The morning was dull and dry. I walked passing through the pathways from the empty soccer field towards the tennis courts. Reaching the rear side of the park I saw the dancing group chatting in muttering voices. Yet neither their existing nor the conversation was my interest at all, because the view to paint for this morning was further to the right hand side of the square. The view projected towards the walking bridge, which flies over across the jogging track below, was far and small. And the curvature of the extended view approaching to the stairs case by my side, which is the access to the mall of the office tower located at my back. The busy Saturday morning brought people passing to and fro from the stairs to the park, but I felt content in the painting spirit while listening to the recorded program from my earphones. I began to suspect how could the narrated scene revealing no visual conflict to the real scene I was observing with my eyes right in front of me?