roof line above and so water drains down the face of the building and algae grows. Mostly, architects want to avoid that kind of thing, but sometimes they tell a story with it – across the Garden on the waterfall, for instance, you can see the story of the water falling even when it’s not.

A newspaper found on the footpath

“Hecklers not first to disrupt house [torn here]; China’s coal mines forced into take-overs; Canada seeks to end China Canola fight without WTO; International Courier experts. Images of a Chinese worker in a mine with a shovel over his back…scratching his belly; Lewis Yip, sales representative, advertises foreclosed homes in Mississauga, Scarborough, North York, Markham, Oakville, Unionville, Richmond Hill; a dramatization or theatrical event: security guards or fake Canadian police arresting or detaining what looks to be a ‘heckler’; workers at American Apparel in Los Angeles take a ma-something...a massage break.”

Gates, fences, Paris

According to the City, every night around dusk, a “duty driver” comes by and locks the gates (but the restaurant next-door says they take often care of that). These Parks employees are also responsible for locking up certain playing fields, rinks, and bathrooms around the city. Technically, all Toronto parks close at midnight; it’s a rarely enforced by-law. Here, the purpose of the gating is most likely so that it’s empty when they open it up in the morning. It’s a European thing, like in London the parks close at eight o’clock; it’s a way of maintaining them. Here it’s also to protect the art and satisfy the insurers’ requirements.

There’s a sign near the south entrance: “Contact with the artwork is at user’s own risk.” They definitely don’t want works that are hazardous; you’re not supposed to use glass here. Funny that you don’t see signs like that at all public sites: near the Henry Moore at the AGO for example. People use it as a slide; you could break a leg. But the work here is changing all the time; it’s less predictable.

All the parks in Paris are defined by fences and they’re closed and opened every day. It was a 19th century French engineer, Alphand, who developed the vocabulary. Even the grassed areas are defined by little fences. In Luxembourg Gardens they have teams of police who sweep the park at dusk, blowing their whistles, calling “fermeture.”

Jane Jacobs said that cities are inhabited by people who have their eyes on the street. Bad things rarely happen in plain view. That was an argument for people living downtown and having visual access to the street. She also claimed that parks without adjacent cultural draws such as cafés and shops can become overpopulated with “perverts” and “thugs.” Washington Square in Philadelphia, for example, was surrounded by office buildings and nothing much else, so you had this huge population of office workers descend on it around noon, and otherwise it was vacant until nightfall, when supposedly the thugs and perverts showed up. The Sculpture Garden is clearly operating differently; it’s in a mixed-use context for one, but also with the restaurant siding it and the footpath connecting Front and King, it’s a site of constantly changing activity and occupation.

With public space, various senses of ownership develop over time the more it’s used in certain ways. When you put up fences, even if the gates are open, there’s a sense of ownership, a specific purpose. This patio area is a very specific way to set up the space; they have their eyes on the park. So it’s as much a part of the restaurant’s view, and private space, as it is part of the public space of the city.

The restaurant to the west

La Maquette has been here from the beginning. An arrangement was made with the city where the TSG's non-profit foundation, which holds the lease to the building, renovated the space in exchange for the revenue generated by the tenants. This revenue in turn funds the activities of the Garden.

The openings are out on the patio, sometimes not in the best weather. There are weddings on the patio too. And because the art in the Garden can sometimes be a little outrageous, the couples always want to know what will be here when they marry. Some couples are put off and simply walk away, others end up taking photos in the park or incorporating the art into their weddings. When Katie Bethune-Leamen’s mushroom-shaped structure was here last summer, one couple used the theme song to the Smurfs as their recessional.

The land, the plants, some birds

About the horticulture here, the idea was to create a plain green background that doesn’t interfere with whatever is in it. In summer, someone comes once a week to weed and fertilize, but all these species are hardy; they don’t need to be babied.

We have a lot of yews, the evergreen bushes that grow berries in the summer. They take shade well and grow slowly. There’s an amur maple, a honey locust, and an old redbud tree at the southwest corner, which will blossom in late spring – redbuds do well in dappled light. Then there are several shrubs: an Annabelle hydrangea, a bridal wreath, a false spirea, a burning bush, and a Burkwood viburnum. There’s a honeysuckle vine by the fence, and Boston ivy all over the west façade.

