My wife was very pregnant at the time and the ninth month came with no sign of deliverance. Here sits the mother/nature/goddess/venus in her oystershell entirely superior to the grind of father time, and amuses herself by blowing bubbles; that age-old passtime that inspires the dream in young and old. Little dreams; beady worlds; soapy pearls. At a more serious tack, it is actually a playful piece with in mind Botticelli's 'Birth of Venus'. Here the mighty wild horse embodies the Divinity, inspired into contemplation by the shameless, immaculate beauty of Venus.