Words & Ideas

Fringe Secrets

Stories from the people, about the people. Consensually spilt tea.

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A mannequin is wearing a loose white dress with a small bow hanging at the chest, and wearing a piece of lace fabric draped over the head and face. Surrounding the mannequin are white pieces of paper with black illegible writing on them, hung from the roof and stuck on the black walls.
White pieces of paper with black illegible writing on them, hang from the roof and onto the surrounding black walls. A person pictured from behind is grabbing one of the hanging pieces of paper to take a closer look.
White pieces of paper with black illegible writing on them, hang from the roof and onto the surrounding black walls. A group of three people are talking amongst the hanging pieces, and a skeleton with a draped scarf around its neck is situated in the room beside them.

Image Credit: Mason Mo

A mannequin is wearing a loose white dress with a small bow hanging at the chest, and wearing a piece of lace fabric draped over the head and face. Surrounding the mannequin are white pieces of paper with black illegible writing on them, hung from the roof and stuck on the black walls.
White pieces of paper with black illegible writing on them, hang from the roof and onto the surrounding black walls. A person pictured from behind is grabbing one of the hanging pieces of paper to take a closer look.
White pieces of paper with black illegible writing on them, hang from the roof and onto the surrounding black walls. A group of three people are talking amongst the hanging pieces, and a skeleton with a draped scarf around its neck is situated in the room beside them.
  • Created by: Aimee Raitman

  • Created by: Olivia White

Fringe festival-goers have generously spilled the tea for this interactive installation.

You are invited to partake in this social experiment, where secrets submitted anonymously are hung in the most public of places, to be shared with you, the unsuspecting audience member.

Are secrets just as enticing when we don't know who they belong to? Or do the stories of our social fabric lose their meaning as soon as they become untraceable gossip?

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