The original ground material was limestone gravel and when you brushed it away there were pedestals and up-lighting. A lot of pads and a lot of underground wiring. After a couple of years, the limestone was removed because it was dusty and hard to walk on, and the pads weren’t being used by artists anyway. While you might think there are all kinds of leftover material under the sod, it has all been removed. All that remains is empty electrical casing.

After each exhibition, the city either entirely re-sods or simply patches it up – and it depends on how good the installers are, whether or not you get a decent job. For the exhibition following this one, everything will be re-sodded.

Vegetation is one of the ways that you assign class value to a property. It makes a strong impression how you vegetate a space or how you treat the vegetation. The house that has the car driving up on the lawn, for example, is seen as the mark of an irresponsible tenant. So parks are really loaded with symbolic meaning in this sense. There’s nothing worse than a run-down park. In the summer here, Parks employees mow the lawn once a week, and they pick up litter twice a day.

Generally parks are a degree or two cooler because of all the vegetation. Especially in summer, you have the urban heat island effect caused by all the energy used in the city: air conditioners, cars, smog too. And then the concrete heats up and holds the heat. Green space helps to counteract that.

In winter, this park seems colder than adjacent areas. It could use an outdoor vendor selling coffee or roasted nuts. I suggest we stay on the brick; the dampness of the earth goes up through your shoes and sucks the heat right out of you.

At the south entrance

There’s a stone near the rear gate. The information sign that’s now to the right of the entrance used to be on the left, so people would stand on the corner of the lawn, and it became a mud bath. The stone was put there for you to stand on. But people would feed the birds and they’d congregate in this tree; you’d stand here and get dumped on by the birds, and they’d dirty up the sign. So it was relocated to the other side of the entrance. For some reason the birds don’t like the tree to the west so much. So now you look through the gate to read about the art, negotiate an alternation of attention: looking at the work or reading.

The gates and the brickwork at the threshold are a strong visual cue signalling the change from the garden to the lane; you know you’re entering another space. It’s a sharp contrast. Servicing happens over here: garbage trucks, moving trucks, those yellow bollards, construction – there’s a big waste bin over here. But the footpath for Market Square condos is a similar material to the garden, which makes a kind of continuity for the connection to Front. And there’s an important sightline: someone standing on King can actually see that they can get to Front, which is especially useful for tourists; they probably wouldn’t venture in otherwise.

The stripe of red brick echoing the retaining wall gives the pedestrian a feeling of continuity, so it doesn’t feel like you’re entering a private space. You don’t feel you’re trespassing. Pedestrians in the city get a lot of different cues about where they can, should, or might want to walk. Security, for one thing; certain visual cues make you feel more welcome or more safe than others. You can see the lamps on Market Square Condos property. Some are already on and more come on in the evening.
The French artist Daniel Buren has talked about how Italian plazas tend to be concave, so people gather at the centre, whereas French plazas tend to be convex, so people gather at the edges. This park encourages gathering at the periphery. You can sit at the bench, on that retaining wall over there, or have a drink on the patio…. There’s also the axis, which is perfectly level and flat, so it facilitates movement through. Two different spatial strategies overlaid upon each other.

Pedestrian

Part of the function of a park is to bring people off the grid. Think of Massey Harris Park at King and Strachan, for example; the city closed a public-owned right-of-way and now the park is a less linear pedestrian connection between King and Canniff. Here at the Garden, a lot of pedestrians pass through, even on a quiet Sunday afternoon in the freezing cold. When a church service ends, people walk straight across the street, through this space, and all the way down to Front. There’s a no-parking zone on both sides of the street, so the sightline is clear.

Across King at St. James’ Park there’s no straight pathway through; it meanders. You’re going to treat that differently as a pedestrian. Of course, you can go off the path, but you might not like to; in wet or cold weather, for instance, or if the grass is full of sunbathers. Imagine building a level, straight, axial, brick path through, say, Trinity Bellwoods Park. You’d have to completely rethink the landscape.

