Burning Man 2023 - The Great Playa Reset

Before the Storm (Photo by Jamen Percy)

The aftermath of Burning Man 2023 has felt stranger than ever. Several weeks on from “Mud Gate,” I was still dreaming about Black Rock City. This was my 7th time at BRC (and 22nd Burn counting Regional events) but switching back to “default mode” has been particularly slow. Though I was on playa for two weeks, and the mud lasted around three days, answering so many questions about the so-called disaster amplified it in my mind. As an aid worker I’ve worked in some of the most dangerous places on earth - so why was there more interest in my safety now?

As the mud story got stickier than the mud itself, I felt trapped between two opposing narratives. One side saying it was - pardon my French - a shitshow, the other that it was the best Burn yet. In the “fake news” era, there is no middle ground. We underestimate the impact the media has on us, the way it sensationalizes and divides us on every topic - including one as benign as rain at Burning Man.

A month on, heads have cooled. I’m finally processing what I experienced, and why gatherings such as Burning Man matter in a changing world. As the world still reels from the pandemic and climate change accelerates, we should preserve the spaces that act as incubators for community, and that allow us to prototype climate solutions. Black Rock City, with its unique conditions, is a platform for both.

 Queen Cobra by Andrea Greenlees, a platform to see the playa (Photo by Jamen Percy)

Traveling to the desert, I was sleepless with anticipation. The Burn is a way of life for many who live by its Principles year-round. I should know, I went so far down the rabbit hole I wrote a book about Burning Man culture around the world. Burn Week is the end game of months of preparation. A year-long wait for the misfits who call this place “Home.”

Last year was a tough one for me. Not because of the heat, but because my Burn was cut short after a tragic death in the family. After a two-year pandemic hiatus this was a bitter pill to swallow. When I finally returned this year, I was giddy with excitement. Getting on my bike, I felt the whoosh as my wheels carved through fine dust like powdered cream, instinctively leading me to the Man.

From there things took off. I marvelled at the creations around me. Not just as they were visually stunning but because, having gone through the art grant process myself, I knew the effort that went into them. The city pulses with the soul of its citizens who build it from the ground up. Sweat, tears, joy, frustration is poured into the streets and artworks, now coated in a thin layer of dust, shimmering like a mirage. The scale of gifting here is unparalleled out in the world, raising the frequency of the entire city.

More than ever, I notice the playa has turned into a canvas for climate activism. This year’s ANIMALIA theme inspired a breath-taking landscape dominated by creatures of the sky, earth and deep blue sea. As explained by Katie Hazard, Associate Director of Art Management, sustainability is central to a lot of this year’s art. I cycle past “Alight” by the Frogma Art Collective with migrating birds in flight; “Burden of the Beast” by Walker Babington, a bison made with materials from New Orleans structures destroyed by climate disaster; and Liquid Forest jellyfish-inspired creatures by Richard Wilks made from recycled plastic.

The Ursas by Jen Lewin, filled drawings of animals which have become extinct in the last 12 months (Photo by Jamen Percy)

Other art makes a stand for social justice. The sobering Hedgehog Temple by Yaroslav Korets and Kurenivka, pays tribute to members of the Ukrainian creative community lost to war. Further afield, long panels of red fabric undulate outwards, representing hair flowing in the wind. Zhina by Morteza Ansari & Konoon Studio honors the Iranian woman murdered for not wearing her hijab properly. Her death sparked a woman-led uprising which is still underway.

Everything is illuminated at night, morphing into a new dimension. This year the Man and Temple are entirely powered by solar energy. Amun-Ra’s central golden planet by David aiu Servan-Schreiber, links spirituality and the sun’s energy. As in our default world, there is still some way to go to full sustainability. Surrounded by bright lights I asked myself: do we need all of this to gather? After having attended so many smaller Regional Burns around the world, this larger-than-life playground can be overwhelming.

Still, this Burn mecca shows us what is possible when imagination is let loose on a massive scale. There is no place like it. In this hyper-sensory world, every day feels like two lifetimes. I rush between camps and events, barely catching my breath, before crash-landing in my tent at night, dusty and exhausted from all the living that I’ve done.

The spellbinding Amun-Ra by David aiu Servan-Schreiber (Photo by Jamen Percy)

And then the storm hit. As two months of rain fell, I was miles from my tent, forced to shelter with another camp. The sun made a brief appearance, elements combining to grace us with a breath-taking double rainbow. Howls rose above the playa, and a shiver went down my spine. Then everything fell eerily still. The sky went dark, and the heavens opened again. I waded ankle deep in mud to the bathroom, getting my first taste of the cement-like mixture that would make headlines.

The next day, the city was unrecognizable. I trudged through a near-deserted playa for two hours back to camp in sodden socks, muddy shoes slung over my shoulder. Along the way, I passed “Atabey’s Treasure,” a partially submerged fish by Nino Alicea, while Michael Quinn’s “Of a Temporary Nature,” a fairy shrimp installation of almost alien looking crustaceans, fluttered in the wind above the flooded lakebed. The Man extended onto the playa floor, reflected in a pool of water. 

Of a Temporary Nature 2.0 by P. Michael Quinn (Photo by Jamen Percy)

As the media went into overdrive, we stayed in our camps, getting daily updates from the wet playa survival guide and BMIR. While most hunkered down, some made a beeline for the exit despite guidelines and common sense. I watched in disbelief as people walked through the mud loaded with bags, or set out in vehicles, inevitably sinking into the quagmire.

For those who stayed put, an interesting shift happened. With nowhere to go, I relaxed to a slower pace. Fashion became functional as mud-proof footwear replaced outlandish headwear. I explored on foot, stopping to check-out mud sculptures lining the backstreets. Platform-like clay weights stuck to my shoes, defying gravity. It wasn’t always pleasant, but adventure comes with a side of grit. At night, with no bikes or art cars, no bright lights, or sound systems, I lost myself a little deeper to playa magic, the stars brighter overhead.

And yes, the community showed up. People shared shelter and food with their neighbors. A special type of magic happens when things don’t go according to plan.

When I finally turned on my phone, I wasn’t expecting a stream of messages fearing for my safety. We are all living in a world where climate emergencies are multiplying. This summer has been dominated by news of extreme weather around the world. Burning Man, an event held in the unpredictable Black Rock Desert, is no exception to the rule. But what can it teach us on adapting to change?

Mud explorations!

Two days later, we were back on track. The playa dried and gates reopened. We enjoyed a scaled-down version of Man and Temple burn nights, while striking camp. As I left after two weeks on playa, the Restoration team continued its critical work to leave no trace of the city.

In many ways, the rain stripped away the city’s shiny outer layers, reminding us of why we come here — to create community. Gathering does not need high levels of production. After all, many of us do this year-round in Regional Network events around the world - which are smaller in scale but equally magic — or through local Burner groups.

By challenging us with harsh and unexpected conditions, the playa forces us to adapt. Faced with discomfort, some choose to opt out, but those who lean in are rewarded. As Drift’s Lonneke Gordjin, an environmental artist on and off-playa rightly says, “true evolution comes from adaptation and from getting into unknown and uncomfortable situations, to learn and become better.” Unlike in the default world, every year, we get to build Black Rock City anew, flexing this adaptation muscle. The shift we saw to sustainable art proved that we can build a sustainable city; the rain showed the strength of the community. In the words of Danger Ranger, the great flood of 2023 was the “playa reset” we needed.

The Man (finally) burns (Photo by Jamen Percy)