Sunday, January 26, 2014


I walked past the stairway and entered the Artist's studio.

The Artist was sleeping, again. Ink, pens, paintbrushes, paint and paper scattered throughout the floor along side the Artist showed any work being done on these premises had taken place, perhaps, on the floor. I looked around and saw sketches, paintings, and drawings, some completed but most half drawn or half colored in. 

Bending down toward the Artist on the floor, I tugged at him and asked him if he was alright. He opened his eyes to reveal a sadness, a life overcome by frustration and disappointment. "They don't see and they don't understand what I am creating." He passionately shared how he desired t tell a story through each piece, yet all who came, saw greatness but never saw the story, his story.

The Artist walked away to sit on a stool. Somewhere nearby music began to play. Sounds like those in the battle scene of an epic movie filled the room and the Artist began to move his hand, black ink filling up a white canvas, with his story. 

A whoosh near me, startled me and I moved back to make room for the Dancer. The dancer that had been sitting lifelessly on the sofa had been summoned by the sounds of life to move, to create, to motivate and surround the Artist with life. She moved as one who was dying and had suddenly regained the ability to breathe and the purpose to live. 

The Dancer moved like the wind, releasing a Spirit of Life into the Artist's studio. The music calmed and the strumming of an acoustic guitar captured my attention. I turned to see the Musician, back against the wall, strumming away and commanding the dancer to change her dance. Each string, each sound, instructing her to dance a declaration of new life for those in the room. New life for the Artist, the Dancer, the Musician and the one most silent of all. 

Silently, she looked out the window as if all the movement and passion in the room was invisible to her. I walked closer to her, wanting to speak to her, to encourage her and remind her to hope again. She closed her eyes, and allowing her Spirit to flood with the sounds around her, she opened her mouth and began to sing. Her voice echoed powerfully like a waterfall, removing the drought, erasing the signs of dehydration in the heart, the soul and the spirit. The Singer was releasing the sounds of heaven into the atmosphere.

My own heart began to beat rapidly as I was taken back by the sights I saw and then I understood. I had walked into this room to pray for the Artist, whose hands had stopped creating and lost the vision to see his creation with purpose. I had walked into this room to remind the Dancer that her war dance would liberate her to move and bring a breakthrough to those around her. I had entered here to awaken the Musician to use his hands for battle and create an atmosphere for praise. And I knew I was here to pray for the Singer who sang for an audience of One but her voice reached a multitude that needed to join in worship and praise through song.

So, I speak to you, Artist, Dancer, Musician and Singer who sleeps away while the world awaits your performance. Arise from the doubts and fears. Display your creativity and know that the God that placed these talents in your life will use you and back you up when you use your gift to give Him Glory!

~Written by Angeline M. Duran Santiago for the Artist in you



By Angeline M Duran Santiago  The storm rages on and the winds buffet the lands in violent twirls. Some say it is the season for hur...