Phi: Infinity, Unity, beauty, and the Divine Feminine

One cannot paint the universe without feeling the divine nature within.

The full-scale print of the painting ‘Phi’ is displayed at the Vatican Observatory Museum. The museum focuses on historical astronomical instruments and artifacts, and has an area below the Schmidt telescope that showcases astronomical art. Along with ‘Phi’, there is an 18th-century marble sculpture of the solar system (artist unknown), currently undergoing restoration at the Vatican; an original painting by the well-known astronomical artist Ron Miller; a sculpture called “Rotazione Apparente” by Marco Bagnoli; and telescope images created by Specola astronomers from around the world. A print of my painting “Juno,” named after the Roman goddess of fertility, and the Jovian probe, is also part of the Vatican Observatory Museum’s permanent collection.

Divine Cosmos: Art with a Specola Connection

Phi [ϕ] spirals us toward infinity beyond and within. Inspired by the Carina Nebula, we are drawn into the inner chambers of the heart; light and energy generated millions of years ago, breaking through the shadows and darkness of outer and inner space. Painted on copper with hand-mixed paints formulated with mica and other earthbound stardust.

Named after the Greek letter Phi, it represents the mathematical golden ratio 1.618—Unity—nothingness and everything, pure beauty. The painting started with discovering a piece of scrap copper, eight by three feet, which fit perfectly with the copper and verdigris-dominant colors in the Hubble Space Telescope image of the Carina Nebula.

While painting the heavenly body, I felt Spirit draw near. Under my brush, the shape of a heart (toward the left) emerged from the starlit gases. Unbidden, I was struck by the sense that this was Mother Mary’s universal, loving, and healing heart. Pulsing from the heart, electromagnetic energy dispersed into arcs across the painting. These arcs took the form of a dove (toward the right), the symbol of the Holy Spirit, which I sensed as a peaceful feminine presence full of wisdom and grace. The idea that the painting embodies Mother Mary and the Holy Spirit led me to question the significance of the Divine Feminine. In ancient Christianity and Judaism, the Holy Spirit was feminine, represented by Sophia, the Wife of God, and an essential part of the Trinity. The true nature of the Divine Feminine has been lost over the millennia, resulting in a permanent split between the feminine and masculine, rather than embracing a more balanced, unifying belief that both are necessary, equal, and one. The creation stories of most cultures refer to Earth as Mother, the giver of life, and the Heavens as Father. While it’s true that Earth is life-giving, so are the nebulae.

Early in the painting process, I realized that the dimensions of the scrap metal did not match the proportions of the Hubble image. I used overlays of the Fibonacci sequence and mapped the resulting grid onto the painting to better align the composition with the proportions and positions in the telescope image. Additionally, superimposing the Fibonacci sequence divided the painting into equal units of “1,” leaving a nearly perfect golden-ratio-shaped rectangle as a remainder. This rectangle was centered within the grid, unintentionally forming three crosses (cyan and black boxes) across the painting’s width, leading me to see that this was, in essence, a modern-day crucifixion painting. I also interpreted the center of the painting as representing ‘God’ as infinity.

Update, July 20, 2019: I delivered a full-scale print of ‘Phi’ to Brother Guy Consolmagno, Director of the Vatican Observatory, now installed at the Vatican Observatory Museum in Castel Gandolfo, Vatican City. The Vatican Observatory Museum is open to the public.

We drove in his oversized blue car, previously owned by the former Director, through the fantastic Papal Gardens to the Observatory. Brother Guy would have preferred a much smaller vehicle, as the roads were more like walkways and challenging to navigate. We toured the entire Vatican Observatory, visiting both the headquarters and the two telescopes. I stood in the very spot where, exactly 50 years earlier, the Pope had broadcast a blessing on television—a relatively new medium at the time—to the first men landing on the moon. Brother Guy opened the all-wooden Dome using controls that made him look like the Great Wizard of Oz behind the curtain, letting in a shaft of brilliant Italian sunlight into the otherwise dark space.

