“The man whose thoughts, like larks, take to their wings Each morning, freely speeding through the air, Who soars above this life, interpreter Of flowers’ speech, the voice of silent things!” Hervé Constant is a poetic painter – Like the poet in Baudelaire’s text, his images give form to fleeting and at times fragile things, unnoticed, perhaps in the ordinary performance of our lives. Waking up, organizing one’s day, travelling through the city, dealing with the hundred and one things that occupy us, interfacing with our fellow citizens, friends and family, tuned in to the broader geo-political events which form the background of our lives and over which we may have little control. Each of u

Hervé Constant : Illuminations in London Fields I knew Hervé first of all as the painter who loved Arthur Rimbaud, the boy genius who flashed through London with his symbolist lover, Paul Verlaine. Rimbaud found an equilibrium, finally, in far-off Ethiopia, Hervé came from the hot cities of Casablanca, Hyères, Marseille, and after Paris, Toulon to the green of London Fields. He is large man, his accent always strong; well-travelled: the accumulated memories of decades enrich his studio space. A past in experimental theatre, Grand Guignol, flamenco and rock opera preceded a chosen exile: retreat from a madding crowd and a space for reflection. In London he assimilates the fruit of his travel