was fully understood and all we see are the aftershocks of the idea. But it was seen, held and felt. It had weight. It had mass. It caused a splash after all.

The artist, in an attempt to communicate this moment in their language, paints or sings or types it as best they can.

So I guess what I’m saying is, that to appreciate art - true art - is to appreciate the essence of existence itself. But I think you have to understand what existence is first. Then the art simply reminds you.

He sits back to contemplate what he’d just read. Did he understand existence? What about the existence he was living now? Did the type of existence matter? The style of living? Or just the essence itself?