1
If this recipe sounds too good to be true, you haven't met Gay Isber.
On a Tuesday this past June, Ms. Isber spotted a decommissioned 1920s hydro substation with a real estate broker's sign on the wall and a car crashed into its big rollup doors. Three days later, and with assurances the wreck had been carted away, she handed over a cheque for $265,000 to secure the "world headquarters" of Sugar Beads Inc.
Problem was, the big, empty, two-storey brick box needed a lot of polish before it could shine as Ms. Isber's jewellery-making business, art gallery, "design lab" and new home.
With her sons in Texas after her divorce, the sassy 44-year-old found herself without a handy labour force, so it was off to the local soup kitchen to hire some down-on-their-luck men.
But despite the altruistic gesture, and her sugarplum visions of multiple chandeliers on the main floor and a cozy shopkeeper's apartment above, it wasn't going to be easy candy coating this gnarly beast of a building. Even though "they do it in Toronto all the time," her ideas fell on deaf ears at Kitchener City Hall.
Thankfully, after seeing city officials multiple times — including a few where she suffered meltdowns because of all the red tape — she became "the first person in the Waterloo region" to create a live/work space. In the process, she "bonded" with city employees as together they created a template for others to follow.
"They totally get what I'm trying to do here... because it's an old concept: The doctor always lived above the doctor's office, the storekeeper always lived above the store."
Over the next six months, her store, the "sugar factory," and her second-floor home, the "sugar shack," took shape. Every day, she'd pick up her employees, buy them coffee, then hit the big-box home-improvement stores and the Habitat for Humanity Restore.
"I've never had more power tools in my life," she laughs.
Even though she had previous renovation experience with her "huge old home" in Waterloo and some of her soup-kitchen work force had carpentry and painting skills, the project was so overwhelmingly multifaceted there were times when things seemed pretty grim. "I should be dead by now, come to think of it," she laughs. But this self-described "little steam engine that could" took it all in stride.
"We had to learn how to hang doors, cut brick, how to size all this," she explains, pointing to a door stoop. "It was tricky."
The tall arched windows were restored (with new thermal panes added), a cushy foam and wood "ballerina floor" was installed on the ground level. On the second, cheapo wooden hardware-store shelving ($8 for an eight-foot board) was installed to dull the echo; a mix of seven different stains make it look vintage.
Since it was impossible to wrestle furniture upstairs via the narrow metal staircase, Ms. Isber's crew chain-hoisted it through an existing opening in the ceiling; each piece took 15 minutes.
Six months later, Ms. Isber swung the Sugar Factory doors open to the public and helped define a new area — the Duke Street arts district — in the process. Her neighbours are the former Boehmer Box factory, which now houses an art gallery and studios, and the old 1913 fire hall, home to a studio and retail gallery.
Visitors to Ms. Isber's shop become kids in a candy store as they ogle the baubles, bangles, and a baker's rack full of bright shiny beads. Everywhere is her trademark "sparkle," whether it's the glitter in her paintings, the chandeliers overhead, the blue Lucite "wall" or the smile on her face.
While there's still plenty of sparkle upstairs in the "sugar shack," it's also cozy and cave-like because of her colour selection, a muted soft blue-green based on the colour of glass — "that's my neutral," she states — and the amazing porthole windows where giant electrical cables once snaked in and out of the building.
The kitchen sink was purchased at a metal salvage yard and the backsplash is diamond-plate that provides "a bit of sparkle." The bathroom tile is monument stone purchased at the Habitat store, and on top of the metal vanity, also picked out of the garbage, is a sink fashioned from a salad bowl.
While Ms. Isber claims she was "flamboyant at five" — and a cursory look at her living space would suggest high kitsch — there is design sensibility at work. Like her jewellery, the bright, flashy bits are grounded by neutrals in metal and wood. Punches of red via furniture and paintings act as a counterpoint, and the chandeliers, while garish, do double duty as the room's focal point and divider. "I knew I would be in bed looking at my kitchen, and I wanted some kind of divider, but I am a jewellery person, so it really made sense." Best of all, reminders of the building's industrial past have been retained.
A third-storey "crystal hat on top of the box" is planned, possibly using holographic glass from Toronto company Hspace.
Thanks to Ms. Isber — who can now "check off the list" that she saved a building — there is as much energy coursing through her 1,500-square-foot "design lab" as in its former life. Mixing sparkly jewellery and art with cooking classes, a new line of felt-upholstered furniture, decor items and a never-say-die attitude, she's also found a recipe for the sweet life.
For more information on the Sugar Factory and the grand opening party on March 14, visit www.gayisber.com
Dave LeBlanc hosts The Architourist on CFRB Wednesdays during Toronto at Noon and Sunday mornings. Send inquiries to dave.leblanc@globeandmail.com.
