I’ve stuck with my morning pages but fallen off of my artist’s date despite being in the last gasp of the Artist’s Way work. It’s been beneficial, definitely, though I’m not sure I’m creating so much as I’m just not bearing the weight of my own psyche and my tendency to read and over-read people. I still see things coming, I still can look at a person and know his/her core motivations most of the time…it just doesn’t bother me as much. I’m back to playing my own game, and while it’s not solitaire, I’m pretty much the only player that matters.

And I still need to get on track with those artist’s dates. For me I think the issue is twofold: 1)It’s now winter in Minnesota and I share a car, thus limiting my access to going where I want to (but allowing us to be able to have me work/create from home) and 2)I’m running out of ideas. This would be easier if I enjoyed music particularly, but I don’t. It’s extremely rare that music speaks to me, and while I can appreciate the performance experience… music got ruined for me by its own enthusiasts. I don’t see recovering from that. I’ve already passed on the book but I guess I could find something for artist’s date ideas online.

So, one of the artist’s dates I did was almost two months ago – I went to the Post Secret exhibit when it visited the Minneapolis Public Library. While Post Secret is in part a visual arts project, you pretty much go to see what secrets you share. And I shared a few, and a few just scared me to death, and the ones about body-hatred, such as the one saying “I’d rather be dead than fat!” was so full of ignorant self-and-other hatred that it made me wince. I’m fat. It isn’t easy, but it still beats death.

And some were hilarious. I’m a fan of the no-property-damage practical joke, and a few of the things people do were right up my alley. I am the person who puts Necronomicon books in the crafting section of Barnes and Noble, after all.

Some of them were hysterical:

Dark:

Strangely Joyful:

Sad because they wasted joy:

Terrifying:

Painful:

Obvious:

and ZOMG, Me too!

The moral, if there was a moral to take away, was that there are happy secrets and unhappy secrets. Happy secrets sustain you, give you strength from a place where no one can touch you. But unhappy secrets just poison you.

There was a guest book on the way out of the exhibit, inviting visitors to tell their secrets.

I wrote one.

I’m not telling what it is.

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