| (.....) Today I would like to say a few words about a very worthy son of Riez, to whom Sisteron owes a lot, because no one after Paul Arena has so beautifully and so brilliantly described and glorified him. It is modest and so full of talent, the perfect artist, Pierre Girieud, that I would like to speak about. Ah! he prides himself on being from Riez and claims to be from Provence, not only by words, but by a whole life doomed to radiant noon.
(...) You have to guess Girieud, then hear him describe our country and let his enthusiastic take flight. He shows his works steeped in fiery light and poetry, the daughter of sincerity, all of them brilliant tributes to our sky. His painting, his pencil tell our Alps; the Rhône, the Durance which is the most superb wife of the largest river, does not displease Madame la Saône; the Mediterranean, that is to say all that the Romans baptized the Province, the country par excellence, as we say in the Bible, for the book of books.
He was, twenty years ago and more, in Italy, to study and compare the sky over there with ours. He admired the masterpieces and landscapes that we all rightly admire, but like a Le Cardonnel, in Assisi, he wandered nostalgia for his Provençal stronghold, of which he illustrated all of the history and sites, including he expressed the soul with sunbeams for brushes. Last January, the rooms of the Druet gallery in Paris offered a series of clear visions, a whole fresco spread out in powerful images of our home. Pierre Girieud, in this exhibition, was praised by all, for his conscience, his gifts and his originality. I would have spoken to you about this new affirmation of his talent, if I could have detailed it at leisure and pleasure, but I was then in Belgium to teach our mountains there. Logically, we should have meditated in front of Lou Pastre de Moustiers, the Columns, the Asse Valley, and felt these Flowers, these horizons from Arles to Sisteron, breathe.
Girieud confessed to me his attractions for Sisteron and his worship for Paul Arène. Anyone who has seen the splendid stanzas of our city, which are his lithographs by Domnine, has proofs of this love. Do I have to remember his tribute to Paul Arène? His stays between Beaume and Mollard.
I had written these few notes, when, on Easter day, the Fire arrives from Aix en Provence, I read and reread a study by Gabriel Mourey on Pierre Girieud.
What good adouba! Qu'aco'es ben verai: a magnificent artist, a handsome, upright character, a man of high merit all of cordial simplicity; a devotee of all that is of the empire of the sun; a homegrown and first-rate glory; here is our compatriot, Pierre Girieud. Los to him, and so much the better for our country |