Art is undefinable. It is perplexing and ambiguous. That isn’t to say that it should be deliberately eclectic or dipped in gray to the point where finding a single sliver of meaning is a task beyond the typical human’s capacity of intelligence and patience. Does the appreciation of art, or, the mere acknowledgement of it, require a college degree? Art is neither accidental nor intentional. It breathes destiny and chance, spontaneity and design, faith and denial, and reason and absurdity. All that is conventional is art, but anything that is conventionally unconventional ceases to be.
Kafka feared that people would find him mentally and physically repulsive. However, those who met him found him to possess a quiet and cool demeanor, obvious intelligence, and a dry sense of humour; they also found him boyishly handsome, although of austere appearance. He explored details, the inconspicuous, in depth and with such love and precision that things surfaced that were unforeseen, seemingly strange, but absolutely true.