As Emerson once put it, 'In the minds of geniuses, we find — once more — our own neglected thoughts.' It is almost certain that people who have devoted themselves to self-honesty and self-observation have an above average chance of meeting with in comprehension, irritation, censorship or boredom when they attempt to share the data from their own minds frankly in company. Their thoughts (it might be on politics or architecture, family life or sexuality) will sound more threatening, more intense, oblique or tender than is allowed. That feels lonely, if one is in the mood to frame things like this. There are simply fewer people at large committed to self-honesty and self-observation — and therefore up for exchanging notes on what it's truly like to be alive. Yet there is one resource that is exceptionally well suited to address the feelings of disconnection liable to be felt by the emotionally intelligent: art. Works of art are humanity's secret diary: records of all that could not be said in regular social contexts, but which have found a home in the more intimate, honest communication that can take place between an art-work and its audience.