One of the goals of Burning Man – one of its necessities, really – has been to throw playa dust high in the air in hopes that it will carry around the world, bringing fire and inspiration along with it. Because let’s face it, there just isn’t room for everyone in Black Rock City anymore.
The Bureau of Land Management has capped the city’s population at 70,000 for the foreseeable future, and so there aren’t enough tickets. The only thing there’s plenty of is disappointment.
But along with the weeping and gnashing of teeth has come some alternative paths: You don’t have to go to the big Gerlach Regional to have a Burning Man experience.
It’s happening all over the globe — New Zealand, Africa, Spain, Japan, South Korea, to name just a few international beachheads. And although not every Regional has a full-blown multiday festival of art and fire, the goal is to create the kind of environment that you experience in Black Rock City. And you can find more and more Regional events in North America, too. There’s Flipside in Texas and the Love Burn in Florida, the BEquinox in Joshua Tree and the Playa del Fuego in Delaware. Here’s a map of all of them: http://regionals.burningman.org/regionals/north-america/
There’s also Transformus in North Carolina and there was Alchemy in Georgia, which was associated with the Regionals for a time, and that brings us to today’s story.
Sam Kim has never been to Burning Man, but she’s undeniably a Burner. Just because she’s never made it to the big funhouse doesn’t mean she isn’t part of the family.
But her non-attendee status is about to change. She’s here for the first time, and she’s gone all in: She’s working for the DPW, and she’s pounding stakes and doing all the other tough things that need to get done.
She’s not new to the work, though. For the past several years, she’s been the lead or co-lead for the builds of Transformus and Alchemy. That means she has helped set up roads, run electricity and secure the perimeter. Those smaller Regionals don’t have the layers of organization that you find here at the big Burn, nor the numbers of people, but the work is similar in scope and importance.
“I just like being involved at the beginning of things,” Sam says as she takes a break from packing up her gear at the trailer park and moving out to the playa. But she’s in for a new experience over the course of the next several weeks: “I’ve never been to Burning Man, and I have no idea what the event will be like.”
That’s the amazing thing, and the kind of thing that the organization will need to encourage: Burners who never go to Burning Man. (more…)
The sun seemed to be sinking faster than usual, and the sky was transitioning from blue to gray, with streaks of sunset orange. We knew it would get dark soon, and even though we were in a hurry to get where we were going, we couldn’t help but stop, get out of the truck to take in the views and the stillness and the quiet.
This won’t seem like a big deal to all you off-road desert explorers, but we got out of our comfort zone last night and went to visit Will and Crimson at their Meteor Camp, deeper and further into the Black Rock Desert than we’d been before.
We told the nice Gate folks manning Point 1 that we were heading out. We had extra clothing, water, goggles, lights and a radio, but if we went missing, at least someone would know where we had been headed. (We also had booze, because hey, radical self reliance.) We weren’t really going that far, five miles out and three miles in, but when you haven’t ventured far outside the event site before, your mind is filled with images of squawking ravens feasting on a desiccated corpse.
We needn’t have worried. We came upon the desert markers (the first was a double set of poles with tires on them, then a single pole with another tire) and made the appropriate turns. We could see a small group of trailers and campers in the distance, and there were tire tracks to follow. When we arrived, a lot of people were laughing, and the smell of barbecue was thick in the air. There was also a giant cooler of what turned out to be lethally strong margaritas.
Will and Crimson, two of Burning Man’s founders, have been heading out to the open desert before the event for more than a decade. It used to be just them and the night and the stars. “We just wanted to get some quiet time beforehand,” Will was saying as he reclined on a camp chair, gazing skyward, watching for shooting stars at the tail end of the annual Perseid meteor shower. There were little dots of light on the ground — a far-off gold mine, a camper or two – and thousands and thousands of shining stars in the sky.
But Meteor Camp has grown from just two people to about 100. Everyone seems to know each other, and as you made your way around there were offers of more drinks and food. At one point, the president of the Friends of Black Rock High Rock took a megaphone and welcomed the new arrivals. He encouraged everyone to have fun and join the group.
Will was saying that there are four star-gazing outings a year now, in addition to the other educational and explorer programs under the Friend’s auspices. And you can go to them; Sign up at their website, maybe make a donation to help people learn about the desert and help preserve it. And when you roll through town, you might want to visit their visitor center in the middle of Gerlach.
A brief note about meetings. All of you who work for other people no doubt have gone to your share of office meetings, so you know how stultifying and pointless so many of them can be.
We’re here to tell you of a better way, of the best daily meeting we’ve had the privilege of attending.