Or, imagine if the Toronto Sculpture Garden were next to a tiny local street – it would be creating a whole different history for itself. On King street it’s available to a diverse audience. People walking by, driving by, or even on the streetcar can see what’s going on in here. Art on your commute.

People pass through on bicycle too; you can see the curb is lower here, so it’s easy to swing in and out. The entrance on King is inviting. The wall and fence open up and recede here and then you have the open gate. You can also see the change in this property line here from quite a distance: something different is happening. It signals a transition.

A professor at Trent University, David Morris, wrote a nice passage about thresholds. He says, you can build a doorsill, for example, but it is only a threshold if someone crosses it. A stream in a forest is a threshold if it is used as one. So, according to Morris, before material thresholds comes the idea of “region-crossing,” which points to thresholds as sites where power and belonging are negotiated and defined.

About public art

Space, volume, has been overly commercialized in this city. Twenty years ago in downtown Toronto there were more opportunities to do larger work, even if it was temporary. It used to be that in a recession you could tromp around and negotiate large spaces for free – they were just sitting there anyway.

There’s a question about where art should be, period. There are lots of problems with permanent work in city space, because the imposed restrictions often produce work that isn’t that interesting, and for that reason you wish it wasn’t permanent at all! Bad ideas can be good, too, though. In the sense that they make people aware of things; like a bad chair makes you aware of your body.

Public art is also often a signifier for something else. When you see a piece of public art in front of a condo, you know the developers used that work to buy themselves some extra storeys on the building. It’s a kind of trade or negotiation that goes on if you want extra height or density for a development. It’s framed as a “community benefit.”

But it often comes back to the museum-gallery complex. Many times, when work is proposed for some place outside of institutional contexts (museum, gallery, studio), the conventions, protocols, and habits that govern these contexts are simply transposed onto the new site. This has to do with a demand for the object to be portable and detachable from context. Some objects, due to their specificity, don’t accommodate this portability.

Nothing was here before

You just drove in off the street and parked your car. Of course, there was a building here once, built in the 1880s and torn down in the ‘20s to make the parking lot. Very raw, industrial stuff. Two blank walls, face to face.

At the Toronto Archives there’s a Toronto Star article from the ‘50s about how great parking lots were downtown because they’d torn down old buildings – parking lots were the new public space; they gave you room to breathe. You can imagine men with ducktails in leather jackets and women with ponytails and pleated skirts standing by their cars with the radio on drinking soda pop. We don’t really see parking lots in that light today.

Louis Odette, who is a patron of the arts, always wanted to do a sculpture garden. The original site was at the Adelaide Court Theatre – that little park where there’s a Susan Schelle sculpture – but it didn’t work out because the land was owned by Metro Toronto rather than the City of Toronto. Later a deal was made with the city for a long-term lease of this site. A non-profit foundation was set up and, with some funding support from the Province, the foundation ran all the capital improvements to the site and renovated the building to the west. The revenue generated by the tenants funds the Garden. La Maquette has been there from the beginning.

The idea for the first two shows, was more something-for-everybody – existing work from several artists brought together. By the fourth show, the Garden was commissioning new site-specific work. For some time there were two shows in the summer and one in the winter. Then Kim Adams’ work was left up for a whole summer because it was so ambitious. At that point the restaurant said “While it’s fun to watch the artists at work, it’s messy and complicated: We’d prefer just one show in the summer.” So the board went with that.

Exhibitions are planned a year or a year-and-a-half in advance. More than that and people move on conceptually and they don’t want to go back.

Over the years you start to see patterns: the totem has come up a lot, and the house form. Many house forms were rejected but Liz Magor proposed one that was really something: a shed with a snowmobile outside, a sleeping dog, armour, and stacks of food inside. She planted trees around it. Or there was Andreas Gehr’s work: a steeple-shaped structure about 10 feet high and quite long…narrow at one end and open at the other. Micah Lexier used bricks: he had bricklayers come in at intervals to make a progressive sculpture – a low wall stepping up.

Are we still recording?

