A Gathering of the Tribes
(What I did on my summer vacation)
By Matthew G. Welter

This past summer I attended, for the first time, the Burning Man Festival, in Nevada’s Black Rock Desert. I did so mostly at the insistences of my dentist and good friend. He and his “burner” palls orchestrate the event (The Red Rock Rangers) and they call the dentist “Painless.” I wanted to research the event’s potential as a venue to scout quality clients for my huge wooden sculptures and apprentices to teach the same, so I took Painless up on his challenge! In spite of all I had heard I was ill prepared for what I found there…

For one week each summer, the arid Nevada desert is home to some 40,000 artists, scientists, architects, musicians, brainiacs and their admirers, who entertain one another, mind body and soul, in unrestrained celebration. I brought along one of my large contemporary casting to detail and patina but I didn’t get a lot done!

The strange burning ritual claims roots with the Druids. This current incarnation of the practice began on a nudist beach in San Francisco, in the early 1980’s. People say it began with a sculptress and a few of her pals. What became an annual self-expression festival eventually came to be known as Burning Man and it soon outgrew the beach and was moved to its current location in 1990. It takes place on a huge lake-bed which dries hard and flat every summer before filling with water again the next winter. The other-worldly “playa” rolls on for miles… To my knowledge, the events have never been mass-promoted. People just come.

Cresting the shallow hills surrounding the playa, the temporary city is impressive! A continuous line of cars sharpen to a point before an enchanted apprentice and myself. A caravan of every vehicle type, all bursting; strapped with boxes, bundles, art projects, poles and equipment; all descending into the crazy, sprawling, evolving metropolis. First thing the “greeters” did was to roll me (a “virgin”) in the fine, clinging dust of the playa -- clothing, beard and all!

The city is built in a circle, perhaps 2 miles across, with a huge, open circle in the middle for displaying sometimes massive art projects, many of which are still in progress. Camps are arranged on dirt roads around the outer-most part of the circle and are laid-out in both radial and concentric arrangement. The most active part of the city skirts three of the outer “sides” of the circle and forms a rounded “horseshoe.” The town square; in this case a circle is called “Center Camp” and lies in the belly of the horseshoe.

Midway in the horseshoe’s height and breadth, at the center of the vast, open playa is the Man: A huge, constructed wooden sculpture with base -- in all perhaps 60 feet tall -- is the center attraction…the famed Man towers victorious, built only to be burned at the event’s climax!

Surrounding the revered Man, on the vast, central playa are the ever remarkable “art installations.” Here, I’ve listed only a few:
• A grouping of a half dozen massive bamboo sculptures stood ominously; wooden beings at once primitive and contemporary; the tallest perhaps 12 feet. This installation was called the Temple of Hope and people were writing messages with markers on the sculpture’s bases.

• A huge “cathedral” perhaps 100 long x 60 ft. wide x 60 ft tall, made of wood and consisting of only a stylized framework formed a partial filter from the sun for another gathering place, below.

• An absolutely remarkable feature defied description. It dwarfed the other structures on the playa. The colossal “Portal” was built in-place by a team of some 90 Belgian architects, artists, craftsmen and administrators. It functioned as a colossal, airy, shaded pavilion for hundreds of dancing, celebrating people.

• In addition, scores of other works were scattered over the playa; works, sometimes in-progress, by creators; some eager to burn their offerings.

Bicycles are the primary means of transportation in Black Rock City. Automobiles are disallowed; only “art-cars”, created by individuals or groups, using everything from flat-bed trucks to golf-carts to rider-mowers. These are outrageous mass-transit devices disguised as, perhaps a lady bug, a tricycle with a 20-foot-tall front wheel, a Spanish Galleon or a posh bar---just the bar and stools floating across the desert with drinkers riding astraddle! One gentleman rode about on a mobile sofa, complete with end table, floor lamp and shade umbrella--with a few passengers clinging…

The art cars travel, drifting with the bicycles across the playa at 5 MPH – The coaches are illuminated at night with string-lights to outline strangely familiar forms and to attract riders, who board and dislodge freely.

The night sky illumined occasionally with fire works, strobe lights, lazar-beams…a roving cannon belching huge flames! The high-technology set against the bleak, austere conditions was absolutely surreal…

There is no commerce in Black Rock City, and no barter; only “gifting.” Things are not always available, but always free. A beautiful woman might stop your bike, in a long white dress, holding out a glass bowl, smiling. “Would you like a peach?”… Or someone could hand you a glow-necklace at night…”just to be safe”…

Throughout the city were “Theme-Camps” and all were catalogued in a handy reference guide. Everything from pubs to bike shops; each service offered as a gift to the community. Some of the theme camps feature exhibits or rides, to attract visitors. One gave out spaghetti, another, bottled water. Some served up coffee—or gave foot massages. One camp featured ice cream made using liquid nitrogen! Another camp near ours was named the “Pancake Playhouse”. A sign out front read “When soft-rock is heard pancakes are served.” Just pancakes and syrup, every morning…bring your own plate, a beverage and a smile and hang out with the collage kids; music blaring. Never any charge.