We know from meetings. In our corporate life, it was not unusual to have six, seven, eight meetings a day, from early in the morning to end of the day, with about half an hour squeezed in for actual work. One of our colleagues was fond of saying, “There are two kinds of people – people who meet, and people who work.” Many days we were a part of the former group.
But Logan’s morning meeting is how all meetings should be done.
It is predictable, happening at 7:30 every morning. It brings everyone together to jump start the day. Necessary information is conveyed: who’s arriving on the playa, the new speed limit for Black Rock City, fuel and shower hours. Maybe there’s a weather report if it’s pertinent. Occasionally there are social notes — who’s having a gathering that night, and thanks to the person who had one the night before.
And that’s pretty much blessedly it. If someone talks too long, Logan or the crowd will yank them. There’s work to be done. If the meeting lasts more than seven minutes or so, everyone starts getting antsy to wrap it up. There’s no pompous bloviating. You meet, you hear stuff, you are done. You are not told things you already know, and you are not told things you have no interest or need to hear.
Tell your bosses to do it like this. Take back your life.
The playa is “harder and flatter” than it was last year, and maybe harder and flatter than it has been for the past several years. That’s not just my opinion, either. I always seem to get a little too rhapsodic about playa conditions in my exuberance to be back in the desert. “Harder and flatter” is how D.A. his own self described the condition of Black Rock City. And of course D.A. should know, because he’s the person in charge of making sure the desert looks the same after the event as it did before.
There are still plenty of rough spots. The 3’oclock side of the city is, as is usually the case, more problematic. There are mounds and ridges and tire tracks, but the “serpents” don’t seem quite as daunting. You may even be able to stay on your bike instead of having to trudge through six inches of playa dust as you make your way to the Temple.
The placement of the city is a bit closer to Gerlach this year, somewhere between a quarter- and a half-mile closer. Burning Man takes place in the same general area of the Black Rock Desert every year, but inside the event closure area, the city’s footprint is moved around so it doesn’t wear out the same portion of the desert every year. The city is always laid out the same way, so you’ll always see the sun coming up behind the Man as you stand in Center Camp. But planners do have some flexibility with where they drop the spike that marks the center of the city.
This year’s city will be pretty much where the city was in 2012. And because it’s not possible to pick up every last bit of moop (matter out of place) after the event, you might find an “artifact” or two from 2012 half-buried in the dust (an anti-SOPA sticker, perhaps?). Grab the “artifacts” while you can. Fifty years from now, they’ll be designated as historic, and you won’t be allowed to remove them.
You’ll also notice a difference this year as you make your way across Route 447. The hills, at least as of this writing, are GREEN. It looks like Ireland, ferchrissakes. Here’s a picture Phoenix Firestarter took last week as she traveled to the Spike ceremony:
This is the desert, but it’s been raining. Not a lot, but often. In fact, it rained lightly in Gerlach last night. Not enough to cause any problems, but enough to tamp down the top layer of dust again.
It’s been raining intermittently all spring and into the summer. The Survey teams had to dance around the wet spots as they laid out the city, and trucks got bogged down a time or two.
And there’s another effect of the unseasonable wetness: Bugs. There are lots of bugs around, including mosquitoes. You couldn’t stand outside in Gerlach as the sun went down without getting bitten to death. We’re not sure yet how bad it will be out on the playa, but be smart and pack some lavender oil or bug spray or whatever you use.
With all the rain that’s been around, it’s surprising that we haven’t been hit by rain or hail or lightning or any of the other plagues that have haunted the build the past several years. So far, so good. The crews are making great progress. But as Coyote says, there’s no such thing as being ahead of schedule — you never know when a storm cell is going to pop up and slam you.
So far, though, it’s been dry. It’s hot, though, and it’ll get hotter next week. The wind kicked up in the afternoon, too. Silver Coon’s yurt was a casualty.
There are only a few boxes, a few outlines of shapes, out at the Man Base just now. Plywood sheets are being carried to and fro, two by fours are being cut to length, and the big Man’s legs are lying comfortably horizontal on the ground.
We know, of course, that there will be a Man this year. Another big Man of giant proportions. Apparently gone are the days when the Man was the same size every year, built by the same Man Krewe.
But after that, figuring out exactly what the scene around the Man will look like is difficult, as the descriptions are vague, we guess intentionally so:
“This year a funhouse at the center of our carnival will contemplate the puzzle of self-consciousness. Many kinds of masks and mirrors will line the corridors and chambers of this interactive maze. Here people will confront a shuffled deck of selves: the me they want to be (but aren’t), the me they repudiate (but are), the me they can’t imagine (but might be).”
