This is serious. How come, after the fact, I feel so strange...almost a feeling of pity for a customer who came through the gallery with his wife and informed me that this painting, called "Peaceful Moments," was his favorite in the gallery. I think of this painting as a little girl painting, lisa frank-ish. But why would I feel that way about this man after the fact? Who cares what one person likes and another doesn't. Why does it feel confused with pity... I don't even remember what he or his wife look like anymore for pete's sake. I stood in front of the painting and studied it trying to answer my question but I came up with nothing.