They want it all as detailed as possible because even the tiniest things mean something. Whenever you see flies or insects in a still life - a wilted petal, a black spot on the apple - the painter is giving you a secret message. He's telling you that living things don't last - it's all temporary. Death in life. That's why they're called natures mortes. Maybe you don't see it at first with all the beauty and bloom, the little speck of rot. But if you look closer - there it is.

We are so accustomed to disguise ourselves to others, that in the end, we become disguised to ourselves.
- François de La Rochefoucauld

Why am I made the way I am? Why do I care about all the wrong things, and nothing at all for the right ones? How can I see so clearly that everything I love or care about is illusion, and yet - for me, anyway - all that`s worth living for lies in that charm?

People had been raging and weeping and destroying things for centuries and wailing about their puny individual lives, when - what was the point? All this useless sorrow? Consider the lilies of the field. Why did anyone ever worry about anything? Weren't we, as sentient beings, put upon the earth to be happy, in the brief time allotted to us?

We can't choose what we want and don't want and that's the hard lonely truth. Sometimes we want what we want even if we know it's going to kill us. We can't escape who we are.