So what we know for sure is that there will be a maze around the Man, and you’ll have to make your way through it as you confront your “shuffled deck of selves.”
But what kind of maze will it be? And what metaphors will you draw as you perhaps loop around and around the same section of the puzzle, looking for a way forward, but repeating the same mistakes?
Burning Man is an organization, a large and growing one, so when it faces a problem, it does what many other large organizations do: it calls for meetings. Many meetings.
And it was at one of these meetings that the path of the organization and the path of an individual collided, in one of those meaningful coincidences for which Burning Man has earned its reputation for synchronicity. “I know how to design mazes,” Kristin Thomas said softly, maybe a bit awkwardly, at that fateful meeting about the maze.
And so it was that a woman who was on her first day on the job as production assistant filled a need completely separate from the job for which she had been hired. And you can trace the path that brought her to that room, with Larry Harvey and other major organizational personages, because of a crush that she had on a boy back when they were in fourth grade. And maybe also because she had found a path to the person that she wanted to be, rather than the person other people thought she should be.
Kristin Thomas grew up in Michigan suburbs, where people went to church every week (she eventually stopped going, and was considered a heathen because of it).
In high school, she was both a nerd and extremely self conscious about being a nerd. She didn’t fit in. “I was an awkward, awkward teen,” she said yesterday as she sat in the shade of a plywood sheet out in the middle of the desert.
And on her first day on the job with Burning Man, those feelings came flooding back. “I met them all and I found myself getting that kind of high-school anxiety again. … Like when I went to sit in the commissary, where would I sit? I stood there looking, where are the cool kids?” But then she relaxed, because she realized that she was with her tribe. “We were all the dorks. We’re not the cool kids.”
Kristin left her comfortable but confining life in Michigan and went to college at the University of Colorado in Boulder. And she realized along the way that she could re-invent herself, “shed the layers of not me,” as she put it.
A few years ago, Larry Harvey his own self was doing his yearly meeting with members of the media who were attending the Burning Man event. Now, we hesitate to cast aspersions on the group, because we used to be one of them, but honestly, some of the questions they posed were, to be kind, lame. It was clear they hadn’t been paying attention. They needed someone to explain Burning Man in a nice neat little package. But this wasn’t the time or place. The event was roaring all around them. The answers were out there, not in here in with the cameras and the notebooks.
But Harvey turned their questions into an opportunity to talk about some of the things that he had been thinking about recently. He had turned 60, and he said he had become less self-conscious, less concerned about what people thought of him, and more concerned about how Burning Man would go forward. In other words, he cared less about what people thought of him now, and maybe he had become more concerned about what they’d think of him in the future.
Kristin was fortunate enough to have made a similar realization as she moved through college into adulthood. She stopped trying to be the person other people wanted her to be, and she cared less that she wasn’t fulfilling other people’s expectations. “You know how they say that you should pay attention to the things you are doing when you are procrastinating,?” she asked. She started doing that.
She came to her first Burning Man fourteen years ago. Suddenly she was surrounded by people who were wearing the kinds of things that she loved, that she thought it was only she who thought they were cool and interesting and expressive. And now she was in a place where everyone was wearing them. And in that moment she found a calling. Eventually she started her Mythica Clothing company, and she took a part-time job with Burning Man to help put together the money to bring her dreams to life.
But what about the meeting and the maze? How did it happen that she had just the right answer to a question that she didn’t know was coming?
“Oh, I had a crush on a boy in the fourth grade,” she laughed. “And he liked mazes. So I liked mazes, too. I bought books and began studying them.” Ever since then, she’d drawn maze-like doodles, and so when Burning Man needed a design for a maze, she drew one that everyone loved. No further meetings were needed.
And you’ll be making your way through one of her mazes, one that’s been polished and refined and made sufficiently challenging, when you make your journey of discovery at the base of the Man this year.
Just try not to keep making the same mistakes. And try not to listen to people telling you where they think you should go. You’ll never get anywhere.
In other news, Makeout Queen hosted her fabulous Manhattans party at the Black Rock Saloon last night. People turned out in all kinds of finery – skin-tight dresses, sparkly jewelry, feathery boas. And you should have seen what the women were wearing!
Ok, not all the guys were dressed as women: There were a good number of formal shirts, tuxedo jackets and spats. Overall, though, it was a magnificent-looking crew. Even after a back-breaking day in the very hot sun, this group cleans up well.
