Walk a sandy track through the Garrigue, and look across the scrub towards a battered old stone mas with its shallow red-tiled roofs. Raise your eyes, and look beyond the limestone crags that repeat the blocky forms of the buildings, to the violet mountain ridges in the distance. You are walking through a characteristic Provençal landscape as painted by Cézanne.

When you taste the dust and sniff the resin and the herbs as you stroll; when you squint against the light, you are experiencing the landscape as Cézanne did, and you will be better able to respond to his work. Several of the great impressionist and post impressionist artists lived and painted in Provence, but for me, none of their work embodies the sense and spirit of the place in quite the way that Cezanne’s paintings do. His vision of the landscape as being made up of geometric, repetitive forms was to lead eventually into the development of cubism by later artists, and Picasso was to say: ‘He was the father of us all.’

Matisse first came to Nice in 1917 at the age of 48 to recuperate from bronchitis he had caught whilst visiting his eldest son Jean, posted as an aeroplane mechanic to the airfield at Istres on windswept salt marshes thirty miles west of Marseilles. Matisse had left Paris in mid-December, catching the overnight train down. It was a long journey which left him physically ill.

After waiting four days in Marseilles with his patience close to breaking point, he finally managed to obtain permission to see his son. He was shocked by what he found. The young conscripts were cold, hungry and dirty, living ankle-deep in mud without latrines or anywhere to wash, except an icy stream once a week. He took Jean back with him to Marseilles on a 24-hour pass and treated him to the pleasures of shops, cafés and an evening out. The next day Matisse sent him back to camp, repleted with good food, wearing clean clothes and a warm army greatcoat.