Carte blanche to Olivier Niquet | Waiting for a better world under a Tempo shelter

With their unique style and their own sensitivity, artists present their vision of the world around us. This week, we give carte blanche to Olivier Niquet.

Maybe it’s age, but I feel the concern for looking good on the outside slowly diminishing inside me. I do the grocery shopping in sweatpants and I jog in jeans. I’ll soon be able to claim to be a class defector, since I have much less class than I did in the past. That’s what I thought about this week when I realized that I would soon have to set up my temporary carport (the shelter is temporary, the car is there for good). This is the most obvious example of my new insensitivity to good taste.

Installing the Tempo, as it is nicknamed after its maker, like Frigidaire calls a refrigerator and Tupperware calls a container whose lid you can never find, requires some skill. You don’t want to be the first to contribute to the visual pollution this design horror creates, but anyone who has ever tried to tighten a bolt with mittens knows that you don’t want to be caught installing it after the cold weather has blown.

Conversely, the first person to dismantle their shelter in the spring will start a chain reaction. We are dismantling Tempo shelters much faster than statues. The date of this liberation movement will predict an early spring much more surely than a marmot would who might or might not see his shadow. Let the marmot lobby that pushes its deception into the depths of our burrows every year take note.

We are quick to get rid of it because the temporary shelter ends up destroying the landscape of our streets, which are already quite damaged by the laxity of Precambrian urban planning. The problem is that it is also one of the most beautiful inventions since the trouser-saving carpet.

The embarrassment of owning such a monstrosity is quickly supplanted by the incredible satisfaction of never having to clear the snow from your car, or of not having to yell at teenagers who are perpetually “lazy” to get out the snow plow.

Every year, the massive erection of temporary shelters reminds us that while waiting to build a better world, it is better to organize ourselves to mitigate the defects of the one we live in. I am sure that you too say this to yourself when you see a Tempo: “while waiting to build a better world, it is better to organize ourselves to mitigate the defects of the one we live in”. We could even see all this as a metaphor for our ways of governing. That is to say, to overcome difficulties, we tend to build new structures alongside existing ones or to give up our autonomy to external firms, rather than rebuilding everything. This would probably be an overstatement.

The smartest among you will have deduced that if I have a shelter, it is because I also have what is called in the asphalt world a driveway. I am one of those who believe that we must reduce the place of the automobile in the city. If there were a war on the automobile as those who do not master basic mathematics claim, I would be on the opposing side (the one who would be crushed in a few hours). I dream of one day being able to transform my driveway in planting tomatoes and converting my Tempo into a hydroponic greenhouse.

What space we could reclaim! In 2019, the City of Laval calculated that its territory had half a million parking spaces, not counting residential entrances. These spaces were unoccupied 80% of the time. In fact, they were “busy” reflecting the sun and making the mercury rise. When it comes to sustainable immobility, Laval is not exceptional. This city is especially exceptional for its cinema in the shape of a flying saucer.

But until we discover a cornucopia of car sharing, until metro stations reach the third ring road and until half the city is transformed into a cycle path or pedestrian street, access to a small patch of asphalt is rather useful. And I take full advantage of it. I am not averse to contradictions. I am in favor of abolishing three-speed schools, but I send my children to private schools. I worry about the pH of the oceans, but also that of my swimming pool. I consider myself a music lover, but I sometimes listen to Ed Sheeran in secret.

To what extent does this resignation to the sterility of the system contribute to nothing changing? To what extent does comfort lead to indifference? I would like things to change collectively, but in the meantime, I am making choices that benefit me individually.

When I am offered the option of a “better” world, that is what I choose, but if that option is not available, I am willing to settle for a world that is not too much worse.

This is probably what our leaders are saying to themselves: well, they are happy with not-too-bad, let’s continue!

Oddly enough, we live in an era where hoping for positive things is associated with being politically correct. The term “politically correct” is supposed to refer to people who have conformist or traditional ideas, but has become an insult to those who “think” that it would be “good” to take care of others and the environment. Especially if they do it with a smile, since sneering seems to have become one of the greatest flaws a politician can have.

For some time now, I have decided to call “wrong-thinkers” those who minimize the effects of climate change, those who deny the dynamics of domination in society and those who believe that the Canadiens will not make the playoffs. I do this to show the absurdity of designating everything in black and white when people’s reality is more nuanced. We have the right to fantasize about magnificently sustainable cities in the comfort of our temporary shelters.

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