BRC in a Shitstorm
Holding hands with my sister and playa family while the man burst into flames, the dancing fire reflected in our eyes, our hearts full from an unforgettable week of fun and adventures. This was the ending I was expecting after three years off-playa during which I sorely missed our home and poured my heart into writing a book on Burn culture around the world. I couldn’t have imagined that I would be leaving my sixth BRC stint mid-week in the midst of a tragedy.
Some think of Burning Man as a non-stop celebration. Post-event Instagram feeds are crammed with picture-perfect shots, beaming happy faces and gorgeous art backlit by glorious sunsets. But beneath all that joy are the invisible stories of exhausted bodies and minds, broken hearts, failed projects and connections, and past and present grief being processed. The underbelly of an 80,000 strong city living the whole gamut of human emotions. And in this space of hardship the real beating heart of the community shines through.
The buildup to the event is always intense. The final weeks – and indeed months - are spent in a whirlwind of preparation, planning the various camps, art projects and offerings that will be gifted. After three years without flexing our Burner muscle, it had inevitably atrophied. Some camps found their supplies had grown rusty in storage, and soaring material and transport costs put a strain on most builds. The art project I had planned could not materialise. Even the temple had to make a last-minute plea for crowdfunding. We collectively felt the pinch. On a human level, years of social isolation meant we were out of practice with large gatherings.
As I arrived at Black Rock City (BRC) for build week after a three-day odyssey from Europe, the dust was already blowing up a storm. The queue to the gates stretched for six hours. I eventually landed on the moon equal parts exhausted, jet-lagged and exhilarated. The playa streets were still mostly unmarked, but the man stood tall in the distance beaming bright. The compass to our new city, already buzzing with activity like a beehive. I finally found my camp location. But instead of being met with the hugs of my campmates, I landed on a virgin patch of playa. Given issues with the container in Reno they arrived almost 48 hours late.
What followed was a grueling few days, building against the clock in punishing dust and heat. Cycling through playa, many camps were in a similar situation. Center Camp was just a shell on Thursday, running behind schedule. Those setting up art pieces in deep playa worked through the day like dust-caked zombies. We all took advantage of the cooler nights to build till dawn. Still, spirits were high. We checked in with neighboring camps, shared belly laughs, advice and tools, and lent a hand to short-manned teams. The bonds that bind us so tightly together are forged through the early days of dusty sweat and tears, moment of priceless camaderie.
“Broken but Together” - Michael Benisty
Slowly but surely the blank playa canvas came to life, splashed with its characteristic outpouring of color, eccentricity and creativity. The whirr of power-tools was replaced by megaphones beckoning (and heckling) passers-by to newly opened bars; trucks and cranes made way for the fleet of out-of-this-world art cars crisscrossing the playa; and dusty work attire was banished to the bottom of suitcases for exuberant costumes. A whole delicious world of waking dreams springing up before our eyes. With build approaching completion, I prepared to relax into the Burn. Three of my favorite humans were due to arrive the next day and I could barely contain my excitement.
Hours before their bus rolled in, one of my campmates relayed the devastating news that would cut my burn short. A family member had had an accident back home and was in critical condition. When default collides with the dust it blows you sideways. Dazed I took off into deep playa to collect my thoughts, before cycling as fast as I could to meet them at the bus depot. There I waited as upward of 20 buses unloaded, churning up thick clouds of loose powder. The next day was spent anxiously awaiting an update. Poignantly, on temple opening night, as I was attending my temple guardian training, he passed.
The Temple Empyrean
Through the tough times, the strength of the community emerged. What I experienced in these trying days was matched by an outpouring of love and support. When I landed for build on the empty stretch of playa, my ride helped me set up in the middle of the night. I was quickly adopted by an interim playa family in a nearby camp. When we struggled to hoist up our shade in the Sahara-like wind, 20 extra hands appeared to raise it up. When my bike gears buckled from the dust, I barely walked one street to find a repair camp that replaced the broken part.
A neighbor drove me to the dust-blasted bus depot to pick up my family when I couldn’t find them. When rocked by grief I was caught in a white-out looking for my partner in the temple, temple guardians made sure I sat it out. When we planned to leave by bus, rangers drove us to BRC airport to check flights to Oakland. After we shared our story, the airport volunteers made it possible for us to get on the next morning flight, gifting us an extra night on-playa. Returning to the city, a burner noticed we were dehydrated and ordered us to sit down, feeding us rehydration tablets and salty snacks until she deemed it safe for us to cycle off.
Back at camp someone covered our shifts, and we boarded a crystal-topped art car for a last sunset art tour. The playa was magnificent, all aglow with sunset colors that ignited the towering structures pink and gold. During the tour, the artists came onboard to share the message behind their art. At this difficult time, one piece stood out. A small child “Facing the Fearbeast,” imploring us to be brave during moments of adversity. That night, we stayed up till sunrise savoring every last drop of playa magic. As we said our goodbyes with heavy hearts, a campmate offered to place a message of remembrance in the temple for us.
Playa sunset art tour and last sunrise
Beyond the sunrise DJ sets and Instagram-worthy beauty of the art and people, the real Burner culture shines through in times of adversity. When the shit hits the fan, we rally together. From the rangers, temple guardians, Zendo, Burners without Borders, to random acts of kindness, the city is underpinned by principles of communal effort and civic responsibility. From build through strike and beyond. While the city comes together yearly, it never fully comes apart. The culture extends around the world in its Regional Network, and lingers in the hearts of those touched by its beauty. It kept many of us afloat during the pandemic when we couldn’t commune. This is what makes it so unique - what makes us a global family.
While the Burn was marked by awesome moments of celebratory magic, this year was tough for many. Entrance and exodus were long. We struggled to find our playa feet during build. The heat was at times intense and the dust epic, as if mirroring the global storm of emotions we had collectively lived through since we last gathered. But the punishing conditions challenged us all to find our inner strength. And only when we are challenged do we truly test what we are made of.
In the words of Haruki Murakami “once the storm is over, you won’t remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won’t even be sure that the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm, you won’t be the same person who walked in. That’s what this storm’s all about.”
As we boarded the flight the dust rose and blanketed the playa behind us, the storm gathering strength and turning biblical by the end of the week. We weather the seasons of life together, its cycles both beautiful and painful. Those who have departed remind us to celebrate it all the more intensely. As I opened my bag with dust-cracked hands, a sticker I’d been gifted fell out with trademark Burner irony as if on cue: “Fuck Your Burn 2022.” Perhaps next year was better, but I won’t forget the love and support I experienced during my most intense Burn yet.
Bye for now BRC