Paola Antonelli speak on biological arts and design.

Japanese zoo conducts escaped rhino drill.

Tape, trash bags, and subway exhaust

One of the central curiosities that drew me to Burning Man was its nontraditional social organization. Like many others, I have become disillusioned and jaded by American democracy. My attention often shifts to ponderings of alternative systems that might serve Gaia and her population more effectively. How could coercion and force by government and society be minimized in order to uphold individual autonomy, dignity and value? Further, what environment would allow and encourage our spirits to thrive, in what I presume would be an overflow of love, unity, beauty, compassion, worth and self-discovery?

Black Rock City, interestingly enough, is without commerce. Though I am not so anti-capitalist as many of my peers, the prospect of such a seemingly extreme, even idealistic, economic system, or lack thereof, actually being practiced is very appealing. In fact, generosity, the basis on which it operates, is what I have for some time suspected to be an allowance for contentment and joy in our actions and behaviors. For example, why is volunteering to wash dishes at summer camp or a soup kitchen so much more satisfying than doing the same to keep roommates happy or, god forbid, because Mom made me? Perhaps novelty plays a role, however I would argue that the voluntary-nature, the option or choice in the former is far more fulfilling than submitting to obligation or demands. At Burning Man, the culture was to give freely. No bartering, no indebtedness, no evaluation of recipients to determine whether they are worthy. And this giving, the providing of needs and experiences to a multitude of utter strangers, is the primary motivation for everyone’s hard work and months of preparation. And when everyone gives and receives with open hearts, clear of expectation, all needs are satisfied, connections emerge at an essential/basic human level and abundance characterizes the landscape.

The citizens of Black Rock City began to swarm.  Costumed in whatever suited their fancy.  “An experiment in radical self expression,” the description read.  I began trying to classify the various distinct fashion trends: traditional goth, marching band goth, apocalyptic gang, alternative construction, full furries, partial furries, Halloween costumer, candy raver, neo raver, clown/circus, desert hipster, desert formal, underwearer, nudist, cross dresser, eastern spiritualist.  Yet despite the obvious diversity in taste and background, there existed a pointed cohesiveness to the scene.  No division, no factions, only genuine appreciation and care between fellow spirits. 

On second thought, the shirt cockers were stigmatized, though their derision was limited to snickers and rolling eyes.  I considered the style hilarious; imagine two grown men on either side of a badminton net, wearing only a tee shirt and nothing else, flailing every appendage they possessed.

Despite this pseudo-exception, the actualization of individual freedom and safety allowed for the unhindered establishment of connections and bonds.  Throughout the playa, there was an overwhelming sense of comradery and approachability.  Even as a “virgin” to Burning Man, my presence was universally celebrated, even by those who have called this place home for more than a decade.

The High Chair, a stilts bar

Nick Vu's desert garb

Arriving to the playa a few days early, I was able to witness and participate in the entity’s final stages of formation.  Frantic assembly was accompanied by the rhythm of hammers and whine of power tools, a modern rendition of those moments before, when the storm clouds loomed over Noah’s ark.  Neighborhoods, alleys and social spaces were organically emerging within the camps as tents clustered and tarps were lashed from vehicle to shelter to vehicle.  This punctured by high-standing structures: observation decks, geodesic domes, temples and sculptures.  The entire scene was then highlighted by colorful floodlights, lasers, black light art, fire and projections.  From barren flatlands emerged a bustling communal patchwork.

2 a.m. until 6:15, an abbreviated sleep sandwiched between a full day of packing and an early departure.  Brooke showed up and we transferred 12 days of supplies from home to car.  Yovel, the loquacious nude model, and Robert, the Israeli army officer, climbed aboard shortly thereafter and we steered south.  The vehicle was filled to the brim with stories and laughter.  At no point over the 14 hour passage was there thirst for entertainment.  Advancing on the desert, stars littered the sky and danced over the absence of refulgent city structures.  Seated low, saddling the rippling horizon was a fiery formation.  Perhaps a glowing demonstration of playa art? Nay, moonrise of a waning quarter obscured by nebulous shadows.  Isolated vehicles converged to form an impromptu caravan on the dusty road.  An eerie sensation accompanied the approach.  Not an arrival, but a reunion.  As if the congregation would momentarily board a rocket and be whisked back to our estranged native planet, a place only dreamt of yet etched in our souls.  Upon crossing into the grounds we were removed from the car with ritualistic greetings of engulfing embraces, the formation of dust angels on the dry earth, and bare-assed spankings, all culminating into the tolling of the bell and a shout of declaration that yes, this is in fact "Burning Man!"  However, this was but the front gate, a seam bursting with the ethos that must lie within.

Below is the Black Rock City plan: 39,300,000 sq. ft., with the outer edge of the horseshoe spanning approximately 2 miles in diameter.  It held roughly 50,000 burners.  (Image from burningman.com)

I was riding my bike through downtown traffic to city hall.  Usually when I make the trip it's lunch time and there's less congestion.  Sporadically I attend free Thursday performances sponsored by Seattle's Office of Arts & Cultural Affairs.  Such showings have included a youth opera, a jazz trio and a gong orchestra.  I have always left impressed; and not just by the acts, but also by the fact the the local government would do such a thing.  It's refreshing to know that I live in a region that appreciates and supports the arts. 

Upon entering the courtyard I joined the food line, which hadn't gotten too long yet.  City Grind Coffee, Hidmo Eritrean Cusine (shout out to Rahwa; her restaurant is doing outstanding community work), McCormick's Fish House and O'Asian Bistro were serving a delicious array of snacks.  The Traffic Jam was just getting under way.  The event featured women and youth in hip hop.  It brought me back to my college days in the break scene, and appealed to my more recent interest in women's issues.  The show included musical performances by Canary Sing, Julie C, DJ B-Girl and 1st Quarter Storm, as well as spoken word from Youth Speak poets.  I was wowed by the message, by the delivery, by the stage presence and by the strength apparent in all the participants. Additionally, they all embodied the spirit of hip hop to an extent I hadn't previously seen.  Their commitment to unity, activism, and creative expression through the elements of hip hop (namely the mediums of DJing, MCing, break dancing and graffiti) established a politically and socially conscious yet positive atmosphere.  Between acts there was even a brief compliment battle that was an amusing though pointed spin on the traditionally antagonistic freestyle rap battles. It was refreshing to witness such strength and encouragement from these women.

Image via Wikipedia

Web languages are intimidating to say the least.  I was certainly hoping that with the web-building software I'm using (Drupal CMS) that I could hide from all that hideous coding and programing.  But verily, it could not be avoided.  In order to persuade the web site to look, feel and act the way I want, quite a bit of customization is required.  And the only way to alter all these defaults is to hack (not in the digital trespassing sense, but chopping up and fixing preexisting code.)  So I hereby admit my current helplessness and set forth to acquire the requisite knowledge and skill sets.  It will be a daunting undertaking, but at least I have the way mapped out.  The various markup, stylesheet and scripting languages and conventions with which I need to become familiarized go something like this: HTML, XHTML, CSS, JavaScript, DHTML, AJAX, PHP and SQL.  Acronym city, I know.  Some will be a lot easier than others and there's a bit of overlapping as well.  HTML and XHTML, for example, took me only the last few day to get comfortable with.  I imagine they'll be getting progressively harder as I go along.  Luckily, there are some surprisingly well written lessons for all of these languages over at www.w3schools.com.  I owe them one.