Skip to main content

26 Secrets

Way back in the summer, a friend and I were discussing Postsecret. She'd recently sent in a couple of postcards, and I asked her, "Do you want them to show up on the site? Or are you afraid that they will? Because I think I would feel a bit of both."

"One of them already did," she responded.

"WHAT!? For real!?"

She told me which postcard was hers; I remembered it. She also told me that the real secret was written underneath, and since Frank Warren does not tamper with the mail he receives, it will stay a secret.

In the ensuing conversation, we talked about the nature of secrets, the reality that most secrets are partial secrets; there are very few things that people hold as complete secrets from all others.


Knowing that I've considered mailing in a postcard or two myself, she asked if my secrets are actual secrets or partial secrets.

I paused when she asked, considering how to answer.

"I have both," I finally replied.


I have been thinking about secrets ever since. Honesty, vulnerability, privacy, shame, guilt, anger, pain and many other related concepts.

Somewhere along the line, I had a (seemingly) separate idea. An art show on my birthday. And then the two came together.

I'm calling it 26 Secrets.

On my 26th birthday, I'm ready to tell 26 stories. Each one is a partial secret, a story told in a pairing of photography and poetry. Most of these poems have been secretly stored away for some time, and I want to share them. Then there are the stories that birthed each "poetography" pair. Those are stories and secrets that I'm claiming as my own (I believe that holding secrets is a sort of power - it can be both destructive and empowering, depending on the context - which is a very intriguing side conversation I'd like to have sometime), but these second layer secrets... they're ready to be posted, seen and discussed.

So if you're in the Toronto area at the start of January...come check it out.

Comments

  1. Beth. If I weren't flying back to Montana on January 8th...well...lets just say, I am beyond excited about this. I will be there in spirit, admiring your incredible creativity, pondering your insight, thanking God for all He has in store for you and your talent. Wow, wow, wow...can't WAIT for this to happen! Toronto folk: You had all BETTER be there, for those of us who WISH we could!!

    Love you. Love your art.

    ReplyDelete
  2. Can't wait, Beth! You're such a brave person :)

    ReplyDelete
  3. Wow, Beth. I wish I was in Ontario so that I could attend - I think it'll be utterly fantastic and soul-touching. Hope it all goes well and hope you'll post some on here for those who aren't able to attend. Merry Christmas, my friend :)

    ReplyDelete
  4. Anonymous5:51 PM

    I am so depressed that I only discovered your Blog via Silas this past weekend and so could not come see your show. We know many of the same people, probably courtesy of UoG, but regardless, via blog postings, I like you! I am a studio major, and your newest blog stalker. :)

    ReplyDelete
  5. Christina,

    Thanks and welcome! Now that you've left a comment, you're no longer a blog-stalker :)

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Simone Weil: On "Forms of the Implicit Love of God"

Simone Weil time again! One of the essays in Waiting for God  is entitled "Forms of the Implicit Love of God." Her main argument is that before a soul has "direct contact" with God, there are three types of love that are implicitly  the love of God, though they seem to have a different explicit  object. That is, in loving X, you are really loving Y. (in this case, Y = God). As for the X of the equation, she lists: Love of neighbor  Love of the beauty of the world  Love of religious practices  and a special sidebar to Friendship “Each has the virtue of a sacrament,” she writes. Each of these loves is something to be respected, honoured, and understood both symbolically and concretely. On each page of this essay, I found myself underlining profound, challenging, and thought-provoking words. There's so much to consider that I've gone back several times, mulling it over and wondering how my life would look if I truly believed even half of these thin

I Like to Keep My Issues Drawn

It's Sunday night and I am multi-tasking. Paid some bills, catching up on free musical downloads from the past month, thinking about the mix-tape I need to make and planning my last assignment for writing class. Shortly, I will abandon the laptop to write my first draft by hand. But until then, I am thinking about music. This song played for me earlier this afternoon, as I attempted to nap. I woke up somewhere between 5 and 5:30 this morning, then lay in bed until 8 o'clock flipping sides and thinking about every part of my life that exists. It wasn't stressful, but it wasn't quite restful either...This past month, I have spent a lot of time rebuffing lies and refusing to believe that the inside of my heart and mind can never change. I feel like Florence + The Machine 's song "Shake it Out" captures many of these feelings & thoughts. (addendum: is the line "I like to keep my issues strong or drawn ?" Lyrics sites have it as "stro

Esse - Czeslaw Milosz

I'm on a bit of a poetry binge this week, and Monday afternoon found me lying on the luxurious shag rug of a friend's tiny apartment, re-reading some of my favourite poets (ee cummings, William Carlos Williams, Czeslaw Milosz). It is an adventure to re-open a collection and wonder what will pop out, knowing something you've read before will strike you afresh, or you will be reminded of a particularly moving line that you had somehow forgotten. Like this piece from Milosz, which floors me. Every. damn.* time. The first time I read it, I lay in a park with a friend (this same friend who offered me her rug as my reading burrow) and demanded that I share it with her. I spoke it carefully, and then, into the post-reading silence, I slammed the book shut, and dropped it as loudly as I could onto the grass. "I'm never reading anything again," I declared, "What else is there to say?" Esse I looked at that face, dumbfounded. The lights of métro st