Jean Beaulieu is no longer

An artist in angles and colors, Jean Beaulieu has made his mark with his stained glass windows and cutouts. A peddler and a businessman at the same time, his scalpel style has never ceased to be refined, expressing itself in the nobility of the unique work and in the modesty of the mass-produced object. A free spirit.

It is also largely through social commitment that Jean Beaulieu has defined himself. In these times of all-out homelessness, with the breath he had left, he was still recently indignant at the apathy of decision-makers in the face of the scourge which sees city sidewalks transformed into open-air dormitories, which leaves young people sinking into a future devoid of horizon.

With Art-go, for a decade, Jean Beaulieu will be the hand stretched out over the abyss. Stained glass works of his own, historical frescoes adorning the walls of several cities, will become under his tutelage the collective salvation of some 150 young people. The vast majority of them are now finding success in careers and family lives that they could not have imagined.

As if young dropouts, itinerants, drug addicts, homeless people and other street cripples found in the fiery character living proof that it was possible to flourish on the margins. John the Lighthouse.

There was also in Jean Beaulieu the indignant citizen. The one whose smile tinged with irony suggested a continuously smoldering revolt. And beware of those who arouse his anger. Monumental, his strokes of brilliance left their mark. Health network, public art policies, contemporary art, he was uncompromising in the face of institutions which, in his opinion, reveled in mediocrity. He distributed the warning shots as he steered his boat, without care.

When cancer strikes, Beaulieu bends his knees. The shock, lasting two days, especially since the prospects are gloomy. Then the fighter returns to the front, visor raised, weapon in hand, still foaming at the mouth, there will be no more truce. Jean Batailleur.

During random treatments and chemotherapy, he alienates some of the nursing staff, as he is so loath to diagnoses marked by fatality and pessimism. “That was the last time you spoke to me, doctor!” Its purple sky is made of storms, but it is the light of dawn that shines in the distance. The night can wait.

For those who do not desert his bedside, the Cancerian optimist instead becomes the endearing patient with whom we agree to lead the charge. The assault will last three years. Apart from his comings and goings to the hospital, the artist persists in creation. He closed his shop on Notre-Dame Centre, reinvented himself on Forges, had a housewarming party and varnished his paintings. The crowd and the faithful come in numbers. John the Conqueror.

Then the crab continues its advance. When the path becomes a dead end, Jean Beaulieu breaks down the barrier. An experimental protocol will do the trick. A radioactive elixir will soon flow through his veins. The rage to live forever.

The weeks will pass. And the road becomes a steeper slope every day. Not long ago, we found the artist who had designed t-shirts which will serve as a fundraising campaign for Point de rue, in particular. Last real public outing.

The final treatment protocol is put aside. Anarchic, the metastases take hold. Daily life soon turns into a duel to end with illness. The opponent was tenacious. Jean Lucide knew it, but preferred to turn his shoulder out of bravado.

We met him a few days ago, bedridden, his sweet Johanne discreetly opening the door to his privacy for us, the time to say goodbye. The artist’s mocking eye still shone with a faint glimmer, his pale breath still exhaled a few gentle curses and – is it surprising? – his mind veiled in morphine found reason to be indignant at his state, as if the illness irritated him more than it caused him to suffer. “I want to, but yeah, at some point…”

Then he left, without compromise, with his head held high. John the Lord.