It was shortly before the middle of the century that appeared in the tumult of the Salon d'Automne, rich and subtle, in penumbra, which bore as a signature a short name, like a bird's cry from their greens. .
Two modest exhibitions at Galerie Claude (1948, 1950) affirmed the tender alliance concluded by the brushes of Thiout between the vegetable world and the silence of the stone. In the sets that remind one of those of the Grand Meaulnes, masked characters, seducers, and pale fiancees are about to cross a porch, a gate. What "strange holiday" is preparing? The turrets or the walls of a castle, the balustrades, the statues bathe their patinated whiteness in the chlorophyll of illustrious domains, abandoned parks where only the vigor of the foliage testifies to the action of the sun.
We find in these landscapes the irresolutions, the times of modesty that mingle like a veil with the tender affirmations of Pierre Laprade. A limited palette dominated, to the exclusion of blues and oranges, emerald green mingled with the diversity of yellows, and all the shades of gray, allows only exceptionally the stridence of a gold, a violet of a madance lacquer.
Turning his back to the sea, this Normand native Martin-Church preferred to find the wet and the unlimited in enclosed spaces. Who would have thought that Venice, so poor in greens, would inspire him in his turn? He stripped him of all tinsel, and, compelling him to renounce his eyes, if not his fever, made him spring forth, deliciously pale and funereal, from waters and skies made of the same lead, from one tin.
Like Grüber, his one-year-old elder, whose companion he fills at Lucien Simon's house-one would discover between their many prismatic writings-Jacques Thiout paints solidly, flees from your destructive mixture, animates the life of the underworld. Hence the charm and intensity of his canvases conducted with as much nervousness as care, without sacrifices to the effect or chance, and that hope that soon it will be seen cover large areas and focus his gifts and his dream.
Claude Roger-Marx – October 1956