That’s how the Cobra Commander opens his 7:30 morning meeting in the lovely al fresco dining area of the Gerlach Community Center, where the work crews take their meals while they are bivouacked in town.
We’re a couple of days into the build, and all systems are go.
The 4.2 miles of Gate road, the long and winding dusty trail that gets you from the highway to the entry gates, was pounded with stakes yesterday, and over the next day or so ropes of flags will be attached.
The Commissary tent, which fits in so well with the circus-y Hall of Mirrors theme this year, was lifted into place yesterday. What a bear. Of course there was more pounding – this time 3-foot long steel stakes that hold the tent to the ground. We got to see who could wield a sledge, and the best roustabouts (those people as yet unattached to crews) were quickly recruited by other teams.
Sledgehammers play an unusually large role in the early days of the build. Those things are heavy, as you know, and just to make things interesting, people will hold sledge-tossing contests during break hours. Some prefer the spin and toss technique, others the pure power move of the underhanded toss. The definitive contest will be held after the last Spire is put in the ground, and we’ll handicap the field as we go along.
Today the intersections of the city will be laid out. “Fifteen hundred more stakes,” Booya said as he put out a call for help. Around the playa, the king posts at Center Camp are up, and the beginnings of the Depot are taking shape. The Heavy Equipment yard already looks in midseason form.
There are a couple of points to be made about all this. (more…)
It was right about the time that I pulled out a lens cloth from my back pocket and the cash I had stashed there came out with it and went blowing down the playa that the thought began to take shape: This might not have been the most auspicious beginning of the playa season.
It wasn’t just me, though. There was Marnee racing off into the deep playa after her hat that just wouldn’t stop rolling. Beer cans were flying in the wind. Someone lost a shoe, ferchrissakes. How is the wind so strong that it steals your shoe?
In the years that we’ve attended the Spike ceremony, when the members of the various Burning Man tribes take turns smacking an iron stake into the ground to mark the place where the Man will be built, the weather has been … let’s just say a little more welcoming. It might have been hot in years past, sure, but the wind has rarely been howling so fiercely and there weren’t pebble-sized pieces of playa hitting you in the face.
“There’s rocks in my beer,” my traveling companion noted as we sat and listened and laughed – and maybe got a little misty – as people stood in the middle of a small circle and talked about how long they’d been coming to do this thing in the desert. Some told why they started doing it in the first place, and others said how grateful they were to the people who had gathered here, because they had become so important in their lives. “Y’all were there for me when I needed it most,” one young woman said, casting meaningful glances around the circle. “And I don’t know if I would have made it without you.”
There might have been a few tears, but then again, the watery eyes might just have been because of the communal dermabrasion that was going on.
Still, the Spike ceremony tends to bring out a lot of emotions. For one thing, you’re just so damn glad to be out in the wide open space again, Razorback over there shrouded in clouds, the Calicos at the far end with the pinkish glow, and the ominousness taking shape back near Gerlach, threatening even more havoc.
And then you start seeing all the people that you haven’t seen enough of since last year’s summer camp, dirt rave, company picnic, whatever you want to call it. But there they all are again, or at least a whole lot of them, and they’re drinking beer and Champagne, and there’s Will Roger and Coyote lighting up celebratory cigars, and there’s Genie and Paul and their little Merritt, striking a blow for the Rangers, and there’s the sign crew, the motor shop, the survey crew, taking turns in the circle …
The gang’s all here.
And then all of a sudden you’re simply happy to be among them, grateful for the chance to be a part of this again.
Hey look: We understand that everything about Burning Man has changed. We know it was better last year. We read all the blogs and all the comments, and we read all the newspaper stories that, when you think about, reveal nothing if not how stupidly difficult it is to keep pulling this off every year. And we’ve been looking at the archival stuff that the org has been posting, and we’ve stayed up crazy late watching the 20-year-old videos that Danger Ranger has been unearthing.
So maybe more than anything we kind of can’t believe that all this is still happening. Through all the contentiousness, all the battles, in the unlikeliest of settings, there are still people coming who have been coming since the beginning, and there are still people coming who’ve been coming for 15 years, or 5 years, and there are still people coming who have never been here before.
And yah yah yah, we know Burning Man is on the tech bras bucket list now, and it’s Mecca for the sparkle ponies, and almost in spite of itself it’s still one of the best places to dance all night, dance all night, dance all night till you feel alright, which of course annoys the hell out of some people, but honestly I’m not one of them.
