The Claims-Free Architect

When Unsuitable Cladding Materials Led To A Building Crumbling

• Season 3 • Episode 6

Share episode

Can an edifice of historical grandeur be replicated with inexpensive modern materials? And what if they haven’t been tested in Ontario’s harsh climatic conditions?

Agreeing to build a high-quality neoclassical masterpiece in the Ontario hinterlands, without the extravagant budget required can only result in a deteriorating client relationship, and a dilapidated building.

Connect with Pro-Demnity:

Thank you for listening.

A wealthy client had commissioned an architect to create a grand “chateau,” modelled after le Petit Trianon, in Versailles. And, the finished structure bore an impressive resemblance to the original, glorious in every respect except one: where Marie Antoinette’s palace continues to weather the elements after more than 250 years, the contemporary knock-off started falling apart after less than five. This story is called “Sham Chateau.”

Robert O’Taine, an affluent stockbroker and amateur golfer, bought some property adjacent to the exclusive Parterre Golf Course in Eastern Ontario. On this site, he proposed to construct an impressive neoclassical mansion modelled after le Petit Trianon. He expected his new “chateau” to emulate the spirit, if not the precise appearance of the French landmark, right down to the fastidious detailing and well-tended gardens. For O’Taine, “Money was no object.”

To accomplish his dream, he hired Lavinia Poblano, an architect with a respectable reputation for “traditional” residential design. O’Taine was happy to cover his architect’s expenses for first-hand research in Europe, visiting and photographing various country homes and small chateaux in France and the Netherlands. 

On her return to Ontario, Poblano roughed out some design sketches—in pencil, of course—and had them priced out. Not surprisingly, the cost involved in cutting stone blocks and duplicating stone mouldings, or even reproducing them in concrete, was off the charts. Despite his professed wealth, O’Taine couldn’t see spending that much money. Louis XV, after all, had the Royal Treasury to pillage. But O’Taine had only his Bay Street earnings to rely on.

Poblano was deeply disappointed by her client’s reaction. So, to regain O’Taine’s confidence, she informed him that her research was not in vain. She was sure that an authentic appearance could still be accomplished without using authentic materials and construction. There was a broad range of materials available that could convincingly imitate the appearance of stone without the expense. Both she and O’Taine agreed to do a little more research.

It was O’Taine who came up with the solution: a lightweight, aerated, cementitious plastic material coated with a skin coat of “stucco” that effectively simulated real stone. Using this material, one could very inexpensively mould Corinthian capitals, cast acanthus leaves, and reproduce eggs and darts, from simple plastic moulds. This lightweight technology made transportation and installation a snap.

Using this faux material, the house was completed within O’Taine’s generous budget and looked entirely authentic . . . until the first spring thaw. As melting ice fell from the eaves and sills, so did chunks of the building. Dentils dropped like icicles, and acanthus leaves fluttered to the ground. More troubling, window sills were starting to crack.

Since the construction was still under warranty, the contractor patched up the offending problems, without needing to call on the architect. It was an easy task and everything looked good as new again.

The following spring, the problems returned with a vengeance. Not only were pieces of the building falling off, but virtually all the classical details were discoloured and splitting apart. The miraculous lightweight system had met its match in the freeze-thaw cycles of the Canadian winter.

This was no longer an easy fix. What began as a simple patch-up job was becoming an annual chore. In fact, the dilapidation of the exterior had accelerated to the point that, within five years, O’Taine was faced with almost total replacement of copings, sills, column caps, and all the classical stone detailing that gave the design its presumed “authenticity.”

The most rapid devastation had occurred where the material was exposed on all sides, such as the balustrades and the projecting cornices located at the roof line and above the window openings. It was a total shambles. It looked like a 200-year-old ruin.

The estimated cost of a complete repair solution amounted to over $1.5 million.

O’Taine felt he had no alternative but to file a “fitness for purpose” claim against his architect, the contractor, the material supplier, and the installer. He had engaged Poblano and contracted with Costix Construction to provide him with an elegant residence at a cost of five million dollars. Instead, he was stuck with a crumbling embarrassment that continued to drain his resources.

The claim was for $2 million dollars to cover the anticipated cost of repairs and the considerable inconvenience caused to O’Taine.

Lavinia Poblano had been aware of the mounting problems with the simulated chateau, but still, she was distressed by the claim against her. As she told Pro-Demnity, she was proud of her Beaux-Arts training and had been enthusiastic about creating an elegant edifice, with limestone carvings and historically correct detailing. There was nothing wrong with the design and detailing, and nothing would have gone wrong with the house, if it had been built according to her original drawings. But her client had gotten cold feet when confronted by the price tag, even though Poblano had believed then, and still believed, that O’Taine could have afforded it. What had resulted was not just a dilapidated relic, it was also an affront to Poblano’s reputation.

The architect then explained to Pro-Demnity how the selection of the plastic material had been made in the first place.

