The grid

The European visitor will often be shocked by the sight of the north-American grid equipment. One of them often tells me that Montreal is an African country. I’m probably too used to it to see any misery. After all, we’ve been dealing with it for at least a century and it pleases the squirrels who have made it their neighborhood highway.

I like materials, things, machines. Without liking mechanics, I love cars, rockets that rise noisily to the sky, planes that seem to defy any logic of gravity. I am conquered by human inventiveness. And let no killjoy come here to extinguish my flame by affirming that all this is artificial and will lead to the loss of Man with his great capital letter. Man is a manifestation of nature, we too often forget it. It is neither above nor below. I have confidence in the future, even if it will probably be without us. The wonders of the universe hide, in their bags, round balls that have not yet been played.