“Nebula et Orbis” was born from a moment of stillness inside chaos — a study of how worlds form, fracture, and glow long before anyone names them.
This piece began as an exploration of pressure and emergence. The central sphere wasn’t conceived as a planet at first, but as a compressed memory, a world pushed into being by the same forces that shape people: heat, collision, and time. As the layers of spray paint built up, the form started behaving like a celestial body — something ancient, scarred, and quietly alive.
The surrounding nebula came from the idea that every world, real or imagined, sits inside a cloud of its own history. The neon pigments, only visible under UV, act like hidden signals — traces of energy that exist but aren’t meant to dominate the scene. They’re the afterglow of events you can’t fully see, only sense.
The title, Nebula et Orbis (“Cloud and Sphere”), reflects that duality:
a world defined not just by its surface, but by the atmosphere of stories around it.