Dioxazine Divine – A Cosmic Art Experience of Color and Creation

Daria Eibert
7 days ago
2 min read

We all have galaxies inside us. And sometimes, all it takes is a single brushstroke to find our way to them.

Dioxazine Divine was born from that place. I had been listening to science fiction stories, immersing myself in speculative worlds, thinking about galaxies, alien minds, and distant civilizations. I didn’t start with a concept—I never do—but something drew me to paint that vastness. I layered and worked slowly, letting the deep purples and cosmic hues speak first. It became a deeply personal cosmic art experience—something more than painting, like brushing up against the unknown. — In my studio, during the making of Dioxazine Divine

A Cosmic Art Experience: Opening Reflections

When I was a child, I’d spend my summers in the Estonian countryside, at our family house. It was a world of its own—quiet, slow, endlessly peaceful. And when August came, the nights turned dark enough to reveal the Milky Way. Back then, I was simply mesmerized by the beauty of it. I didn’t fully grasp the scale of what I was looking at, but I felt its pull. Later, as life became more complex, I would return to those skies—looking up in moments of uncertainty or pain. Something about the sheer scale of it all made my own worries dissolve. There’s a force in the stars, something that speaks in silence, and reminds us of our place in the vastness.

The Painting Begins

Dioxazine Divine was born from that place. I had been listening to science fiction stories, immersing myself in speculative worlds, thinking about galaxies, alien minds, and distant civilizations. I didn’t start with a concept—I never do—but something drew me to paint that vastness. I layered and worked slowly, letting the deep purples and cosmic hues speak first.

It felt magnetic. Beautiful. But it also carried something I couldn’t define. A quiet fear that lingered as I painted—like I was brushing up against something vast and unknown. The kind of power that makes you feel small, but never insignificant.

The Revelation

Only later did I understand what I had been painting.

I learned I was carrying new life. And suddenly everything clicked. That fear, that awe, that magnetic draw—it wasn’t about the cosmos out there. I had been painting the universe within. A new world was unfolding inside me, and my brush had sensed it before my mind could name it.

The Inner Universe Expands

Now, a year later, I sit quietly with my baby boy. And I finally understand what this painting was trying to say. That sensation I couldn’t grasp while painting? It was the beginning of an expansion. A Big Bang of my own. From one small inner world, something boundless had grown.

The moment he was born, everything changed. It was like the cosmos broke open, not in the sky, but here—in this life. And even now, I still feel it—growing, shifting, shaping me into someone new.