We camped next to a team of brilliant men and women who called them selves “The Mad Scientists”. They were trying to make a flame dance and change color--by mind control (never heard if they did). We were all surrounded by a hodge-podge of canopies, trailers and tents, RV’s, busses and semis… all there, grubbing in the dirt. Doesn’t that sound fun? Well it was fun! I have never had such a time in my life…

This is Woodstalk without the mess, politics and bad attitude about over 30’s. Everyone got along sweetly; old and young, rich and poor, smart and dumb, gay and straight--all races. I witnessed not a single fist-fight, and only one slight verbal altercation (which I’ll get to…) or a single piece of “matter-out-of-place” (“MOOP”). Intoxicants were present, but nobody seemed to be “wasted” and certainly not violent…spacey and silly, yes.

Pets were not allowed in the city and kids were kept at a community day-care-center, if not back home. This is an adult amusement park, complete with rides, exhibits, art and entertainment – and gorgeous people everywhere, most wearing incredible outfits…if anything. Nudity was common, and seemed natural in all of its stages, and sexuality was free and innocent--though not public (?) in this truly bisexual culture, with all persuasions mingling happily. Everyone I encountered was approachable, everyone interesting.

“Radical Self-Expression” is one of two guiding principles; the other, as if to give balance is “Radical Self-Reliance.” “Leave No Trace” was emblazoned on the tickets (which cost 150-300 dollars, depending on the time of year the ticket is secured). Unless all you need is sand, you’ll need to bring it -- and take it away with you! (Though, beloved porta-poties were supplied by the community).

One time, on my bike, I looked up to the sound of people cheering as all of us were engulfed in a blinding dust storm form off the central playa! After some time finding the edge of the street, I entered nearby Center Camp and asked somebody where I might get some water. “Your camp!” was the man’s sharp response. “Radical self reliance pal, radical self reliance!” he hollered after my retreat. Painless later said the guy was “a dick”—“not wrong, just a dick” he said, raising an accusing eye brow at me. “Next time bring water…”

The exotic festival is more celebration then party, centered not so much around music as much as the visual arts (though psychedelic rock, New Age and soft, Techno music sounded loudly everywhere, eclipsing the gasoline generators).

People celebrated and worked around the clock in this functioning, creative think-tank. Things aren’t so much built in Black Rock City as happen, and collaboration happens between diverse mind-sets. The city I saw had a pulse which slowed to a steady, deep rumble by morning. I could feel the very texture of passion in Black Rock City.

Immersed in a culture made possible by its temporary nature, I felt swept away by the possibilities. We were experimenting here with a different way of doing things; I kept thinking that elements should be incorporated into our evolving mainstream culture…Oh, the possibilities! But I still can’t quite believe it happened.

On the sixth day of celebration they burned the Man, in an event larger-then-life, accompanied by an eye-popping fireworks show amid a legion of beating drums. The crowd surrounding the sculpture numbered in the thousands, all cheering, stomping their feet and circling the fire in this bizarre purification ritual. People cheered each time a hunk of the Man came crashing down! People threw writings to dear departed, treasured artworks and mementos on the fire! Offerings to a timeless cause. The drums recorded the rhythm of the night. Deeply…steady…a tangible force.

On the next night, they burned other structures and then the bamboo gods, before an ominously, silent crowd…save the crack of the bamboo fire. How did everyone know to be silent? I watched the spectacle from behind, as a young man in a shroud, in silhouette, stood atop a platform, hands down and palms outspread, a silent sentinel, to take the fire, until it had consumed the sculptures. I will never forget the energy…and that most moving image…

Next they were burning the huge “Portal” and cheering came back to the crowd! The mind-bending structure ignited left to right, collapsing in a spectacular, burning heap. People 100 feet from the fire retreated hastily from the heat! Everyone watched the wooden edifice fade from the playa…and the architectural master piece was gone.

Back at camp, I excitedly told Painless that I’d like to gather up some apprentices and create a large sculpture out on the open playa. Painless was elated! He told me that in this culture, art is the first priority and creativity is gratefully accepted and assisted, as a worthy contribution.

The next day was being called “the exodus,” when the entire population begins packing up, cleaning fanatically and exiting in a single-file stream of vehicles; creeping slowly out the one passage off the desert floor. My few-mile exit from the playa took 3 hours, the whole time entertained by the absurd, filthy vehicles, their loads and occupants…every type of person was present; all filthy, all smiling and all welcome. The remarkable exodus, to me, was a metaphor for an unending, ancient chain of humanity, all responding to some beckoning, universal call. The latest in a chain that has driven our race since primal drum-beats first returned a response.

Soon I would wonder if the stunning city had ever existed, though I know my future has profoundly changed. I was, this summer, witness to an epic flowering of human creativity. Something huge finds an apex at Burning Man. I don’t know what will become of this gathering in the desert. Its place in the advance of freedom is beyond my vision, but I know that I am part of this story and I suspect this community is worthy of the purest passion I can deliver.

As a professional sculptor I see the temporary city and its larger, on-going network of free and brilliant minds as a needle and I am a thread in a vast tapestry of human passion -- so familiar, still one we cannot fully perceive. Before this mighty work-horse expires under the same purposeful weight that topples everything, before the rust corrodes the needle--and it will; like the Druids I will strike the iron while the red metal glows brightly, there in the embers of a burning, wooden man.

Please visit: www.BurningMan.com