360 Degrees: Drawing on my Wall

Months ago, after watching "Across The Universe", something entirely separate from the Beatles triggered an immense creative dream in my mind: to draw without boundaries, to break the bonds of passion-killing 8 by 11 sheets of white paper. In this movie, the lead male, an artist in the late 60's, has a moment of impassioned anger and rebellion, and he takes to his wall with a flurry of paint to the sound of "strawberry fields". I, myself, for months, had been brooding over the fact that the common bland slate called paper was not enough for me to express myself; it was actually hindering my artistic growth. When bound to a piece of paper, an artist, or at least I found, cannot go past his own boundaries after a time: what he has drawn over and over cannot be beaten inside his head: he will put his pen to paper and realize he has no way to make his idea come out in an attractive, dynamic way. It becomes bland, it becomes static. The artist becomes bored, and he ends up making endless mistakes because his mind isn't challenged enough to try to make a difference in his work. He might as well be drawing the same drawing, over and over, on the same piece of paper. Luckily for me, there are other artists who had broken through that boundary. How? By not having boundaries.
It was from that point on that I knew I had to go to my wall.
This was innovation for me from all different points: 1) I was leaving prison. I'd be leaving that irrepressible drone and blandness of pen to paper mind- suppression, and going to a much grander scale. I'd be with my predecessors, Michelangelo and his contemporaries, I'd make my own Sistine chapel. It would be method acting in that I would experience the feeling of having a whole massive surface, that of a house's wall, like the artists of old, as my personal canvas. 2) There is another feeling that I presumed would come of it: rebellion. Joyful, jubilant rebellion. Modern western life, from the time we first watched "Rug rats" (or learned from experience) that momma always says "DON'T DRAW ON THE WALLS!" Thus, this is artist's rebellion in one of it's highest forms: taking modern or societal rules and breaking them for the sole sake of expression. I knew that there was no reason not to draw on my walls: I'd use chalk or something, and the art would only put color to a bland, peach surface. I'd make it live. I'd bring art to a surface that would never have known it otherwise, but most importantly, I'd be breaking all the rules I'd subjected myself to previously, and I would finally break free. I knew how to get out of the rut in the rain- blasted road that my mind's ancient Jeep was in: Leave the jeep, leave the road, and find a better way to the other side. I'd climb the mountain's face on my hands and knees, feel every inch of it's grand slate. That's what I knew taking to my walls with a piece of chalk would be like: working every inch, every space from the floor to the ceiling with startling energy and a desire to break through the wall and get to the peak of artistic creativity until my mind had been drained, my mission fulfilled.
This all does sound a little too good to be true, I realize. It sounds like I'm making things up, that no one could ever really reach that kind of feeling just through drawing on a wall. Most would think that, sure for a while, it would feel pretty interesting at least. A new experiment, of sorts. Pleasing for a few days, maybe, but never really freeing. And, under any other circumstances, I would probably agree with them. But, I have no other circumstances to choose from. Life has given me my circumstances, and I have developed the way I have and will continue on said track. I can empathize very well with others, but I cannot be them, and I will not be. I have been dealt the card that forced me to be restricted to a piece of paper for the first 15 years of my life, and I have since found the way to freedom. I knew, the moment I came out of the movie theatre on that cold, winter night, my mind ablaze with ideas of the future, that I had a way out.
And I am here to say that, this past Friday, on October the 3rd, I came home to discover my wall had been finished, the chalk paint all dry, and a box of chalk lay on my bed. I will also say that upon picking up that chalk, twice since the original discovery, that I have explored the far reaches of my artistic mind and explored nearly every inch, up and down, of my wall, with chalk in hand. And now, I know, that it is as liberating as I knew it'd be. I put the music on to full blast, pick up a piece of chalk, and punch into the wall.
And I have so much yet to discover.