Outside the Garden

It’s quite an ornate flourish of church bells you hear sometimes. Church bells are rare in Toronto, and in North America, really. It’s a marker of time and a claim to space. On ordinary days they ring mostly the clock bells. On Sundays before the 9 o’clock service and after the 11 o’clock they ring the carillon bells, which are played by keyboard. In between the two services, they play the change-ringing bells, which requires one person for each of the twelve bells. These are also rung on special occasions – concerts, holidays, sometimes deaths. For certain deaths and funerals they also perform a toll, which has a much slower pace.

The spire of St. James’ Cathedral is clearly part of the place, its axial plan. At one time the Cathedral was the tallest building in the city, and was used for navigation on lake Ontario. And you can see the Spire condominium to the northwest. The profits from the condo are going towards the renovations behind the church, the parish house. Some of the windows back there are boarded up.

The set of public spaces around here – St.James’ Park, Berczy Park, and the Garden – were all part of the same development project initiated in the late ‘70s. As the city develops around St. James’ Square it’s going to get a stronger enclosure around it. Lower buildings and parking lots will be replaced by taller buildings like that one to the north-east. The idea is that quality of space gets better as it becomes more constricted. In Montreal there was this citizens’ group and they were asked do you want more parks in your neighbourhood and they said they wanted more grocery stores. That’s one thing: Toronto has really good grocery coverage.

But Toronto is a grid. They’ve denied the topography. If there’s a ravine, fill it in; bury the creek, pave it over – it’s unfortunate. In these older parts of town there’s usually all these underwater streams that have been turned into sewage. Even in the 1800s there would have been open canals, little streams.

There’s a consensus that the waterfront is removed from the city, that access is discouraged by the Gardiner Expressway and all that mess. I live around Trinity Bellwoods, and I’m always resistant to come further east than University Avenue. University itself is very wide – a chasm. And then all the tall buildings downtown: not much to break that up visually, so it creates a seemingly longer path. West and east of there you have a lower streetscape and more visual change.

This area is described

This area is described as a revitalization experiment; a redevelopment project that started in the mid-nineties around King and Parliament and King and Spadina. The idea was to get people to invest in the area through reduced zoning restrictions. That’s why you get all those really tall buildings at King and Spadina.

The St. Lawrence Neighbourhood, which lies between Yonge and Parliament to the west and east and Front and the railway to the north and south, was the poster child of progressive urban development in the 1970s – mixed-income, mixed-use – designed to be part of the fabric of the city. It broke with the modernist model of public housing: wide-open green spaces with buildings floating in them, like Regent Park. The new model was more about pedestrian activity, car movement, children playing in the streets, the life of the city. Rather than thinking of buildings as monuments in an open plane of space, the space itself is thought of as an object, or room.

To the south

The condominium to the south, Market Square, is also a product of the revitalization period around here – more integrated into the city, and manufacturing a public realm that goes through the property. A grocery store, a theatre. Before, apartments were more these typical slabs that you see everywhere: twenty stories, single-use with a big plaza out front that no one uses.

You can see the edge of the red stripe at the top aligns with the horizontal mullions of the windows and then with the top of the window frame to the left. It’s like an interrupted cornice. And the yellow brick is compatible with the yellow church. Architecture in the ‘70s was starting to respond more to its context, influenced by Robert Venturi’s writing, among others’.

That red brick on the foot of the building does a couple different things. It acts as a kind of base signal, that it’s the base of the building. But it was also used so that it wouldn’t show the dirt that immediately creeps up on any building. The Sculpture Garden was proposed after Market Square was well underway. Whether by design or by chance, the retaining wall of the Garden aligns almost perfectly with the level of those bricks.

These “John Price bricks” came out of the Don Valley brickworks. Just as Market Square was being finished the clay ran out, so it is probably one of the last buildings made of that.

It’s not a grand space

When you think of sculpture parks you think of rolling fields and labyrinths. But this is pretty constrained. It’s sided. And very frontal. People don’t seem to stay here long in winter – it can be almost a drive-by thing – but in summer some do.

