A catch up call lasted more than 2 hours, both of them reminiscing and sharing jokes.  In amongst the mickey taking, Eric explained to Mike that he had the chance to open a ‘Gallery’ in the village – a derelict building had become available with favourable rent terms from the owner of the local Relais Hotel and Restaurant, Pierre.  It turned out that Pierre and Eric had forged a working relationship, with Eric doing paintings in return for free meals, beer and morning coffees.  Chez Pierre was at the centre of village life, all of the locals and oversees settlers would use it for their social meets and croissants and coffee in the mornings, aperitifs and plat de jour lunches at midday and evening meals and post work soirees in the evenings.

“Sounds pretty good” Mike expressed…..

And so, the story begins.

Mike and Eric’s friendship began in 1974, when both of them became part of the Treadwell gallery’s artistic movement entitled ‘Superhumanism’.  From opposite ends of the country, Mike and Eric would be become the best of friends, sharing a working class background and acerbic wit, and no shortage of talent.  They became Treadwell’s principle sellers in a movement that pushed the boundaries of what had gone before, alongside a group of eclectic artists that reinterpreted what a British art movement could convey about the state of the universe.  In that time between 1974 and 1989, Eric and Mike would share some of the best (and worst) times, developing a healthy respect for each other’s interpretations of their worlds.  Although distinctly different as artists, they were both self taught and relied upon an unnerving resilience, and they would spend endless hours reflecting on their knowledge of  the great masters from art history.  They were students of their craft.  They enjoyed each other’s company, mostly taken with a healthy glug of alcohol and banter.  They both had an insatiable appetite for their work – painting everyday, 7 days a week, up to 10 hours a day.  Their social life never impacted on their prolific output.  They lived to paint.

So, after being in each other’s pockets for a 15 year period, Eric and Mike decided to move away from Treadwell’s Gallery throughout the 1990s, culminating in both of them only sporadically exchanging letters and phone calls from wherever Eric was living in those days.

That phone call in February, signalled something different – a possible collaboration – Eric had always had a vision of taking control of the selling of his artwork and had been brave enough to try it over the previous 10 years or so.  Cutting out the middle man appealed to Eric’s rebellious nature and now there was an opportunity to have a real space in which to do it from.

The Gallery space in question was a former retail outlet, used to sell pizzas, haberdashery and even ironmongery in the past and had been lying dormant for over 3 years.  It was owned, as mentioned, by Pierre and I think he could see the potential to increase trade to his Relais, by increasing footfall with visitors to the gallery.  Eric had become a bit of a superstar ‘artiste’ in the Village, as he always socialized at Pierre’s every evening after a hard day’s painting, or taking in his morning coffee before starting.  Eric didn’t speak a word of French, but he used that as a shield “Keeps all the nosey parkers at bay” and overtime he had his son Beau as his interpreter if needed.  He understood more than he would let on – it just meant he could choose to stay on the periphery if he chose to.  An important tactic, when living in a small village! Pierre always had a healthy respect for Eric, being an old hand in the game himself.  He had owned the Relais for over 25 years, and cultivated a longstanding influence in the village culture.  Everyone went to Pierres.

There needed to be some renovation to the building to get it usable as a gallery space and the initial work was undertaken by Eric and a group of French and English mates.  Eric was well liked in the Village and the locals all contributed with their labour and assorted trades.  Most notably, a handyman named Cliff – a no nonsense Nottinghamshire man who could turn his hand to most things.  Eric paid for the work each time he sold a painting so the work developed its own pace, demolition, toshing up walls, fixing the electrics but over the next 6 months the space slowly began to take shape.  There was a gentleman’ s agreement between Eric and Pierre for the finalising of the project, and often timelines became muddled – but their relationship never suffered.  Pierre realised he was working to fluid deadlines, and was willing to go with Eric’s bohemian approach – because he had to.

With the World Cup in France that summer, Mike’s son Joe made a trip to see Eric and Beau with his good friend Woodsie.  They travelled the length of France, soaking up the World Cup atmosphere, and slipped in a ‘holiday’ by visiting Eric.  Joe hadn’t seen Eric since he was 10 years of age, when Eric was living in Blackheath in an old bedsit.  Joe’s only memories of Eric were from the stories his dad had told him – vivid tales of art show trips to Paris and Italy and the times they had both spent on travels to Cornwall, where Mike’s family came from and where Eric lived for over 10 years.  Vicariously, Joe had lived Eric’s life through these stories.  His abiding memory of Eric was him sitting by the window in that Blackheath bedsit, nursing a wounded pigeon back to health, with canvases all over the place!  As a young child, Joe knew that Eric was a gentle soul and could see that his dad had a strong bond with him.  This sense had lived with him over the next 20 years, and he felt excited to meet him again.  As he and Woodsie drove up to Chez Pierre’s he could see Eric and Beau on the terrace, waving.  It was a typical Provencal afternoon, bright and sunny, and this reflected the sense of hope at this unlikely reunion.  Eric welcomed Joe and Woodsie onto the terrace, and it was as though time had stood still over that 20 year period.  Anyone who has had the privilege of going through an experience of meeting an old friend again knows that feeling of the familiar – the conversation instantly was ‘easy’, as if they had seen each other only yesterday.  No awkward silences, discourse jumping from one place to another, from footy, to French culture, world events, jokes and reminiscing about life.  Joe was introduced to Pierre and was greeted with a warm handshake and smile. They spent the rest of the afternoon together and the next few days staying at Eric and Beau’s.  Little did he know at the time, but Joe would be back within 6 months permanently to manage the gallery.

In that brief time spent with Eric, Joe got to see the Gallery – a definite work in progress – but still some considerable way off the finished space.  Both he and Woodsie got stuck in to help though, free labour once again for Eric.  Eric’s house was less than a 200 yard walk from the centre of the Village, which revolved around Chez Pierre’s, his cousin’s supermarket, the boulangerie, and the Village Marie.  The village had a wonderful relaxed, but working class feel, an authentically French enclave almost frozen in time.  Being only 20 mins from the French Riviera, Cannes and La Napoule, it was hard to believe that this place retained its distinctive French character – it really did feel like an oasis.  All of the locals were lifelong residents, working traditional lives and taking part in traditional pastimes, most notably hunting wild boar in the Esterel.  Lots of those characters were also part of the Forestiere, safeguarding the untouched beauty of the wild landscape.  Overtime, Joe would capture this culture with his camera for prosperity.  One of the most notable characters was Jean Louis, a skilled hunter from the Village and a subject of one of Mike’s paintings 10 years later for a show at Messums gallery.