We don’t much care about any of the distractions, because even after all this time we still can’t pretend to know what’s at the heart of the thing. The best we can come up with is that there are many hearts, and they are all encouraged to beat here, and that’s the most important thing. Dare to be you, dare to be more, dare to be great. Work like hell to make something beautiful. Gift people, and learn how to accept a gift. Don’t buy anything, don’t sell anything. Include people.
It’s not very complicated, and we don’t want it to be. (more…)
First off, we were headed back to the Black Rock desert to visit people who, incredibly, had never left the playa. Some of them had been there since July, and it seemed the only question was just how cracked out they would be.
All their friends and everyone else who’d been to Burning Man had left them behind. They had to know that we’d been eating sushi and pizza and burritos, and we’d been showering whenever we felt like it, and when we used the bathroom, it didn’t the way only a PortaPotty can stink at noon.
So these folks had to be bitter. And they were probably resentful, too, because who wouldn’t be? By the time we rolled into town, they’d already been working Playa Restoration for days. And they had a lot more mooping to look forward to. They’d been walking slowly across the empty desert, sometimes getting down on their hands and knees, to pick up what the partygoers had left behind.
But worst of all, these lost souls might even be hostile, and that made us nervous. Who the f—were we, all clean and shiny and caught up on sleep, to come sashaying into town? What the f—were we doing there, and who the f—did we think we were?
And then there was the trip itself.
The stench of broken dreams had been with us since before Truckee. The sky was dark orange, clouded by the smoke from fires ravaging Northern California. Reno seemed like some Saudi Arabian town in the middle of a dust storm. The sky there burnt ember, and it smelled of smoke and destruction.
By the time we got to the other side of Nixon, where the beauty of the ancient lakebed usually hits us in the face, we were almost ready to turn back. We couldn’t see more than a couple of hundred yards on either side of the road. There was no sun, no glowing, golden hills. There was only smoke, and the growing sense of dread that this was all a very bad idea.
D.A. has been doing Playa Restoration for fifteen years, even though they haven’t called it “Playa Restoration” for nearly that long. He’s been around since the days when only a couple of dozen people would stick around after everything had been trucked back to the ranch, after everything had been stowed away for the year.
Brukka was telling us about the old days, too, when it was a just small bunch of really ragged people who did the cleanup. They didn’t eat well, mostly stuff out of cans, and they didn’t sleep much. They did drink pretty hard, though, which only served to make things … volatile.
There were no fluffers, there were no support teams, and no one really knew they were still out there. There was no such thing as a Moop Map — there was only the need to leave no trace.
The BLM has always made Burning Man clean up after itself. It’s pretty simple, really: Officers will come to random points in what had been Black Rock City, and they’ll put stakes in the ground, and they’ll stretch out lines. Then they’ll inspect the circles of desert defined by those lines, and if they find too much crap … boom. Inspection fail. Permit pulled. Event over.
So this Playa Restoration is serious business, and it is quite literally true that the future of the event depends on leaving the desert the way we found it.
And all the work is being done by people who haven’t seen home in months, and who have spent very little time with anyone but each other.
There were so many things to like about the Temple of Grace burn last night, it’s hard to pick a favorite moment, so we won’t even try. We’ll just tick off a list of things that were just about perfect:
— The weather was calm, warm and dust-free. The sky deepened from pink to purple to blue to black, and by the time night had fallen, the fire from the Temple threw a warm orange glow on everyone’s face.
— The crowd was unusually respectful. There were many art cars lining a perimeter circle, but, as in years past, their sound systems were turned off for the burn. There were few, if any, raucous outbursts that would have changed the mood.
— Marisa Lenhardt Patton sang “Freebird” as the fire was lit, a fitting nod to the DPW’s fallen brother, and an echo of what happened two years ago, when a blaring version of that song offended many in the crowd. This time, it was only a single, beautiful voice. That song was followed by the Doors” “The End.” And then there was only silence and the sound of the fire.
— David Best his own self actually asked a Ranger to lower her voice as she was telling the crowd what to do and where to sit.
— Similarly, David made sure that all of the people who were privileged enough to be in the inner fire circle were sitting on the ground so that the crowd that had gathered behind them would have a good view, too.
— When fire engulfed the structure, it collapsed in the most graceful way possible, a half-twisting pirouette of flame and wood and embers. The Temple of Grace, indeed.
The fire lasted just about as long as seemed appropriate, and when the fire perimeter was dropped, the crowed moved slowly forward toward the flames. Best left the people he had been sitting with and called out, “Maggie! Where’s Maggie?” and went off to be with his wife.
The smell of sage and copal became thick in the air, and people pulled picnic blankets and food and drink toward the smaller piles of embers. They joined together to share what they had brought. (more…)