It's a yearning to be in those mundane places, those fields thick with crops that ripple under steel grey sky, those sudden red earth canyons whose pebbles crunch and slide as you step on them, those stations where dark, frowning villagers wait for trains that stop only a minute. In a city being's mind, they are deeply true in a way cities aren't. One dreams of being free and alone there, revelling in a joyous beauty their people can't see.
One is mocked for it, too.
A soft bed, restaurant dinners with the clink of cutlery and buzz of conversation, a car to go to gleaming malls in. Who can devote himself so completely to beauty and freedom as to sacrifice comfort? But we dream, occasionally stifled in our comfort, and we seek beauty in art--the beauty that breathes in too far villages and mountains, too strong and rough to bear.