Less is mor(e)
"There are two kinds of secrets: Those we keep from others and those we keep from ourselves."
- F. Maryland
- F. Maryland
Looks like mor stumbled upon a good one after all. This blog by Frank Warren, PostSecret, is making art in the blogosfera, using volunteered confessions in the form of 6x4 inch postcards.
Mail Your Secret Today
You are invited to anonymously contribute a secret to the PostSecret project. Your secret can be a regret, belief, experience, fear, betrayal, desire, feeling, confession, or childhood humiliation. Reveal anything - as long as it is true and you have never shared it with anyone before.
Warren is actively requesting 'secrets' from anyone who might be interested in getting anything off their chests. Besides his blog calls, he distributed 3,000 addressed cards in an arts festival in Washington, DC and saw a load of completed postcards filling his mailbox during "Artomatic".
I stamped my dirty little secret postcard already; start tracking that blog in a couple of weeks...
posted by lemania at 5:06 pm
4 Comments:
I’m sure it was John Edgar Wideman who asked the question of why our “coming clean” makes other people feel so dirty. He hit the nail on the head, and all these secrets and confessions really prove it. I read them all, compulsively, and have felt sick and and dirty and disturbed (“I love one of my children.” my god!) in the long hours since. It’s a fascinating project. Horrifying too, what people are capable of doing or disclosing. One of them had handwriting shockingly similar to my brother’s, which made me realize that one way to read these cards is to imagine that they are written by us or someone we know. It’s a kind of communion, really, maybe the only kind that exists or exonerates us anymore.
I think the worst thing would be to "have no secrets" . What a dull!
P.S. So, what? I enjoy funerals myself!
crede firmiter et pecca fortiter
I agree, what kind of person doesn't have any secrets? Secrets in and of themselves aren't a bad thing at all, but what kind of redemption is there in spilling your guts in public? I think Americans especially live in such dire isolation from each other that reaching out can only be done anonymously and with no direct consequence. To me, this just adds yet another layer of sadness to the whole thing. In any case, I really dig (pardon the pun) Six Feet Under, but that's as close as I'd come to "enjoying funerals."
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