2023-09-21 04:00:33
After half a century in the workshop, Yvan Thériault’s hammers are preparing to drive in their last nails. The Quebec cabinetmaker must close shop due to lack of replacements to put on his apron. Symptomatic of the decline of artisanal expertise internationally and in Quebec, the announced disappearance of the Jack of Hearts will leave a void in the Faubourg Saint-Jean-Baptiste, a district of the capital whose historical charm rests on the work of craftsmen who have given the heritage its luster.
Even before crossing the threshold of the workshop, the scent of cut wood and the sound of the tool in action announce the right address. Inside, Yvan Thériault stands in the middle of his universe, leaning over a door to be pampered, with, all around, wood species up to the ceiling, instruments on all the walls, bran from saw on the floor and plans spread out on each surface.
It is here, in this organized bric-a-brac, that the craftsman has worked for more than 40 years, sometimes 12 hours a day, to dress up his neighborhood. The character of an ornate staircase, the pride of an ornamented door, the elegance of a sculpted corbel and its molded cornice: it is here, at the Valet de coeur, rue Richelieu, that Yvan Thériault is slowly repairing , almost every day of his life for four decades, the architectural heritage of the national capital and beyond.
Soon, his know-how will go out with the lights of his workshop. Without a successor to whom to pass the torch, he will have to close his premises by the end of October.
“It’s a big, big loss for me,” explains the cabinetmaker. Retirement promises to be painful, a bit like a romantic separation. The daily workshop will soon be over, this native of Portneuf-sur-Mer, established in Quebec since the beginning of the 1970s, will be left with all the memories sculpted over 50 years of work.
Behind the millions of hammer blows that Yvan Thériault has delivered over the course of his career, there are his twenty years spent in the Latin Quarter of Quebec, the former stronghold of artists where Gilles Vigneault had his habits before rents rose. arrow and tourists flock in droves. There is also the solidarity of a time when he and a group of friends had fun renovating, mainly for the pleasure of helping, the apartments of less well-off neighbors.
He saw, over the years and the hammering, the slow disappearance of workshops and of an era where manual labor still had a certain nobility. Yvan Thériault, by dint of revisiting his work a hundred times, has acquired an intimate knowledge of his art. Today, the young cohorts who follow in his footsteps are navigating a technological world where the almost carnal relationship with matter is slowly being lost.
“When I’m working on the belt, table saw or router, I know what’s happening just by listening to the sound of the blade and feeling the vibration in my hands,” he explains. A bit like a musician who plays an instrument and no longer needs to look at it to make his notes. It’s not even instinct anymore: you become the tool, the material ends up becoming part of you. I can tell, just by touching a piece of wood, whether it will do the job or not. This is also one of the problems: at school, young people learn with modern, often digital, machinery. It is only those who persist in the profession who manage to develop this relationship with their art. »
I can tell, just by touching a piece of wood, if it will do the job or not
Lack of valuation
The problem is that the next generation is becoming increasingly rare. “Several reasons can explain this,” laments Julien Silvestre, general director of the Quebec Crafts Council. Our society has not valued these professions for many years, and there are not many training places left. »
However, adds Julien Silvestre, the needs are urgent, at a time when heritage conservation occupies a new importance in Quebec consciousness.
“In Quebec, we have been rediscovering our heritage for around fifteen years, but the pool of specialized craftsmen capable of restoring it is very, very limited and already overstretched. I imagine how heartbreaking it must have been for Yvan to close his workshop, because it seemed that he was really keen to pass on his know-how. »
The main person explains that it’s not for lack of trying. “That’s five or six apprentices that I see passing by and who tell me that they are going to come, buy, and who end up giving up,” says Yvan Thériault. Architectural cabinetmaking is certainly a fascinating job, but also demanding and rarely enriching its followers.
“A craftsman is an independent worker,” emphasizes the founder of Le Valet de coeur. This means that he is also a manager: I, for example, have to maintain my machinery, take care of purchases, promote my work and maintain my relationship with my clients. I have a lot of work to do that isn’t cabinetmaking: all the administration and paperwork adds up to a lot of man hours on top of production. »
The 71-year-old cabinetmaker until recently held out hope that a replacement would come to save his workshop at the last minute. Never one to kneel before the altar of profit, he said he was ready to offer his Jack of Hearts at a friendly price. “If someone wanted to take over and let me still work a few hours a week here, I would sell it to them really, really cheap. »
This offer will never have the chance to find a buyer: in recent days, the insurer has demanded that the electrical system and ventilation of the place, dating back around forty years, be brought up to standard. The request, estimated at several tens of thousands of dollars, hammers the final nail into the workshop’s coffin.
“I am aware of being part of a heritage that is disappearing,” concludes Yvan Thériault without bitterness. For 50 years, he has watched the workshops close one following the other in the suburb. Now it’s his turn to resign himself to putting away his apron, even if he does so reluctantly.
“Unfortunately, I think that with the lack of succession, our work as cabinetmakers will become more and more reserved for wealthy people and public institutions. It’s a shame, because the beauty that we know how to create, deep down, should be accessible to everyone. »
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