Minneapolis artist turns strangers’ dreams into a shared archive
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Last fall, Lindsay Hein of Minneapolis invited fellow residents to call a phone number and leave their dreams. By January, she had about 50 messages — and a zine built from strangers’ subconscious.
“It was really cool to, like, listen to just strangers’ voicemails. And I did feel a deeper connection to my neighbors, which was unexpected. I didn't think that was one of the outcomes that would come from this,” Hein said.
The zine is assembled from those calls, tracing the connections that emerged through them.
Hein noticed a few patterns in the dreams, including celebrity appearances, sometimes with unfortunate outcomes like a crushing first impression or a disappointing lasting memory.
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She also saw dreams that seemed to carry across relationships.
One man called in and said he and his girlfriend both dreamed of the same house — the kind of overlap Hein was hoping to make space for.
Hein had gotten to a point last year where she wanted to be offline. She wished life were analog, and her first thought was to get a landline.
She described herself as “nosy” and wanted to hear what people would share. So she thought up reasons for people to call in.
What she landed on was shaped by her fascination with dreams.
“I know some people are like, ‘I don't need to hear about other people's dreams, it doesn't matter to me,’” she said. “To me, no matter what the dream you're having or how mundane it is, I think it still shows a lot about how your brain works and where you are right now in your life.”
She scrapped the landline and instead went with a Google Voice number that could receive calls, voicemails and texts.
Then Hein hung posters on bulletin boards all around Minneapolis with hand-made lettering and a sleepy crescent moon adorned with a nightcap. They asked people to call and share their dreams.
She compiled some of the messages into a zine titled "And then I woke up,” now available at Boneshaker Books.
