My wife is an artist. She tries to explain this to me but I’m thickheaded in regard to this idea. She uses van Gogh as an example.
My only personal experience with “art”: There was a tall white pine at the top of the hill across from my childhood home. I would climb to the top on occasion and look down at a reservoir. It was an amazing view. One night a lightening strike took the tree down. It was only partially burnt because the rain was heavy at the time. I cut a chunk out of the trunk and saved it. About 6 years later I took a scalpel I had and started cutting away at the chunk without really thinking about carving anything in particular. It sits on my fireplace mantle now. Funny thing is that it takes me back to the time when I carved something unintentionally that represented what I was thinking about at the time. Kind of spooky.