intent in the creation and appreciation of fine things

This writing is for you, appreciator of fine things.

Your respect for the fine thing, as far as I can tell, is born of its popularity as a fine thing and the understanding that to partake in the fine thing must in turn make you fine. You did not have fine things growing up, but now? Now you have only fine things, at least in the presence of others because that, of course, is where being fine matters most. As you age, what will happen? We don't know. Maybe your epicurean strivings will collapse under the weight of their own emptiness, which is of course very heavy. Or maybe you will ignore this emptiness and become something less human, your index finger barely hooked on the barely visible yarn that ties all living things to one another, your legs floating behind you as the other hand strokes your fine thing in the haze of your glassy-eyed stupor.

But wait, look over there! Another connoisseur. But this one seems different. There is a spring in its step. An unbearable lightness in its being. It’s so comfortable. You ask it its secret and this is what it tells you:

There can be an appreciation of time, care, years of experience, knowledge passed down, lessons learned, methods invented, developed, refined, pored over, perfected (no, pardon me, never perfected), which is an appreciation different from yours entirely. This appreciation is not anything to do with market value, or relative social value, it is to do with a value non-monetary, comprised of nothing measurable. I know. I know. It is, to reduce it: The awe of the building on past creations to achieve untold heights in craft. And in that study and that incorporation, a rare and new appreciation arises. You will love it.

A word of caution: What you'll find most difficult to discern is the intent through which the makers of the fine thing arrived at its fineness. To know this, appreciator, you must be a detective and the finest in your field.