Paraphrasing T.S Eliot: my only hope of really penetrating to the heart of that mystery would lie in forgetting how to think and feel as a MIDI maximalist.
In his resurrection, the promised world to come is finally revealed as no other way than what had been in front of them all the time: the glorious figure of the Christ. This is why, when asked by Pilates, "What is truth?", the galilean went silent. The answer was in front of him.
When drawing, when painting, inorganic forms are infinitely more unknown to our eye and sensitivity than their counterpart. There is a granularity taken for granted, an impossibility to commit to the form, leading to a systematic cessation of realism.