Today was Sunday, thank goodness, and the only thing I had to do, apart from my normal father and husband duties, was to attend an opening of an art exhibition in the village. I was invited by Gérard, who happened to be presenting some of his curious work in the village exhibition.
One day I got the opportunity to find out. I was leaving the school house and the rain was coming down in torrents, I was on my way to the school classroom when Gérard appeared out of his wide, first front door. Our eyes made contact, “Bon jour, ca va?”, I called across the street. Gérard, who is not usually impressed with what I think to be my big effort at French, winced and beckoned me over. He ushered me into his secret, blue door.
“Come, come, quickly, it is raining”, his cigarette danced up and down in synch with his words. It was dark inside and Gérard closed the door, accept for a few inches, behind him. He fumbled around for the light switch and then the room was flooded with bright light. Set before me was a jumbled scene with a stale cigarette smell cleverly hiding a burnt metal whiff. On the right hand side of the earthen, red-brown floor was a long workbench that ran the length of the wall. The bench was covered with bits of metal and strange looking tools, the type of tools seen in spy films when information is required from the hero by the bad guy. On the left hand side were shelves and cupboards, that had clearly been there a long time, full of scrap metal in all shapes and sizes, ranging from long thin metal rods to wide thin metal sheets, old bikes, bird cages and parts of metal furniture all arranged in ‘Gérard’ order.
At the back of the room were metal, mainly coloured black, ornaments on shelves. The ornaments were of different nature. People in tall hats, people with long hair and shields, people with spears and pony tails and a convincing Darth Vadar. There were also metal insects on polished and stained wood, ‘Welcome Home’ door signs in three languages, wine bottle holders disguised as chariots, signs of the zodiac and candle arrangers, as well as key hooks. Gérard then went on to explain that he made these unique objects using recycled metal that he had found or that was given to him by kind donations from people in the village. It all started to make sense to me. The strange buzzing was Gérard cutting up bits of metal with his angle grinder. The weird puffing was Gérard welding metal together. The banging was Gérard shaping his objects and the colourful language, well that was not really explained to me, but I can only use my imagination.
Gérard explained that this was now his passion since he retired, making something beautiful out of ugly old bits of metal that people no longer wanted. He then went on to say that he makes all types of things for people in the village. He pointed to a window grill on the second floor of the house opposite, explaining to me how he made it and how happy his neighbour was with the end result. I asked Gérard if one day I could come and take some pictures of him at work in his workshop, perhaps when he was welding next. He said that I could and that he would be welding very soon as he would be making some window grills for another neighbour. It was at this point that I realized that I was late for my lesson. I left Gérard in his secret basement to carry on creating his recycled metal army and household objects that pleased him so much, and that was that for a while.
Over the next few months I would knock on the blue door, from time to time, to ask Gérard if he could show some of my friends, that were visiting, around his basement which he took great pleasure in doing, which was clearly evident from Gérard’s smiley face. One time, I bought a cigale on a log from him and gave it to my mother as a birthday present, which now sits on her hall wall in Bristol, England.
About two months ago Gérard advised me that he would be exhibiting some of his work in Quinson, throughout the summer, with other local artists, and would I like to come along to the grand opening, where the mayor would be opening proceedings and aperitifs with snacks would entice passers-by in to see Quinson’s local creative talent.
So, two months on, here I was getting ready for my descent down into the village, children ready and Anna, my wife, applying sun cream to everyone, accept the cats. We arrived at Quinson’s main street ‘le cours’, where the exhibition was being held, and the street was filled with people waiting for the grand opening. There were cars driving cautiously through the street trying to avoid pedestrians waiting outside the exhibition venue, ‘Cercle de l’Avenir’. Whilst we were waiting, it seemed that the hot topic of conversation amongst the villagers was that the organizers should have closed the street off for the morning as the cars were sailing through the village and sometimes only narrowly avoiding pedestrians. Then again, this is rural France where health and safety takes a back seat, which some might say allows a more spontaneous way of living. The crowd that had gathered hushed as someone appeared to be making an announcement; I hoped it would be that the drinks were now on offer as it was roasting hot in the sun.
It was not long before the newly elected mayor was introduced and he stepped up for the occasion: time for him to show the village what he was made of. He is from Toulon, which does not go down too well with the people of Quinson, as he is not local! It was an informative speech outlining the artists and what they had produced for the exhibition. The mayor was getting a little hot under the collar as it was difficult for him to get himself heard, and the crowd found this a little amusing as car after car kept passing through the middle of the proceedings. I caught Gérard’s eye and he gave me a wink and smiled: he looked very artisan with a dapper blue shirt, a pair of dark knee length shorts and a posh stetson type hat. He appeared calm and his trademark cigarette was fastened to his lower lip. 
