My love of fine art came early in my life. In 1965, while visiting the New York World's Fair, my dad asked if anyone of us wanted to go with him to the Vatican pavilion. Being one of four children, I took the advantage of spending a little one-on-one time with my father. We entered a cathedral and I was already in awe by the beauty of what I saw. We passed through the cathedral and stepped onto a moving walkway that moved us past the artwork from the Vatican museum. Honestly, one piece grabbed my ten year old attention, and that piece has remained burned in my memory all these years later. That one piece, that overwhelmed even the Mona Lisa for me, was Michelangelo's Pieta. That was before the anarchist with a ball-peen hammer broke several parts of that masterpiece. Since that day, the Pieta has always held a special part in my heart. It is no surprise that, while visiting the basilica at Notre Dame, I was drawn to another sculptor's version of the Pieta. This piece was also beautiful, and drew my memory back to those innocent days when, with my father, I stared my lifelong journal of appreciating fine art.