[Pitchwife]

Originally Posted by A Little Green

Even myths can be what I call killjoys, since they, like science, aim at explaining the world around us, at unravelling the mystery.

That's the popular modern view of myths, regarding them as a sort of proto-science - like (to borrow skip's example from above) our ancestors were looking for a way to explain thunder, because it scared them, but were unable to explain it in scientific terms, so they invented the story of Thor riding his chariot and battling the giants with his hammer. But this is only one aspect of mythmaking, and to me it's far from central.
What matters to me about myths is that they tell stories in order to make sense of the world - but not by explaining it in a proto- or pseudo-scientific cause and effect way, not by unravelling the mystery, but by showing us how to relate to the mystery. E.g. our ancestors who worshipped Thor knew that a thunderstorm could be dangerous (so better not stand beneath an oak in case Mjolnir missed the mark), but they also knew that for all its violence the thunderstorm was their friend - that Old Redbeard was busy protecting them against the forces of chaos, clearing the air and bringing rain that would nourish their crops (he wasn't married to Sif, the corn-goddess, for nothing).

And this is what I understand as seeing things as they truly are: not seeing photones (even though science told us that's what it is about)[...]

No, the photones are not what it's about, they're only what it's made of. If you think of the sunset as a painting (e.g. the Mona Lisa), the photones are the pigments and the canvas (and that's all that science, for all its merits, will ever be able to explain, or more properly, describe; science knows nothing of the mysteriously smiling lady). We wouldn't have the Mona Lisa without the pigment and canvas, but the Mona Lisa is much more than that.
So in a way you're right - to see the Mona Lisa truly wouldn't mean seeing pigment and canvas, nor seeing the historical Lisa del Giocondo (or whoever the real model was), but seeing what Leonardo painted.
But if the Mona Lisa becomes alive for you - if she engages your imagination, if you start wondering what kind of woman she is and why she's smiling that way, if she becomes a person rather than a painting - then you're entering the realm of myth.

The same, I think, can be applied to a work of art. I understand people who have a need to explain it, but for myself, I am more content just taking it in as it is, without in-depth analysis. I don't need to analyse why exactly it is beautiful. The beauty, in itself, is enough.

Although I do enjoy analysing, what you're saying here still rings a bell for me. If, say, a painting doesn't make me stare at it wide-eyed and agape for it's sheer beauty (like a beautiful sunset would) beyond all thoughts of analysis, it's probably not worth analysing at all; and if somebody's never had that initial experience with a work of art, chances are their analysis of it will be a futile exercise not worth reading.
But why analyse at all, then?
Well, for me it's not so much a need to explain anything, but rather that when I see a painting, listen to a piece of music or read a book or poem for the 2nd, 3rd or umpteenth time I can't help noticing things about it (like e.g. Leonardo's use of sfumato rather than clear outlines, or that the two halves of the landscape on either side of Mona Lisa's head don't fit together). And once I've noticed them, I start thinking about them and what part they play in creating that initial impression, and I like pointing them out to others and hearing what they think about them or what other things they may have noticed that escaped me.
And funnily, this doesn't spoil my experience of the work of art in question at all - or rather, it's a hallmark of truly great works of art that they can take the analysis and still blow me away at the umpteenth+1 reading, viewing or whatsoever (not the least because I'll probably discover yet another thing about them I hadn't noticed before).