Y’all ever think about how there are universal human experiences that art connects us to, but there are also human experiences so painfully specific that it takes possibly decades for you to find art that speaks to them?
And you finally find that poem or story or song that’s like “I know. I have felt this before. I understand. This is real.” and you’re struck all of a sudden by the obscurity of being human. Art is a shining tapestry of commonality and understanding, but it’s also just small voices pulled from the abyss and us stumbling around in the dark to grab at them.
Don’t get me wrong. It is a beautiful, powerful miracle that it’s possible. But it’s not easy. Sometimes you’ll be lost and alien for many years before a piece of art comes to you that says I know, I feel this too.