good and bad and feeling small

If I were to say I knew what "art" was, I'd be lying. I don't know one single thing about what makes art good, or what makes it bad. I know what I like for the sole fact that I like it - that somewhere in me something stirs when I look at or listen to or read it. I won't claim to know what an artist was thinking when they created their work, but I'll tell you, in a heartbeat, what I think it means, because that's why I like it. It makes me think. It strikes me in a way that I find some meaning in it, and that meaning is what I like about it. I'm not the type who's about to say that I know anything - let alone everything - except myself. Half the time I don't even know what that is. But, I am the type who'll try to find meaning in the world around me. I like meaning. I like definitions. But I also like broad subjects that I can't even begin to identify. I like looking at the sky and feeling like a small, dark, sinful speck who's poisoning the innocence of the world around me, for the sole fact that it makes me feel something. Is that what makes art something people like so much? Or is it something else? Are there really people out there who can look at a painting and find every caress the artist put onto the canvas, every possible thought that passed through the painter's head as he worked, or are we all just kidding ourselves?