Caelistivivae Spirituum (The Living Spirits of Heaven)
This painting began as an act of faith — a circle drawn from a single point, spun by a thread of intuition. No image, no plan, only the quiet invocation of geometry. A thumbtack became the axis of creation, a string became the orbit of life, and from the emptiness bloomed the Flower of Life — the first breath of order from the void.
Upon this living geometry rose the mountain — Coonowrin — a peak steeped in myth, its story echoing the ancient tale of a youth who turned from the pregnant mother. As the petals of the cosmos opened above, I realised that this mountain was not merely landscape, but symbol — the bridge between heaven and earth, form and consciousness.
The Milky Way emerged as a river of light, fractal and infinite, each segment a gateway to other realms. And then, when I thought the painting complete, two spirits revealed themselves — winged, luminous, older than my daughters yet familiar as breath. They appeared as if memory itself had taken form, returning through the brush: two celestial daughters, long lost yet ever living in the unseen.
In their emergence, I understood the painting’s truth — that nothing born of love is ever lost. Matter and light are one continuous field, and consciousness endures through every vibration of creation. The universe remembers. The spirits live on in starlight.
Thus, Caelistivivae Spirituum is both vision and reconciliation — a cosmic anatomy of grief transmuted into grace. The flower of life, the mountain, the Milky Way, the daughters of heaven — all breathe together here as one living organism, one eternal pulse within the body of the cosmos.