It is a grotesque misapprehension which sees in art no more than a craft comprehensible perfectly only to the craftsman: art is a manifestation of emotion, and emotion speaks a language that all may understand.
My parents are actually, they grew up speaking the Navajo language; they're fluent speakers. They're like a dictionary. If I ask them, “How do you say this? ” they translate.
She sat and watched them and she felt herself an alien among them, as alien and lonely as if she had come from another world, speaking a language they did not understand and she not understanding theirs.