Everyone aimed themselves at the front door as the exhibition opened. Gérard’s work was on the left as you walked in, on a long table decorated with a fancy blue cloth. He was already stood by his table talking with a member of the public, deep in explanation it seemed about a particular piece of his work.
I noticed a new addition to his collection: an entire ten-piece band which comprised of drums, keyboards, guitar, bass, trumpet and piano, to name just a few. All of the band members were insects. The Beatles perhaps!
After a while I got a chance to catch up with Gérard to ask him some questions. I asked him how he got involved with the exhibition.
“Well, the exhibition has been planned for a long time” he began, “but the first time I made a little man, it was for a bit of fun and it pleased me”. Gérard smiled as if he was right there in his basement making his first creation.
“When people got wind of what I was doing they started giving me bits of scrap metal and old tools. Every evening my head would be bursting with ideas. For example if I sell that one”, he says pointing to one of his metal figures. “I would have to make a greek, roman or gallic warrior to replace it. At the moment I am researching how to construct a cricket”.
Gérard winces as a younger member of the crowd starts to complain in a loud fashion. We glance over to where the noise is coming from. I quickly look around for my children, they are with Danielle, Gérard’s wife. I then ask Gérard what type of metal he makes his sculptures from. “Any metal. Scrap iron, steel, tin. All”. I ask him how long he has been enjoying his hobby. Misunderstanding he replies, “oh, it varies, five hours to five days”. There is an interruption, the screaming child returns to hinder my operation. Anna, my wife and translator, asks again how long and this time he says two years. I was a surprised with this, only two years! Gérard then kindly informs me that his favorite creation is his Viking and then his Samourai. 
I ask him if it pays the bills and he replies, ”Well I made twenty of those and I have sold all twenty”, he says pointing to a Cigale smiling and not really fully answering what I have asked. He then says, ”I was born in Marseille and have lived here in Quinson for four years. My trade originally was welder, but then I worked in the nuclear industry. After that I worked on oil rigs in the North Sea off of Aberdeen, The Shetland Iles and Norway,” So, a fairly varied background for Gérard.
I turn to Danielle, who has arrived by my side. What does she think of her husband’s work? “Magnificent! I think it brings life to the village. Next year we will do even more”, she says with a big smile and sparkly green eyes. I ask her how she feels about being a welder's wife. “For me it is a good thing. It has changed Gérard’s life. When we arrived in Quinson Gérard was a bit depressed, staying in bed all day. He started making really little, tiny things, and then from there it all started”. Danielle lifts her hands in the air as if to display what her husband has achieved. I feel happy for them both. I spot the new mayor and angle my way over in his direction, dragging my translator with me. He sees me coming and turns to face me. What does he think of the exhibition?
“I think it is wonderful to have the people of Quinson display their work. They are remarkable pieces of work, in particular, the metal creations that you are interested in today. It must take lots of patience to make what Gérard has made. It just goes to show that you do not need to be a recognized artist to produce some beautiful pieces of art.” The chatter gets louder and the mayor looks from left to right. Is he looking for his drink? Maybe a mirror? I ask him how exhibitions like this effect the morale of the village. “I want people to come to Quinson not just for the prehistoric museum, but to come to the heart of the village, to see what we are really doing. So, this is positive for the people, any time people get together it is positive for the village”.
I can hear passion in his voice now, and he forgets about the drink and mirror. “When people gather together for a common purpose it promotes a sense of identity and community spirit. It strengthens links and the local economy. We have big problems here, trade-wise, trying to get through the quiet times of the year. Our objective is to strengthen ties between the young and old in the community, the newcomers and the long time residents, all parts of the spectrum of Quinson, together”. He finished and for a second I thought he might break into a song. Well, I guess he has a right to be passionate. It really is a great exhibition for everyone concerned. Anyone who lives in Quinson, and has an artistic streak, has the chance to exhibit something that they have made. This is not easy to achieve if you live in the city.
Gérard is still chatting away to someone about his work. That cigarette looks a bit smaller now. I start to worry that he might burn his lip, cause a scene and set off the toddlers again. This worry passes as my own toddler pulls my sleeve and asks me for a lolly pop.