I was first introduced to Brother Guy via email. His colleague and mutual friend, Les Schaffer, and I composed a letter during a severe thunderstorm that knocked out power in the area. We worked in the dark, writing on our laptops and sharing thoughts over the phone as our batteries ran low. I wanted to send the letter the next day, before leaving for an impromptu trip to Italy in March 2018. At the time, I was teaching art at the University of New Haven and finally had the means for a vacation. Having never been to Rome, I leapt at the chance to visit and paint in the countryside with a friend. I hoped to contact Brother Guy in case I could arrange a meeting.

After my eight-hour flight and a nap, I awoke in my hotel room to find his reply. He was in Arizona at the main telescope, where Specola scientists conduct much of their research. Due to light pollution, observations had become impossible at Castel Gandolfo, which was why the observatory was being turned into a museum. In my letter, I had asked Brother Guy if he knew of a place to display ‘Phi.’ He responded that he couldn’t think of a better place than the Vatican Observatory, a sentiment I shared.

Bob Dylan and Grateful Dead fans may be interested to know my hotel was nestled in the Spanish Steps, referenced in Dylan’s song “When I Paint My Masterpiece.”

When I Paint My Masterpiece

Bob Dylan

Oh, the streets of Rome are filled with rubble,

Ancient footprints are everywhere.

You can almost think that you’re seein’ double

On a cold, dark night on the Spanish Stairs.

Got to hurry on back to my hotel room,

Where I’ve got me a date with Botticelli’s niece.

She promised that she’d be right there with me

When I paint my masterpiece.

Just two months after my trip to Italy and the Pope’s astronomer’s response, serendipity, divine plan, or just sheer luck brought Brother Guy near my hometown for a commencement speech at Fairfield University in May 2018. At which time, he made the effort to visit ‘Phi’ in person. My sister, Les, and my two sons helped me clean my studio/gallery in anticipation of his arrival. Les helped me bake a French toast recipe that neither of us had ever made before. After all the preparation, the studio looked immaculate until, just as Brother Guy was about to arrive, the maple syrup overflowed onto the oven burners, filling the house with white smoke. I had to laugh as I thought of the white smoke used to declare the newly elected Pope.

Below is the blog I wrote about the painting upon its completion, which was posted on January 1, 2017. This painting started as an exploration of the Carina Nebula on a scrap of copper. It became about Sensing the Divine while being transported 10,000 light-years with quantum entanglement…

Day 01 01, the start of a new circle around the sun through the space-time continuum.

“Phi [ϕ]”, spirals us to infinity beyond and within. Based on the Carina Nebula, we are brought to the inner chambers of the heart; light and energy generated millions of years ago, breaking through the shadows and darkness of outer and inner space. Painted on copper with hand-mixed paints formulated with mica, copper, and other earthbound stardust.

Named after the Greek alphabet, Phi represents the mathematical golden ratio 1.618/Unity – oneness, nothingness, and everything at once, pure beauty.

The painting began with a gorgeous piece of scrap copper, 8′ in length by 3′ wide. My colleagues suggested that I cut the copper into smaller pieces to create paintings of a more reasonable size that would be more appealing to sell.

I had my sights set on larger things —the universe, to be precise—specifically the Carina Nebula as imaged by the Hubble Space Telescope. 

One cannot paint the universe without feeling the divine nature within.

As I painted the heavenly body, I felt the presence of Spirit and God draw near, both while I was working and throughout my day-to-day life. 

My only intention when I had set out was to paint a nebula. I am sharing my experiences over the last six months, all of which are a part of the journey of ‘Phi’. Please take what you please and leave the rest. 

For many years as an adult woman, I had experienced a spiritual void. The root of this was that I am a woman in a man’s world. More to the point, in a man’s religion. All the focus has been on the ‘male’ God, ‘Father,’ and ‘Son’ Jesus. Even in exploring my Jewish heritage, there was the “male” God. 

