The Song of Healing

Cologne was our final stop on the World Hospital Art Tour — the closing chapter of ten unforgettable days that had taken us from Moscow to London, to Paris, and now here, to the heart of Germany. By then, our rhythm as a team had become effortless — each of us moving like parts of a single heartbeat.

We had been traveling by planes, trains, and automobiles — we even missed a train right Infront of our noses! For a moment, we were like machines — running on purpose, motion, and coffee. Our carry-ons were filled with few clothes, art supplies, stickers, and stories instead of souvenirs. Even the clothes I wore began to hold their own memories — each garment carrying the story of where it had been, what it had witnessed. Over time, they became more than clothes; they became keepsakes of the journey, each one special in its own quiet way. That morning, we drove to the hospital with our Partner in Purpose, David Delassus from A-Blok, whose enthusiasm, support and kindness always seemed to brighten the room. The hospital staff welcomed us with open arms, and when they showed us the art room, we saw their effort into decorating it in a full space theme. They did a great job!

Among the children was one little girl who immediately drew my attention. She sat on her mother’s lap, fragile and pale from treatment, her body curled gently inward with a wool hat to keep her head warm. Her eyes seemed distant, as though she were somewhere far away. We handed her a brush, some paint, and a small piece of white cloth — I think it was one of the piece of canvas for our Exploration Spacesuit Project. At first, she barely moved. Her mother guided her hand softly, but she seemed too weak, too tired. And then, something shifted. She dipped the brush into the paint and began to mix the colors. The movement was slow, deliberate — blue into yellow, red into white — the simple alchemy of creation. With each stroke, her posture changed. She began to sit taller, her eyes brightened, her breathing deepened. It was as if color itself was moving through her body, awakening something deep within. The repetition — brush to water, color to canvas, again and again — became a rhythm. And then, we heard it. A soft humming. At first faint, then fuller, like a secret song emerging from silence. The little girl straightened, gently moving her mother’s arms away so she could reach farther. The brush danced more freely now, her humming steady and sweet — a melody of healing, rising right there in the middle of the room. Around her, the other children paused and smiled. Even the hospital staff seemed to sense something sacred unfolding. For those few minutes, I stood still and witnessed in silence this beautiful little girl. — no machines, no worry, only color, breath, and sound. I stood quietly, watching the transformation. When she finished, she looked up and smiled — a small, radiant smile that said everything words could not.

Reflection — The Song of Healing

That day in Cologne reminded me why we do this work. Painting is not decoration — it’s medicine. It’s a way for the soul to remember itself, even when the body is weary. I can still hear her humming today — that soft, pure song that carried courage through every note. It’s the kind of song you never want to leave your head, the kind that keeps your heart open and reminds you what love sounds like when it heals.