Gary Bunt
this was written on lockdown by covid 19, at the half of an island called the dominican republic by a black girl of 23 years old, wich friends and lovers call angie and likes to stare at paintings
In these days locked down, for our own safety and will, maybe cause our superiors are not into our safety anymore, or maybe cause they don’t know how, I spent more time online, searching and scrolling to something that could give me (at least) a small amount of the happiness I used to feel while looking at the sea without covering my smile to the wind and breeze that the ocean gives.
My right thumb pointed out the cutest paint I’ve seen in a while, and thank God that it had the name of, Gary (lovely) Bunt.
A British man, who thanks (and sadly) for his many years living sick, hands a peaceful moment for once, in this new way that we want to call “life” and that we are all trying to at least, give it a try.
I envy, not in a slightly improper way, all the people who can meet his many children, which are for me his paintings, hanging on a museum, or maybe a living room. I think it’s lovely that all of his work sounds like Gymnopédie No.1 played by someone that loves piano and doesn’t care about playing it perfectly, enjoying every touch of its keys. It’s also very heartwarming to know that Gary, thanks and sadly for his sickness, could find the love of Jesus to talk about it with his paintings and lovely poems, which are a blessing to me, knowing how difficult is to read poetry for me.
I love how warm I feel while looking at winter, the company, by just watching a single person with a dog, the joy of a farm with its residents, and the peace of a messy and comfy house. It’s nice to feel the cold wind, the soft snow, and a whole winter, without paying a ticket for a person like me, a latin american one, who only knows the cold that a freezer owns.
I thank God for giving Mr. Bunt the ability to give me joy and hope, in these days locked down, for our own safety and will, because maybe our superiors are not into our safety anymore, or maybe they just don’t know or remember how.