Bacchus (1580/85) by Michelangelo Merisi da Caravaggio.
(I never quite know what to write about this kind of painting – the more realistic, decorative and virtuose kind. To make a list of all the things? That seems rather pointless and probably has been done a thousand times by far more observant experts. To talk about techniques? Any painter could see and understand more than an outsider. It’s the kind of art that really doesn’t need to be talked about, but rather to be experienced and enjoyed. Reden tötet die Kunst. On the other hand, it seems so easy to talk about modern art. Does it not say something about modern art? Have we not talked too much?)
The Nietzschean Dionysus is the opposite of language. Out of him comes a chaotic meaningless murmur / scream.
In the state of ecstasy and madness, the sweet wine full to the brim, the glass weightless, nothing is left to say.