The Pulse Beneath the Surface: Water, the Origin of Life

This reimagination of Diego Rivera’s mural  Water, the Origin of Life unfolds as a dreamlike immersion—an underwater cathedral of consciousness, cellular birth, and spiritual gesture. Titled  The Pulse Beneath the Surface , the piece dives beyond biology into something more primordial and poetic: an exploration of water as not just a life source, but as memory, myth, and movement. Rivera’s powerful original—rich in anatomical and scientific reverence—transforms here into a floating, layered meditation on the cosmic nature of being. 

In Rivera’s mural, water is depicted scientifically, as the beginning of life, where amoebic forms and embryonic humans emerge in currents of fertility. In this version, that same idea is honored but abstracted. The visual plane is no longer bound to walls or realism. Instead, this composition floats—like an embryo in amniotic fluid—between the earthly and the cosmic, the hand and the wave, the goldfish and the star. 

At the top left, an illuminated forest anchors the scene, casting vertical greens through which fish float—unmoored, sacred, glowing. These fish are messengers, carriers of childhood and creation, spirits of both river and memory. The trees aren’t just backdrop—they are lungs. They breathe life downward into the rest of the composition, filtering light into the darker chambers below. 

To the right, a human figure breaks through the surface of a luminous sea, arms raised in praise or panic. This is not a swimmer. This is an echo of first breath, a symbolic Genesis—one who emerges from below not fully formed, but forming. The surrounding waves bend like glass around the figure, suggesting both birth canal and celestial dome. The light isn’t natural—it is spiritual, a silent halo rendered through storm and serenity. 

Beneath this aquatic threshold, hands appear—not static, but sculptural, vibrant, charged with ethereal energy. They cup, gesture, reach. Some cradle galaxies. Others release strands of energy like umbilical cords of light. These hands are both creators and created. They do not belong to anyone and yet are everyone’s. They carry the weight of evolution, compassion, and elemental promise. 

Deeper into the core of the composition lies the womb-like cavern of Rivera’s original mural, here reimagined with surreal fabric folds and rippling stone. The floor curls inward like a conch shell, spiraling around a round mosaic of biological forms. This spiral is the navel of the piece, and possibly of all creation. DNA, mandalas, and microbial orbits blend, hinting that every blueprint of life begins not with certainty, but with swirl. 

Color, in this piece, is not decorative—it is the music of the scene. The upper sea and sky bathe the composition in ultramarine, cerulean, and icy cyan—tones chosen to evoke fluidity, thought, dream. They create space for breath and reflection. This is the realm of the mind, where clarity and mystery cohabitate. These cool colors do not freeze; they ripple like lunar beams on water. 

Descending into the midsection, colors grow warmer—sunset golds, rose golds, copper, and embryonic peach tones flood the visual field. These hues were chosen to represent warmth, womb, pulse. They vibrate with human presence—the tactile language of touch, connection, and skin. Even the abstract light that threads through the piece is tinted like candle wax, soft and living. These warm hues draw the viewer closer, making the surreal intimate. 

At the bottom of the piece, near the symbolic ground, tones shift again—into darker slates, muted purples, and forest black. Yet even in these depths, there is no fear. These are the tones of origin, where life gestates before birth. They offer weight and stillness. In Rivera’s original mural, water is power. In this reinterpretation, it is poetry. A womb and a mirror. A silence filled with rhythm. 

When I created  The Pulse Beneath the Surface , I imagined water as memory itself. Not just what we drink, but what we’re made of. Not just a scene to depict, but a presence to enter. The hands in the piece were the most emotional to paint. They are not only gestural—they are vessels of my own creation. In those reaching palms, I saw not just Rivera’s anatomical reverence, but a universal cry to belong—to cradle something sacred and be cradled in return. 

This piece is a meditation on water’s duality—its ability to destroy and deliver, to hold and release. It honors Rivera’s devotion to the biological sciences but reshapes it through the lens of emotion and mythology. The figures don’t just illustrate—they remember. This is not only Rivera’s mural reimagined—it is humanity re-entering the water that first birthed it, not to escape, but to begin again.