Meaning of life and art

Still in Madrid, and not being a very devoted blogger. The Internet situation at our hotel was intolerable. Very slow, hard to get on, frustrating. I started giving up. Now at a much cheaper hotel, and the Internet hookup much better. We're staying at the center of the city, Plaza del Sol, near the Prado, Reina Sofia and the Thyssen-Bornemisza museum. I visited the Prado earlier, and was so taken with Goya; the Bosch's were amazing too. 

The contrast of the art fairs (contemporary art) with the early period art was a much needed potion. Art fairs can do considerable damage to one's spirit, and being in Europe with that history clarifies the meaning and importance of art — something I deeply need reminded of periodically. I cannot express how moved I was by the Goya. I loved his latest period, where he seems to be going a bit crazy. I'm not well-informed of his state of mind, so I won't speculate, but something was definitely going on. I do know his work at that time was work for himself, meaning not commissioned work.

I kept asking myself questions like: Why does this work move me, and art being made today, does not have that ability to do so? Am I just not being exposed to it? Is it just not out there? Does it have to live through a couple of centuries to obtain that status? Were the Goyas moving and spectacular at the time they were painted?

Spending time at the glorious Prado (much too little time I might add) was an experience that I needed to sort out the meaning of life and art.