This Page Has Not Been Intentionally Left Blank

A LARGE GROUP OF YOUTHS WERE GATHERED into an empty concrete warehouse and spread out along the perimeter of it’s walls. Each youth was designated a large area of wall and given ten cans of paint and a paintbrush.

"Each of you has an allocated area of wall" a man said through a megaphone, blasting his ampliified voice to all corners of the building. He walked in small circles at the warehouse floor’s centre trying to ensure that all four corners could hear him.

"You have twenty minutes to paint whatever you want on the wall. After twenty minutes you must put down your paints and nothing more can be done. You must leave your area of wall as it is."

There was dissent amongst the youths as they heard this and a barrage of sighs and internal mutterings ensued. Each respective area of wall was vast: 10 metres wide and 3.5 meters high. It seemed impossible to do anything to it in just twenty minutes.

"I don’t understand" said a boy to the girl next to him. Each were placed in one of the corners. "Did he say we only had twenty minutes? His megaphone is not very loud and the acoustics in here are bad."

"I don’t know" said the girl. "I think that is what I heard."

Looking around the warehouse and reading the body language of others, they assumed that what they had heard was accurate.

"Do you know what you are going to paint?" asked the boy.

"No idea" said the girl.

She looked at her large section of empty wall.

"I don’t even know where to start."

The boy scanned his eyes around the warehouse in an effort to gage people’s intent. But everyone appeared different. Some were ponderous, some focussed, others worried, agitated and pacing.

"Okay" the boy and girl in the corner thought they heard the man in the middle say. "You’re time starts now!"

And at that moment a loud buzzer sounded, like the kick off to a sports event.

Evertything took the boy and girl by surprise. Before they knew what was happening, the warehouse exploded into life, hundreds frantically going about their business.

People ran to their paint cans and back to their wall, commencing to make their marks.

But the boy stood on the spot stupidly, frozen, as the initial moments passed by.

He watched as some people started to draw an outline of an image, others just going about painting a background base colour. 

But everyone had different styles, the boy noticed. Some were extremely meticulous and slow. Each stroke had to be perfect and straight, there had to be a certain depth of colour and consistency in stroke. Whereas others were quick and erratic. It appeared that they had something in mind but their vision was only confined to the immediate area of wall, they knew what they wanted to do in one section of it but they would be at a loss for what to do for the rest of it. The total area was so big.

The boy looked back to his wall and contemplated it’s seemingly impossible area of space. Then he looked at his paint cans.

No one is prepared for this, he decided. One cannot plan, only have a rough idea.

He looked at the girl beside him who had also been slow to get started. She laughed at him as she held a green paint can in her hand and tried to cover a small area of wall.

"You going to get started or what?"

The boy watched as the girl started painting her section of the wall and took note of her speed. She went about things quickly but even by continuing at her speed, she would not cover even half the wall.

After a minute she realised this. Hopelessly, she looked back at the boy who still did nothing. Her face was concerned, pannic stricken, like she was onboard a sinking ship.

"Enough mathematics" the boy said to himself.

He pried open a paint can, dipped a brush inside and ran to the wall.

At first, the boy wanted to get a sense for the size of the wall. He slapped the brush against it’s surface and made large, rough, up and down marks, jogging along it’s length to and fro. After several dips of paint and back-and-forths he regarded the wall and the wave-like pattern he had made. He realized that even by reaching as high above his head as possible, he had not even reached half way up the wall.

The boy decided that he needed a different tack. He needed to go to the extreme. He pried the lid off another paint can, picked it up and began to swing it back and forth. His eyes were set on the top of the wall. Eventually, when the paint can had developed enough momentum he halted it in the midst of its upward swing sending paint hurtling in a fountain splattering the top of the wall. He did it again and again, in different spots, at different angles and trajectories until the paint can was empty and a section of the wall was awash. Watching and inspired, the girl did the same. Soon they were opening more and more paint cans and emptying them with reckless abandon, on their walls, pleasure evident on their faces as they watched the colours bleed.

But more texture was required thought the boy and there was still a lot of space left to cover.

He paused again for a moment and thought about things. He looked at his wall and at hers.

"Want to collaborate?" he asked.

The girl smiled. "Sure."

"Anything goes?"

"Why not" she replied. "The clock is ticking."

And with that, she watched as the boy ran at his wall and jumped, pressing his body right up against it, such that it created an imprint of himself on the wall and the front of his body was completely covered in colour.

With a blue face he smiled back at the girl, who by this stage was laughing, then ran to her wall and started to press his body all over it in various poses.

The girl ran to his wall and did the same, each drawing from each other’s inspiration, both bodies constantly crossing back and forth with glee.

There were handprints, footprints.

Patterns.

Delicate finger drawings.

They gathered clumps off liquid paint in their hands and flicked them at each other.

Competitions arose to see who could jump the highest and leave a hand print.

Then, realizing both attempts were futile, the game evolved into a collaborative effort, the girl standing on the boy's shoulders in order to reach the top of the wall.

Her inscription whilst up there: "This is the top of the wall"

"Is that all you could think of writing?" asked the boy.

They stood and contemplated the phrase. 

"Take me up again" demanded the girl.

The newly adjusted line: "This is the top of the wall, ...bitches"

Then when the megaphone man announced that there was only a few minutes left and they had covered most of their walls, they both paused, panting, exhausted, hungry for air. Without talking, there was a consensus that they needed to pull things into a dramatic finale.

"I’ve still got a can of paint left" the boy said.

"Me too" replied the girl.

"I’ve got an idea. Grab your last can."

He walked over to the corner of the warehouse where his wall met hers and stood on one leg, his other splayed in the air but pressed against the wall. With one arm outstretched he reached for the corner where his wall ended and hers began.

"I want you to throw the paint on me" he said. "It will leave an outline."

The girl did as he asked and the image was perfect.

With time running out, the girl did the same, the siren sounding just as the last few drops of paint hit the wall.

"Paintbrushes down" commanded the man on the megaphone. "Step away from your walls."

The final image was ideal. It was the richest in colour and had the most definition. It was as if two bodies were being pulled apart but they held onto each other, both hands reaching for each other and meeting in the corner.

Dragging their multi-coloured bodies away from the wall, each of them collapsed on the ground leaving a trail of paint.

"You look quite ridiculous" the girl said trying to be serious but unable to contain her laughter.

Around the warehouse, painters looked at their walls. Some appeared somewhat satisfied, some discontent. They compared their work to the works of others. Although each had made a dent on the wall, the majority of the wall was still predominantly grey. But the lack of colour was not noticeable until the far corner of the warehouse was reached, where on the floor two bodies soaked in colour lay, chests rising and falling with great expansions, completely worn out.

When it was time to leave both the boy and girl made a lap of the warehouse to check out the artwork of others. There was some boring stuff. Some people had painted in only one colour, devoid of pattern or image in an effort to fill in the wall. Others had some good ideas, some had artistic skill but 95% of their walls were left blank.

"If only we had more time" said the boy, completing the full circuit and exiting into the engulfing bright light.

"I agree" said the girl, the paint not yet properly set on their skin.