ShinsungHwa: The Visualization of Paul the Venetian’s Spiritual Energy (2022)
What is ShinsungHwa?
ShinsungHwa is a unique form of spiritual art where drawings emerge through spontaneous, flowing movements. Artists tap into their subject’s energy and let Qi(氣) guide their hands, creating geometric patterns that serve as a universal language.
Commentary on a ShinsungHwa: Paul the Venetian
The ShinsungHwa I’m sharing today came about through a wonderful connection with one of my dedicated readers. They commissioned this piece—a formal ShinsungHwa of one of the ascended masters—and graciously agreed to let me share it publicly. Their generosity in allowing this work to reach a wider audience speaks to the spirit of these paintings: they’re meant to touch lives and open hearts.
Who Is Paul the Venetian?
Paul the Venetian stands as the master of the third ray and an ascended master—what some call an ‘ascension ambassador.’ There are whispers that he now oversees all rays as a great master. Picture him: a majestic figure standing six feet five inches tall, with the kind of presence that fills a room. His deep blue eyes seem to hold centuries of wisdom, and his golden, wavy hair catches light like spun silk. You’d typically find him dressed in emerald-green velvet, and those who’ve encountered his energy describe his voice as honey-smooth, carrying comfort and peace to anyone who listens.
His Spiritual Calling
Paul the Venetian walks the path of love with the dedication of someone who understands its true power. His work centers on beauty—not the superficial kind, but the deep beauty that comes from compassion, patience, and understanding. He guides souls toward completion through what you might call spiritual alchemy: self-discipline, creative awakening, and the gentle surrender that opens the heart’s intuitive gifts.
Think of him as a cultural ambassador for this age. He partners with artists, musicians, architects, designers, and craftspeople—anyone who feels called to bring forth beauty and truth in their work. The ascended masters have long understood something profound: people respond to spiritual truth through culture—through music that moves the soul, art that speaks without words, and architecture that lifts the spirit.
Essential Details:
- Initiation focus: Heart chakra
- Spiritual gift: Discernment of spirits
- Retreats: Château de Liberté in southern France and the Temple of the Sun above Manhattan
- Ray colors: Pink and rose
His Journey Through Time
Paul’s most significant incarnation traces back to Atlantis, where he served as head of cultural affairs. When that continent faced its final days, he carried the flame of liberty to Peru, sparking the cultural richness that would later bloom in the Incan civilization.
His path then led to Egypt, where he worked as a master of esoteric mysteries, collaborating closely with El Morya, who walked the earth then as a stonemason. His final earthly life was as Paolo Veronese, the Renaissance painter who dominated Venetian art in the late 16th century. Veronese painted with such dramatic flair and rich color that his influence rippled forward through time, touching the work of Rubens, Delacroix, and Renoir.
About This ShinsungHwa
The painting began with his form and the energies flowing around his physical presence. But as the work progressed, the ‘path to the spiritual core’ and the ‘spiritual core’ itself stretched beyond the confines of a single page, expanding upward and outward in ways that surprised even me.
The Nature of Ascended Masters
This ShinsungHwa represents not just Paul the Venetian, but all ascended masters—and it will likely be my only foray into this particular realm. Looking at the painting, you can see how these beings exist as pure light. Their work happens in states we can barely grasp, making their presence difficult for us to recognize in our daily lives.
They operate within carefully maintained boundaries of their assigned missions. We who carry physical bodies work within our earthly dimension, recognizing spiritual realms that match our development while navigating both material and spiritual worlds. Trying to connect with realms we’re not prepared for can create problems—like tuning into a radio frequency before you’ve learned how the radio works.
When each of us learns to recognize and fulfill our true calling within our proper sphere, something beautiful happens. We begin to understand the oneness that was always there—the unity that connects every soul, every path, every purpose into a single, magnificent whole.
A story about him
Paul the Venetian is often described as an ascended master of love and the arts, a gentle guide for anyone who wants to make something beautiful and kind in a noisy world. In many modern spiritual teachings, he is linked with the “Third Ray,” a pink light that symbolizes compassion and creativity, and with a quiet promise: that art and kindness can shape a life from the inside out.
People who study ascended masters say Paul the Venetian looks like a tall figure who carries calm the way a musician carries a favorite melody, steady and light at once. They picture him dressed in green velvet, with a voice that sounds kind, as if it understands how hard days can be and still points to a soft place to rest. Whether or not these details feel literal, the idea is simple: his presence is about care, balance, and making space for beauty that does not shout.
