In Raphael’s TRIUMPH OF GALATEA (Roma, Villa Farnesina) a triton, raging with lust, abducts a sea nymph three cherubs, chestnut brown, take aim at Galatea with their little bows and arrows– more tritons, more sea nymphs abound merrily, trumpets are blown, mythily, and Galatea rides a peculiar sea, puke green in a curvacious seashell, normal, drawn by dolphins not very, while a grey ghost skull imprints her knee she gazes towards a soft heaven contemplating platonic love, OH could I do as much if I could swim and if I were not afraid of tritons the apotheosis, half men, half fish and bows drawn by flying midgets? I could do my best, and that is all you can ask of yourself, and I do and I could try, but confidentially I say with a smile, frankly No sirree, I could not.