This is an unclassifiable book: a quirky memoir in words and photographs by Bill Wyman, bassist of the most famous rock group of the century, the Rolling Stones, of his friendship with one of the most popular painters of the century, Marc Chagall. "To many people it's an unlikely-sounding friendship. The idea that the two of us would have much in common would surprise a lot of peopleI I had more desire to meet Chuck Berry than Chagall, but that was before meeting them. When I met them they were each the opposite of what I'd expected. Chuck Berry was a huge disappointment, but Chagall was a great and pleasant surprise, and I'm so glad to have known him."

In the later years of his long life (he was 97 when he died in 1985), Chagall lived near the village of St Paul de Vence in the south of France. When the Rolling Stones went into tax exile in France in 1971, Wyman found himself a near-neighbour of the painter. In 1976, they were introduced by a mutual French friend, and they remained in touch until Wyman returned to Britain in 1982. For five years or so, Wyman, a talented amateur photographer, took pictures of Chagall; some of these appeared in a book, Chagall M¨¦diterran¨¦en , published in 1983. In Wyman Shoots Chagall , the portraits of Chagall and his wife are supplemented by photographs of Wyman's friends (including many celebrities - though not, significantly, Mick Jagger or Keith Richards) and of the luminous Provencal countryside and villages, along with a few works by Chagall that include drawings and doodles done for Wyman. The elegant package, which comes boxed as a limited edition printed on thick paper and signed by Wyman, is completed by a CD of Wyman's serene Chagall Suite , performed by the London Symphony Orchestra.

The portraits are undoubtedly the finest part of the book, capturing Chagall in a wide range of moods, often rapidly shifting, but always benign. "He had a face that changed shape all the time, with every word and thought. One minute he looked like a turtle and the next minute he looked like an owl." They remind one of Yehudi Menuhin, another artist of Russian-Jewish extraction.

But Wyman has some interesting things to say, too - mainly anecdotal. The first time he met Chagall, the old man told him: "Oh, your hair's too long!" Wyman responded: "Yeah, but we started it in 1962 - we were the first pop musicians with long hair." Ah, said Chagall: if you are an originator, that is OK. On a subsequent occasion, sitting in Chagall's house ("like a fantastic museum"), Wyman spotted some Picassos lying around. Chagall told him that he and Picasso (another neighbour) liked to exchange works. Wyman is amazed: "It's like I would when I see Eric Clapton: I give him my new CD and he gives me one of his. But I never thought of artists doing things like that."

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He admits, however, that although he was bewitched by Chagall's paintings, Chagall never showed the slightest interest in Wyman's music, or in any popular music. "He was more interested in Stravinsky." Wyman thought, "What's the most off-the-wall music I can take him, which album?" He chose the Stones's Satanic Majesties , with "2,000 Light Years From ÌÇÐÄVlog". "Whether he played it, I don't know - I didn't ask him to put it on while I was there. I wouldn't lay that on anybody."

Chagall, as depicted by Wyman, comes across as a modest, generous man totally wrapped up in his art. It is his transparent devotion to his work, more than anything, that attracts Wyman and explains this unexpected friendship between two celebrities from opposite ends of the artistic spectrum.

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Andrew Robinson is literary editor, The THES .