This space seems to want to alleviate any sense of alienation or desolation; it’s more about accommodation. As an artist it’s difficult to resist that. The design and the logistics – the relationship to its neighbours, the way that it’s closed at night, things like that – they do inflect and determine the way a piece can act in public. Like most public work, it becomes a problem-solving exercise.

A lot of the sculptures here are quite big but don’t usually go beyond the edge of the grass. One can often see the work from the street. You don’t have to get close to get it; an object functioning as an image you can take away and process later. Something finely tuned to the site could be interesting. Something that doesn’t get explored much in public sculpture is the potential for change, for rupture, for an object that might get thrown out of place by freeze-thaw, for example.

There was a huge pylon sign in Parkdale, Queen St. West, an old Budget Rent a Car sign, that had been blacked out. And there were posters along the base that had also been blacked out. It was an interesting object: a very tall rectangular, kiosk-type sign, but entirely blacked out with vinyl. It would have been great to transport it to the site here, as is… you put up a big commercial sign, signifying nothing, refusing communication.

A lot of people consider art to be a waste of time simply because it takes time to grapple with it. An art work can cause a lot of concern from the point of view of a person who believes they’re in control of the situation and are confronted with this object that’s not returning anything, this opacity. It’s a form of stress… finding yourself at a loss for words. It’s always interesting to have an object that would function that way. The impetus to do something in a civic space like this is that it would basically be this blank object that seems to resist everything.

Walking around

On the southwest corner of King and Church there’s a planning notice. On the southeast corner there’s some construction or demolition going on, and a dumpster, so something’s happening there too. And a large pylon stuffed with garbage.

Both of the streetcar stops at King and Church are “near-side” stops: before-the-intersection. Streetcar stops are usually near-side, but if it were a bus stop there’d be a choice. A near-side stop interferes with right turns. A far-side bus stop interferes with right turns from the perpendicular route and it may force merging in the traffic behind the bus.

Going east from the Garden, on the south side is a number of 19th century buildings and a newer low-rise. Past that you get to St. Lawrence Hall at Jarvis and King, built in the 1850s to contain public meeting halls. It has a green dome. Then Jarvis. The next block over, on the north and south side, it’s entirely 19th century commercial and one new condo on the north side. Then it’s George Brown College.

Down on Front there’s a large median – a pedestrian refuge. People have a chance to break their crossing, especially on wider roads. It’s also a way to narrow the road, which slows cars down, and to add landscaping. This being a historic district and St. Lawrence Market being a draw for shoppers and tourists, it seems like the city is trying to maximize the draw by beautifying the street.

Discovery Walk

The Garden is part of one of Toronto’s “Discovery Walks.” This particular walk goes south along the footpath through Market Square, turns right at Front St., and veers south past Berczy Park, just south of the Flatiron Building.

Past Wellington, it roughly traces Lake Ontario’s original shoreline, which was just south of Front, and passes Union Station. The path turns left at York St., and descends through an underpass to the other side of the railway lines.

At Bremner Boulevard the path meets several construction sites. To the west, past Grand Trunk Crescent and then Lower Simcoe St., it passes the Olympic Gardens, Roundhouse Park, and eventually the CN Tower. North through Robby Rosenfeld Park, a pedestrian area leads past Rogers Centre to Isabella Valency Crawford Park at Front and John.

The path heads east past the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation headquarters, north through Simcoe Park, and across Wellington St. into Metro Hall Park. It then goes east along King past York to First Canadian Place Parkette and north to Adelaide, then zigzags up to University and Queen where it leads east past Osgoode Hall and Nathan Philips Square.

The walk takes a left at Bay, passes Old Toronto City Hall on the right, and continues north. To the right is Bell Trinity Square, which leads back down to Queen. At this point the walk heads east to Bay, south to Richmond and, east again until Cloud Gardens. South of Cloud Gardens is Temperance St. At this point the path turns left to Yonge, heads south to Adelaide, and turns left through a shortcut, zigzagging southwest to Courthouse Square, past Victoria just north of King.

Finally it continues east to Church St., turns left up to Adelaide, turns right, enters St. James’ Park, and meanders southwest along the paths until it meets the north side of King, facing south toward the Garden again.