The above painting is one I asked a friend to paint for me as a surprise gift for my wife. It’s a woman in silhouette, sitting near the top of a hill on a bright, sunny day, near a gorgeous tree. Yet, to her, the sun is a black hole. Even she is black against the beautiful backdrop. In a similar fashion, we incrementally fail to appreciate things of beauty or exquisite nature, so much so that their presence seems to almost become the opposite of reality.
(Sidenote: my friend who painted the work doesn’t think of herself as a painter. It’s obviously not true. If it gave me an inspiration and I was willing to pay her for her time and effort, then by definition, she is a painter.)