Nature is the parent of all impressions and changes of mood. There has never been a place better suited for cradling the human thoughts than nature itself, wrapped in its lustful shades resembling a cloak of ages. Masterful as it might be, the almighty sorceress has always retraced every single step that our stream of consciousness could take towards the boundless analysis of ancestral heritage. From the encounter of mankind and nature, a new creature comes to life. She is limitless in her ways and actions, conspicuous though peculiar, although She offers mental shelter to the undecided. Yet, the inamorata is tight-fisted at times. She indulges in her lovers' painful toil of constant rediscovery, luring them every now and then towards the bottom of equilibrium after She cuts the ribbon that links the outer dimension and the inner pit of self-management. One might not want to intrude into the blossoming garden of the Nature, for She can prick the mind with invisible thorns springing from the very core of the path one would choose to walk on. How could one live surrounded by the atoms made colour and mellow fabrics, mustering endless waves of creation? I dare say, by reenacting the Nature's own playful drama. The best means of acquiring that should be available at one's discretion as long as daring people make sure to mold the visible creature at the moment when She spreads Her crude essence. An artist makes a perfect lover. Art redefines the unseen trapped into the Womb by using the stamina that strokes of paint could solely reveal.