After half a century in the workshop, Yvan Thériault’s hammers are preparing to hammer in their final nails. The carpenter from Quebec has to close his shop because there is a lack of replacements for his apron. The announced disappearance of the Jack of Hearts is symptomatic of the decline in craftsmanship internationally and in Quebec and will leave a void in the Faubourg Saint-Jean-Baptiste, a district of the capital whose historic charm rests on the work of craftsmen who achieved a lot have the legacy its splendor.
Even before you cross the threshold of the workshop, the smell of cut wood and the sound of tools in action announce the right address. Inside, Yvan Thériault stands in the middle of his universe, leaning over a door to allow himself to be pampered, surrounded by types of wood up to the ceiling, instruments on all the walls, sawdust on the floor and plans spread out on the surface.
Here, in this organized knick-knack, the craftsman has been working for more than 40 years, sometimes 12 hours a day, to beautify his neighborhood. The character of an ornate staircase, the pride of an ornate door, the elegance of a molded console and its molded cornice: here, in the Valet de Coeur on Rue Richelieu, Yvan Thériault is slowly repairing, almost every day for four decades, the architectural heritage of the state capital and beyond.
Soon his expertise will go out with the lights of his workshop. Without a successor to pass the torch to, he will have to close his premises by the end of October.
“This is a big, big loss for me,” explains the carpenter. Retirement promises to be painful, a bit like a romantic breakup. The daily workshop will soon be over, the native of Portneuf-sur-Mer, who has been based in Quebec since the early 1970s, will be left with all the memories created in 50 years of work.
Behind the millions of hammer blows delivered by Yvan Thériault throughout his career are his twenty years in Quebec’s Latin Quarter, the former artistic stronghold where Gilles Vigneault made his living before rents rose. Arrow and flocks of tourists. There is also the solidarity from a time when he and a group of friends enjoyed renovating the homes of less wealthy neighbors, largely for the joy of helping.
Over the years and hammering, he saw the slow disappearance of workshops and a time when handwork still had a certain nobility. Yvan Thériault has acquired a deep knowledge of his art by examining his work hundreds of times. Today, the young cohorts following in his footsteps are navigating a technological world in which 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 going on just by listening to the sound of the blade and feeling the vibration in my hands,” he explains. A bit like a musician playing an instrument and no longer having to look at it to take his notes. It’s no longer even an instinct: you become a tool, the material eventually becomes a part of you. I can tell by touching a piece of wood whether it’s working or not. That is also one of the problems: At school, young people learn with modern, often digital machines. Only those who persevere in their profession manage to build this relationship with their art. »
I can tell by touching a piece of wood whether it’s working or not
Lack of evaluation
The problem is that the next generation is becoming increasingly rare. “Several reasons can explain this,” complains Julien Silvestre, general director of the Quebec Crafts Council. These professions have not been valued in our society for many years and there are not many training places left. »
However, adds Julien Silvestre, the needs are urgent at a time when the preservation of cultural heritage is taking on new importance in Quebec’s consciousness.
“In Quebec we have been rediscovering our heritage for about fifteen years, but the pool of specialized craftsmen capable of restoring it is very, very limited and already overstretched. I can imagine how heartbreaking it must have been for Yvan to close his workshop, as he seemed genuinely keen to pass on his expertise. »
The main character explains that it’s not for lack of trying. “There are five or six apprentices that I see passing by and who tell me that they are going to come and buy, and in the end they give up,” says Yvan Thériault. Architectural carpentry is certainly a fascinating profession, but it is also demanding and rarely an enrichment for its followers.
“A craftsman is an independent worker,” emphasizes the founder of Le Valet de coeur. This means that he is also a manager: for example, I have to maintain my machinery, take care of purchases, promote my work and maintain relationships with my customers. I have a lot of work to do that has nothing to do with carpentry: all the administration and paperwork adds up to many man-hours on top of production. »
Until recently, the 71-year-old carpenter held out hope that a last-minute replacement would arrive to save his workshop. Never one to kneel at the altar of profit, he said he was willing to offer his jack of hearts at a friendly price. “If someone took over and let me work here for a few more hours a week, I would sell it to them very, very cheaply. »
This offer will never have a chance of finding a buyer: In recent days, the insurer has demanded that the electrical and ventilation systems of the approximately forty-year-old building be brought up to date. The claim, estimated at tens of thousands of dollars, puts the final nail in the workshop’s coffin.
“I am aware that I am part of a heritage that is disappearing,” concludes Yvan Thériault without bitterness. For 50 years he has been watching the workshops in the suburbs close one after the other. Now it’s his turn to resign himself to putting away his apron, even if he does so reluctantly.
“Unfortunately, I think that due to the lack of succession, our work as carpenters will increasingly be reserved for wealthy people and public institutions. This is a shame because the beauty that we know how to create deep within should be accessible to everyone. »