So this idea starts as many do...... at a party. It was a party I was having. Before too many people showed up, I decided it would be a good idea to make a painting with some of my friends. We went ahead and started painting a normal abstraction of whatever our brushes and unconscious minds wanted. When we were done, we left it up for others to view, as well as to let it dry.
The party proceeded, and beers were drunk, cigarettes were smoked, and generally the normal array of crazy happenings, conversations, and debauchary ensued. After a while, I proceeded 
outside to find the paints had once again been brought out and painting had proceeded. Now handprints could be found on the canvas, on people's bodies dispersed throughout the party, and even a bit on the columns of my house. The painting was now moving around, smeared over the original painting, and even becoming part of the architecture.
The party continued, and I even became the owner of a handprint of my face, while putting my mark an many another person. As many a night does, it became a blur of good times and yelling. I awake the next morning with paint in my hair and a bit of a headache.
The painting I found, was at first glance unrecognizable, but as I took a closer look, I realized it held more than I could imagine. It held
the entire night in its vicious strokes and colors. Handprints and drinks spilled on it, words and smears bring back specific images of the night before. To put it literally, the painting both on the canvas, the house, and even myself had become the story of the night. The night had become the author of a story in acrylics.
_Olen
