There are those who can translate.
Though hailed as creators, they are merely finders. Menders. Guides. From the jumbled cacophony of perfection, each plucks but a thread at a time to weave into a tapestry of light. Each selects his own tools. Each her own voice. Each pulls a new thread.
Light becomes melody.
Weaving becomes story.
Voice becomes image.
Beauty is made again presentable.