Shrouds Of Secrecy

Frank Warren Talks About PostSecrets

We all have secrets. Some are innocuous ones that we don't share because it goes against the image we are trying to project of ourselves. Other secrets run deep, cutting into our daily lives with brief reminders of the weight we carry in our hearts. Some people bury these sensitive secrets deep within themselves, while others yearn to tell someone...anyone...and yet, they find themselves mute, unable to put into words the truth held within.

The seed of PostSecrets was planted at the Artomatic multimedia art exposition in Washington, DC in 2004 when Frank Warren passed out blank postcards to random strangers, instructing them to write a secret on it, illustrate it however they wished and send it back to him. At the time, he believed that he would receive a minimal amount returned, never imaging that, even today, two hundred 4”X6” postcards would arrive each day to his mailbox in Germantown, Maryland. They all find there way to Frank Warren, the most trusted stranger in America. Your secrets are safe with him. He's just going to tell them to the whole world.

Was the reason that this project was and is so successful due in part to people's innate need to confess their secrets? This was one of the first questions we addressed during a telephone interview from Warren's home in Maryland.

“I wouldn't call it 'confess,' but I would say that it takes much more energy to hold in the truth than let it go, and I think people feel that in different ways.” Warren went on to discuss the most prevalent and reoccurring theme that he receives. “Sometimes I'm asked which secret I get the most, and really, the kind of secret I receive daily, written in different ways, is that secret that I think we can all relate to; that idea of that search for that one person we can tell all of our secrets to and be completely open with. I think that when we find that person, we're able to not just share more of ourselves, but understand to a greater degree about who we are.”

I asked Warren if there are those who are unable to part with their secrets because, since they had carried them so long, that the secret had become a defining point for their own personality and that divulging the secret would be tantamount to losing part of themselves.

“One of the stories I sometimes tell is one that was shared with me not too long ago in a restaurant. This woman used to work at a camp for children who had just gone through a serious loss...a bereavement camp...and she said the most remarkable exercise took place on the last day.” Warren went on to describe the exercise: “They took the campers to a pile of rocks and every camper got rocks and pens and they were instructed to write their secrets on the rocks and they did that. Then they were told to carry the rocks through the whole day and at the end of the day, they were all brought to a lake. They were told to take those burdens, those secrets that they had been carrying all day, and just throw them in the water and release them and let them go. She said, what was remarkable was that every time, there were always a few campers who didn't let go of their rocks. They wanted to hold onto those fears and carry them. I think it really demonstrates exactly what you were saying: sometimes these secrets, sometimes these burdens become part of our identity.”

Does Warren feel that he is providing and outlet for people to unburden themselves under the security of anonymity?

“I don't know. I think of the project as a collection of works of art and secrets that I share with people.” Warren said, reiterating the question, “An outlet? I will say this: I believe I have accidentally tapped into something that was there the whole time that I don't understand, but something that I think...(pause)...I'll probably receive secrets for the rest of my life. I don't think that there is any way to turn this off and so it's pretty awesome just in terms of what I feel I have stumbled into.”

While some of the secrets are rather pedestrian and mundane, others show a sense of humor that reflects an unspoken universality, like the one depicting a bulldog that simply says, “I hate my couch, so I let my dogs pee on it to force my husband into buying a new one.” Others tread into the darkened territory conveying the primal scream of a torn psyche. One shows a picture of an ultrasound, and, written across the top “For 16 weeks I prayed and begged for my bay to live. God either didn't hear, couldn't be bothered or doesn't exist. I don't care which anymore. January 4 – My baby, God and my heart – all died.” Others border on resigned acceptance, like a faded black and white baby picture with, “I know that you will never have time for me” scrawled across the front. I asked Warren whether or not any of this ever got too real for him.

“Oh, certainly I get drawn into the secrets and the stories behind them. You bet!” Warren went on to describe one such instance. “There was a reporter over here earlier today and we came across this card that has ten hair samples, neatly ordered in little boxes and in each box is a word. If you read all the words, it says, 'After they fall asleep, I cut the hair of kids I babysit.' I mean, how does that not pull you in?”

POSTSECRET: Confessions on Life, Death and God, compiled by Frank Warren, is now available. It is published through William Morrow (an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers) at a suggested retail price of $22.99 for the hardcover edition.