BUNT LAUNCH

When Canvas Meets Skin: A Ritual In Motions at BUNT's Debut. In Conversation With Amelie Trimpl 

I. The Threshold
It began not with spectacle but silence. The kind that fills a room like breath before a word. A hush swept over the crowd at Please Space Studios. Not anticipation, exactly. Something closer to reverence.

Into this space walked Maia del Estal.

Two models stood before her, robed in white. Still. Waiting. Not mannequins, but vessels. This was not performance art in the traditional sense. It was a threshold: between bodies, between forms, between states of becoming.

II. The Invocation
As Del Estal lifted her brush, the garments became living scrolls. Paint bled like memory into fabric. The models moved with aching precision—closer, then still. Hands hovered. Eyes traced pathways never taken. A choreography of restraint. A language of not-quite-touching.

The act unfolded slowly, almost defiantly so, in a city built on speed.

Founder Amelie Trimpl later called it "a mirror, not a message." This wasn’t about telling the audience what to feel. It was about creating a field of resonance. A space where delay, tension, and tenderness could breathe.

III. The Trialogue
Three voices converged: Trimpl, the architect of emotion; Del Estal, the painter of intimacy; Fitzgerald, the sculptor of silhouettes.

Together they built a structure that held all three. Trimpl didn’t direct. She curated frequencies. Fitzgerald’s garments offered form. Del Estal animated them. The result was neither fashion nor art but a fugue state of both.

This was synergy, not hierarchy.

IV. The Unveiling
As the models’ hands finally met, the room fell into a kind of collective stillness. The garments—now living documents of gesture and pigment—were transformed. The performance, once held tightly in tension, softened into release.

There were no words spoken. Only exhale.

V. The Echo
BUNT is not a brand. It is a proposal. A way of doing that centers not product, but process. Trimpl defines it as a space for emotional risk, for beautiful discomfort.

Its name, which means "colorful" in German, doubles as mission. The painted garments will be auctioned. Proceeds will be split: half to Trans Lifeline, half to the artists. Art, here, is not extracted. It gives back.

Trimpl asks: "If your work isn’t saying something about the world, why are you making it?"

VI. The Continuum
Nothing about the evening suggested finality. Even the models’ last embrace felt more like beginning than end. It was a moment suspended in softness—not closure, but permission.

To feel. To witness. To remain open.

Because, as Trimpl reminds us:

"Some stories don’t need to end. They just need to be witnessed."

Photos by Edgar Tescum