There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,
Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.
- Hamlet (1.5.167-8), Hamlet to Horatio
It's fascinating how limited philosophy has turned out to be for exactly this reason: we as humans seem to be pretty limited in our imagination. We can't imagine the infinite because we've never seen it; we can't even imagine very large numbers of things... even the human population of earth is pretty much beyond real visceral comprehension, I believe.
Sometimes, science drags us screaming out of our comfortable philosophies via something like the Michelson-Morley experiment: the Ether didn't exist, but but... it must. So then along came Einstein, and time was just a different direction in 4 dimensional space, and different speeds are just different directions. Then take it a little further to think about falling elevators with physicists in them and we found we were living in curved four dimensional space. Then that just maybe the signature that distinguishes time from the other directions might not have always been there, and we have the Hartle-Hawking model where we find that time is just an epi-phenomenon, that somehow very early on there was no time, in which case it doesn't even make sense to say "early": time didn't exist anymore than smart phones did in 1850, the universe was getting on just fine, then something happened and somehow there was some notion of future and past.
That without even going near quantum mechanics, which I'm not convinced anyone understands in their gut.
Maybe that's how art works: it rattles something in our mental cupboards that we didn't know was there, that we hadn't had reason to imagine. In which case it might be an image of humans in a diner and memories of our youth, or it might be abstract splashings of colour that reflect something, not from the early universe but about how our neurones evolved to deal with some survival challenge when we were still more comfortable in trees...