There was no place for me. Out of place, I felt abandoned, coerced into a faith where I didn’t belong. In talking with other females, I’ve grown to understand that I am not alone in this feeling. Out of desperation, I began to ask God, “Why?’ and as a female, how am I to follow a God that doesn’t represent me? After all, we were all created in ‘his image’, or are we to believe that females are made from the rib of a man, a genetic mutation, divine cloning with a kick?

Sometimes when we ask, we get answers.

Nebula gases and light/energy took on shapes under the brush

In late summer, I received a text about the condition of a dear friend’s heart. The text arrived just as I was viewing a painting of the Virgin Mary pierced with seven protruding blades in an antique shop. I had never seen this image. I learned that this is known as the Immaculate Heart and represents the seven wounds or swords of Mary.

As I painted, I felt electromagnetic energy pulse through the chambers of the heart, dispersing it into arcs that took on the shape of a dove at the right. Struck by the notion that this painting embraced light and energy and the divine feminine, specifically that of the heart of Mother Mary and the female Holy Spirit, the Dove Sophia.

By overlaying the spirals, I found that the composition’s center became a representation of Infinity and Unity.

Experimenting with colors and techniques and revealing areas of copper with steel wool, I created the basic composition and then scanned it into Photoshop. Creating overlays on the preliminary image, I began my search for Phi, the golden ratio(s), and the Fibonacci Sequence Spirals within the composition. I realized that if I put a square on either side, there was a nearly perfect golden-ratio rectangle centered between them. When I created a grid across the center lines, I discovered three crosses. I also found that the seed of life perfectly overlaid the ‘cross’/’ unity’ center.

 Clarity on a day in October while visiting New York City.

Shortly after creating the grid in Photoshop in October, I made a trip to New York City. That morning, I received a text from my sister, who had returned to the church where we had attended Palm Sunday service together the previous year. At her feet, that year’s Easter service program appeared.

That afternoon, I walked up to the Guggenheim and viewed Agnes Martin’s “Beauty and Truth.” Martin’s abstract grids represented concepts. Her work reminded me of the grids I had just created, specifically the three crosses that represented the Crucifixion. 

A sea of purple paraded through Times Square, with a Crucifix held high in the air.

On my walk from the Guggenheim to the train, I saw hundreds of people marching in the streets. Asking several people in the parade what it was all about, a few shook their heads. They could not understand my question. Finally, one woman, speaking in broken English, said, “It’s the miracles.” Still unclear about its meaning, I conducted some research.

The miracles refer to the painting, Señor de los Milagros, depicting the Crucifixion, created by a man from Angola while he was enslaved in colonial Lima, Peru. At the top is the Dove/Holy Spirit and God the Father. Below and to the right of Jesus is the Virgin Mary with her heart pierced by the sword of sorrows.

Señor de los Milagros became known as a miracle because it survived two earthquakes and the intended destruction by the Catholic church. Every year in October, hundreds of thousands of devotees participate in a religious procession honoring the image as it is carried through the streets of Lima, Peru. Each Sunday in October, followers march in the streets of New York City.

Rembrandt Etchings 

In November, after a lecture by John Walsh at the Yale Art Gallery, I was privileged to view some Rembrandt etchings. One etching depicted the scripture from the Easter program my sister had found: Christ at Emmaus, Luke 24:31: “Then their eyes were opened and they recognized him, and he disappeared from their sight.” A reference to the resurrection of Jesus and how he first appeared to women.

And so I wonder, is this a modern-day crucifixion painting or a reverence to beauty and science?

Adding the last strokes in December, I completed the painting just before Christmas. Transforming my studio back into a bedroom for my sons’ visit.

The message seemed clear to me: that it is time for us all to embrace the Divine Feminine. By incorporating the Divine Feminine, we can start to balance and heal ourselves, (man)kind, and the planet.

There is still much to share and discuss. I’m still working on writing it all down. Please check back periodically as I will continue to update. Thank you for sharing in my journey with ‘Phi’.

Wishing you a year full of Unity, of pure beauty!