Joan Pinyot i Garròs


Our time is running out and never stopsRetrat-Raimon-Roca-1954
The hours are stretching at a gentle pace…
As formally as life becomes extinct
So painting makes it be reborn again.

The clouds, the pine trees, the high mountains,
The sea, the valleys so unknown before
Look suddenly familiar, like old friends,
And softly whisper to our saddened hearts.

The lovely harbour that you’re painting now
Has new tonalities and harmonies,
Is full of birds, carnations, dance and music.

The land where you abide now, day and night,
Is a land full of joy and scents of colours.
The heaven where you live smells of paintbrushes.

Translator: Joan Sellent i Arús