This isn't to say there aren't artists working within the realm of the sacred. They are simply overshadowed. They stand in the wings not center stage. They must wait in the wings for their time has yet to arrive. In the dark age of the Shadow they, like seeds in earth, are incubating.
Spring is their time to come forth.
Winter belongs to the Shadow. Beneath the violent din of the Shadow, imperceptible, are the sounds of tiny seeds cracking open. And with the confidence only faith knows they push toward the light that has yet to come.