The Third Ray, made simple
In these teachings, the “Seven Rays” are colors used to explain different ways people grow—like bright crayons in a small box, each with a job to do. The Third Ray is pink, and it stands for the kind of love that cheers others on and keeps its promises in small, everyday ways. Paul is called the “Chohan,” or steward, of that ray, which means he guides people who want to bring love into real life—into songs, meals, sketches, gardens, and the way they talk to each other at the end of a long day.
There is a story that Paul the Venetian keeps a retreat called the Château de Liberté, “the House of Freedom,” not where planes can land but in a place of light, above southern France. In this story, the rooms are full of art—paintings from many cultures, music workshops, places for writers and makers to try again when something doesn’t work the first time. Some say he also teaches from the Temple of the Sun, linked with the idea of liberty that many people know through the Statue of Liberty in New York. Taken plainly, the message feels familiar: a school where kindness and creativity are taught side by side, as if both are needed to learn how to live.
Names and lifetimes
Followers often connect Paul the Venetian with Paolo Veronese, a famous painter from sixteenth‑century Venice who filled large canvases with color and grace. They tell a thread of earlier lives too: a cultural leader in Atlantis (a legendary city), a designer in ancient Egypt, an artist in the Inca world—roles that tie love to the work of building places where people can belong. Not everyone agrees on these details, and academics would ask for documents and dates that these stories cannot fully provide, so it helps to hold them lightly, as meaningful symbols rather than proven history.
If Paul the Venetian could sit at a kitchen table, his lessons would be short and practical. Be patient when learning a new skill. Offer thanks out loud. Keep a tidy corner where drawing or music can begin again tomorrow. He is said to help open the heart, not in a loud way, but by sharpening the sense of what is kind and what is not—the way a painter learns to see the difference between pink and rose at dusk. People who follow his path speak of compassion, self‑discipline, and the sort of courage that shows up as steady hands, not big speeches.
East‑West words, made clear
Sometimes these teachings use terms that come from other cultures and can sound heavy if left unexplained—like “chakra,” a Sanskrit word for a center of energy in the body often used in yoga and meditation. When people say Paul “initiates the heart chakra,” they usually mean he helps people practice feelings that keep communities strong: care, empathy, and the daily habit of noticing what someone else might need. Another phrase is “Great White Brotherhood,” which in these groups means a fellowship of enlightened teachers; the “white” refers to light, not race, though the phrase can be misunderstood and needs careful context to avoid harm or confusion.
Art as everyday practice
Many who look to Paul the Venetian believe that culture—music, painting, design, storytelling—is not decoration, but a way to pass along truth gently. A lullaby can teach safety. A sketch on a lunchbox note can teach joy. A street mural can remind a neighborhood that it is still here and still worth tending. In this sense, “beauty” is not fancy; it is anything made with care that helps people breathe easier.
People say simple prayers, sit in quiet, or imagine the pink light of the Third Ray while they write, bake, or string beads; the practice is plain by design, so a child or a busy parent can do it without special tools. Some meditate with the idea of visiting the Château de Liberté in dreams and returning with new ideas, like a melody that finally finds its last note. Others simply light a small candle before starting a project, using that moment to pick kindness over rush.
Questions and cautions
To be fair, much of this story sits outside what historians can prove, and it comes mainly from modern spiritual groups and their books and talks. The claims about lifetimes in Atlantis or being a native of Venus belong to a faith tradition, not to science, and readers should know the difference and choose in a way that respects both heart and evidence. Even the lovely picture of a retreat in the clouds asks for a gentle touch: it might teach best as a symbol—a place of learning anyone can carry inside—rather than as a fact on a map.
Imagine a student who keeps breaking crayons. A teacher shows how to press lightly at first, to let the color grow. That is the kind of patience these teachings point to—slow hands, soft eyes, a chance to start again without shame. Another picture: someone who spills paint on a new shirt and, instead of scolding, turns the stain into a small flower with two green leaves. Beauty can be resourceful like that.
Words we can carry
For those who feel drawn to the gentle way, Paul the Venetian stands for three simple things: kindness that acts, art that heals, and discipline that feels like a friend. If a family sings before dinner, if a neighbor leaves bread at a door, if a child tapes a drawing on the fridge and it stays there all year, these are small pink lights, easy to miss and hard to forget. The lesson does not need big stages. It asks for a chair, a table, and time to make something that gives comfort.
Maybe Paul the Venetian truly lived as Veronese and then moved beyond this world; maybe he is a teaching wrapped in a name that helps people remember to be gentle. Either way, the practice is the same: make things with care, be steady with promises, and let love show up in useful shapes—notes, colors, clean dishes, a poem left on a doorstep. If a story helps someone do that, then the story has done its work.
