Intriguing houses | A bank on the party

“When people tell me that my place is backwards, I say, ‘Have you ever tried hosting 12,000 people?'”

Pieter Sijpkes lives in what used to be a bank, surrounded by a panoply of miscellaneous objects. He taught architecture at McGill University for a long time. He is now 80, rides his bike all year, speaks English with a few pretty words of French, and finds it surprising that I refuse to have a glass of wine. “Journalists usually like to drink.”

In other words: I love him instantly. My friend Marie suspected that I would fall for the character. She was the one who advised me to go knock on his door, as part of my series on intriguing houses. For her part, she met Pieter by attending an experimental concert given at his house…

A few times a year, Pieter transforms his house into what he calls a “private cultural hall”. He estimates that he has received more than 12,000 people in 12 years. Whether for theatre or blues shows, exhibitions, student reunions… As long as there is a partyPieter gets on board.

But let’s get back to basics. The old bank is located in the Pointe-Saint-Charles neighbourhood and was built in 1901. Pieter Sijpkes was born in the Netherlands and moved to Montreal at the age of 22. Disappointed that he had never built anything with his hands, he bought an abandoned convenience store and renovated it using only used materials. He then lived there with his family for 20 years. This convenience store-turned-home was located a stone’s throw from the bank. Every day, as he rode his bike to work, Pieter would look at the building. He loved it so much that his partner at the time made a miniature reconstruction of it and gave him the sculpture.

In 1995, the bank ceased operations. The building was sold for the modest sum of $1 to an organization that helped young people in precarious situations. Pieter Sijpkes took the opportunity to propose a project to his students: if they were to transform the bank into a residence, what would the plans look like? When he shared the result with the team at the community organization, he learned that the building was too expensive for an NPO to maintain and that an individual was about to buy it. Pieter said that if the offer fell through, he was ready to acquire the building.

A few weeks later, he got the keys.

Eventually, he moved in with his two sons. The youngest, then about ten years old, asked him where he would sleep…

Imagine a vast, completely open ground floor, dominated by a 10-metre dome pierced by an oculus… Strange room. Among the other peculiarities of the place: a safe door, traces of wear on the floor due to a century of people waiting for their checks, then one of the largest courtyards I have ever seen in Montreal. Upstairs, an apartment goes around the dome. At the time, Pieter rented it. Today, it is precisely his son and his family who live there.

— So, where do you sleep, finally?

— Right now, there, Pieter answers me, pointing to the stage which carries the passing artists.

It’s worth noting that for 12 years, Pieter hosted the community theatre troupe PSC Theatre. On performance nights, he would set up 60 folding chairs in his living room, restoring a fraction of the space’s former role: being there for people. When COVID-19 entered our lives, Pieter unfortunately had to put an end to this long tradition of gatherings.

Two years ago, while on his way to the grocery store (by bike, of course), the retired professor stopped at a yard sale. A neon sign caught his eye. It said “HEAT” and the man selling it told him it was the name of a band he was a manager for… He gave the sign to Pieter for $5 and helped him carry it home (because on a bike, it’s a good challenge).

Michael Bardier was knocked over as he entered the bank. The entertainment agent has since organized five experimental music concerts in this magical place.

“Michael has brought a whole new cohort to my house!” Pieter enthuses. “French-speaking people and younger people than usual…” When I ask him if he has always been sociable, Pieter points to a photo of his nine sisters. He adds that when he bought a public building, he knew that his home would never belong entirely to him. It had already left too many impressions on people.

These walls played and will always play an active role in the community. At least, as long as Pieter lives there.

The man regularly receives offers to buy, but he doesn’t want to hear about it. He’s here for good, even if maintaining the place requires a lot of energy and considerable sums of money…

” Patcherit’s a sign that we’re taking care of ourselves,” he says. “It’s not a chore for me. This house is a privilege. When I wake up in the morning and hear my grandchildren running above me, I think, ‘Everything is going as it should.’”

At the very end of our meeting, Pieter told me that he had been writing for a long time for The Gazette. He asked me what the angle of my column would be, offering me a lead: “A mad architect slowly becomes broke.”

I told him I would rather opt for: “An architect has been ensuring that his community has enjoyed his home for over 30 years.”