I think by "chaos" the writer really means "the divine" or "the truth of the cosmos". "Chaos" is her word for "everything that exists", I think. I think her recognition of that as being far beyond our human tolerance is astute. When I stand in front of a Botticelli, crying, I know that this is about as far as my emotions can take me. I feel connected to the "chaos" that is "all" but I am not equipped to directly touch it. That would be the death of me. So art becomes a filter that shows us small fragments of the divine beauty and incomprehensible immensity of the universe.
A disciplined way of art creation, such as the classical method, seems appropriate here. Because we cannot simply unleash the chaos, the truth, the cosmos. It would just look like gibberish to us. (This is probably where modernist art has failed.) The artist is standing in front of a closed door and needs to open it only slightly, while immense forces are pushing from the other side. He should not give in to the temptation of exposing the spectator to the bright light behind the door. Because it is death. Instead, he should show, by example, through metaphor, a glimpse of the beauty behind the door, so it may inspire us to feel this connection with the cosmos, truth, chaos (without the need to understand it -which is beyond our capabilities; we are simply too small, all we have is our sensations).
I like this clarification, it helps me make sense of the idea much better. Very poetic.

And yeah, I like that perspective on what art is.

Maybe art can be other things as well, but that is an interesting way to look at it, and it helps me understand what I find beautiful about certain things, and how that feeling might come across in a game.