David Carruthers's father made paper, and so did his grandfather. You could say he must have inherited the profession. But when I asked him, he couldn't quite remember what inspired his decision to start Papeterie St-Amand, a small paper-making operation tucked away in a turn-of-the-century factory basement on the Lachine Canal, 30 years ago. All that he can recall is his desire to work independently.
In an industry dominated by consolidated corporations each owning 15 to 20 wood pulp mills – which exhaust Canadian forests and pollute the environment with bleaches and dyes – Carruthers's business is a refreshing alternative. Ninety-five per cent of the fibres in the industry come from Canadian forests, and the balance is largely waste paper. Papeterie St-Armand, however, is one of the few manufacturers using recycled cloth and natural fibres. And at St-Armand, the only thing that goes down the drain is water.
The sound of running water fills the main room of the factory, lit partly by windows facing the canal. A handful of workers and old-fashioned machinery occupy one corner, the office area another. The room is mostly furnished with piles of paper. Due to the couple inches of water on the floor surrounding the workers, everyone is wearing rubber boots; a half dozen pairs are scattered nearby. One worker fills a mould with pulp, over and over again; another is rinsing off sheets with a hose. Rows of clothespins, stacks of paper, and columns of drying racks seem to mimic the repetition of these workers' tasks. The care and skill involved is evident from their concentration, but so is the serenity of an artisanal trade.
Not all of the products at Papeterie St-Armand are hand-pressed. A small metal ladder leads to an upstairs where Carruthers shows me a pale green machine from 1947, and a silver tub at least 20 feet high, into which the pulp is pumped. The machine isn't running, but I'm told that there would be water spewing everywhere if it were. While the machine was originally steam-powered, it now runs on electricity, allowing it to reach temperatures of about 300ºC. As a result, the paper is dry by the time it runs through the machine. The handmade paper pressed downstairs will take about two days to dry.
Carruthers is a storyteller. Each sheet of paper, each piece of equipment, and even the building's cement ceiling induce a thoughtful explanation. The burgundy-coloured board, he tells me, comes from a pulp mixture of blue denim, black denim, and red t-shirt. He achieves an impressive range and vibrancy of colours without using dyes; simply by combining different colours of cloth he can make pinks, greens, yellows, oranges, blacks, blues, and reds. The paper's texture is determined by the materials used – for instance, linen makes a slicker paper than cotton – and also by the pressing and drying process. The paper is patterned by the intricate grid from the wire in the mould, and it is dried on different felts, which can give the paper a range of surfaces.
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