James Joyce can describe a commonplace train commute as something wondrous. Shouldn’t it be?
You can take pictures of trees and rocks or write poems about them. There aren’t special glasses for artists, though. You have to find the fruit and pry it out yourself. Once you do, it may not be edible.
A still life of pears in a bowl may not qualify as art: it’s the premise you’re saying something more, that a Campbell’s soup label can be elevated, as can anything.