The fake stone was called LeapSpan. It was manufactured in Mexico and sold through a Montreal agency, Emmenthal Québec Ltée., which had salesmen across the country. One of them had met O’Taine at a trade show and persuaded him that the product would be perfect for his chateau. To O’Taine and Poblano, everything seemed legitimate, so the architect carried out her client’s instructions by approving everything: the material, the shop drawings and the work in place.

Poblano described the LeapSpan sales kit with its glorious pictures of Mexican villas in lush desert oasis settings, where harsh elements such as ice and snow - even rain - were rarely seen. One image showed a broad patio on which dozens of guests were eating and drinking, enclosed by a massive LeapSpan balustrade supported by squat classical columns.

By comparison, a similar setting at O’Taine’s mansion had turned to near disaster, after which guests had to be asked not to sit or lean on the crumbling balustrade.

Our defence would have to be simple proforma, until we got some idea of what the other defendants were going to say, and of how much trouble Poblano was in. 

The contractor Cory Costix had a predictable defence, challenging the Plaintiff to point out any instances where he had failed to follow the contract documents. He admitted to introducing the LeapSpan salesman to the Owner, but took no responsibility for endorsing or warranting the product. He had been asked to help in finding a more economical approach and LeapSpan was one of the products he had turned up.

LeapSpan’s defence boiled down to caveat emptor - buyer beware. Their sales literature made no claims and contained no details. Their warranty was for replacement of materials only, and by “materials” they meant bags of powder and drums of acrylic stucco. In their view, the architect and Subcontractor were responsible for the use or abuse of their product.

The Subcontractor Flourish Mouldings & Stucco Ltd., which had cast the units for installation by others, was no longer in business.

Pro-Demnity engaged an architectural restoration specialist, Mildred Sauvage, to review the project and advise us on anything she could find that might contribute to a defence. Ms. Sauvage brought in some pieces of the LeapSpan coping that she had picked up on the site and placed them on the Claims Specialist’s desk. It was quite clear that this was going to be a pretty tough material choice to defend.

Ms. Sauvage’s samples consisted of bits of lightweight foamy material wrapped around plywood forms, with plywood strips embedded in the foam to lend some degree of strength. The foam had been coated with acrylic stucco that looked more like textured paint. It was difficult to imagine any of this assembly resisting the weather for long. The LeapSpan and plywood would both deteriorate quickly if they got wet, and in fact had done so. Ms. Sauvage could find nothing reassuring to say about the material, or our case. They were both unfortunate.

The defence thanked Ms. Sauvage and filed her report (mercifully never to re-appear).

The Discoveries proved a little more helpful. Under questioning, O’Taine and the 

Supplier confirmed that they had met and discussed the product. The Plaintiff had only agreed to use the material after being assured that it was “weatherproof.” The architect’s claim that she had been “instructed” to use the material was also confirmed. This would shift at least some of the liability back to the Plaintiff, as contributory negligence.

The Discoveries generally solidified what the evidence already indicated. The material would have to be replaced and all parties bore some degree of responsibility.

At the subsequent pre-trial, the judge quickly became familiar with the basic issues. He suggested that the matter be settled, replacing the LeapSpan with an Exterior Insulation Finishing System, or EIFS product (along the lines of what our expert had suggested), combined with some bona fide precast stone details. It looked like $600,000 worth of work . . . not $2 million.

The judge proposed that the plaintiff was at least 25% liable, since he had inserted himself into the process, and might be found 50% liable at trial. As for the architect, the judge found her the most liable defendant, because she should have investigated the product and warned her client. As a professional, she could not use the “just following orders” argument.

The Judge believed the general contractor to be less liable, but he too should have exercised more common sense. This went for the LeapSpan supplier as well. He should have warned that his product was unsuitable for exposure to the harsh Canadian winter. Ontario is a long way from Cancún.

The parties agreed to abide by the judge’s advice, more-or-less. The Mexican manufacturer backed up their Canadian agents in order to protect their good name. The contractor paid his share, and Pro-Demnity paid out about half the minimum that would have been required, had the matter gone to trial. 

Further investigation of the miracle product revealed that LeapSpan had been used previously in Canada and the U.S., as the supplier had claimed, but only in film and stage sets. Any kind of water testing would quickly have shown that the material dissolves when wet, and the thin skin coat of acrylic did little to help.

There are two authentic takeaways from this tale of faux fabrication. 

Lesson No. 1: Don’t be enticed by sunny lifestyle images in glossy brochures. If a product hasn’t been Canadian-climate tested, don’t specify it until it has. 

Lesson No.2: Imagining that complex and expensive-looking work can be faked at a fraction of the price of the real thing only guarantees ultimate disappointment. In the immortal words of tattoo artist Norman Keith Collins, aka “Sailor Jerry”: “Good work ain't cheap, cheap work ain't good.”