My Burner Background

My first year at Burning Man was in 2015. I was a film student living in North Hollywood who was also pursuing a dance career, while holding no less than two other jobs simultaneously so that I could afford my room rental, which was as big as a walk in closet; yadda yadda…me and everyone else. My introduction to burners was watching the 2013 documentary Spark: A Burning Man Story, directed by Steve Brown and Jeesie Deeter. In every cliché possible way, it changed my life and that same year of first watching all the inconceivable yet phenomenal network of freedom, expression, and community, I bought my ticket and went. I applied for a low income ticket (did you hear about me being an artist who was also going to art school living in one of the most expensive cities while waiting tables?) and at that time those went for about $150, which was still more than I should have reasonably spent, but…when in Reno I guess. I had my own vehicle already, Old Betty – a 2005 all white Toyota Camry that was more reliable than the balderdash of a BFA in Film Production, but thats a whole other rant. However, I wasn’t too keen on making that type of trek with Old Betty out into the dust – enter “The Burner Express” *angelic music*. I could not afford to take off an entire week of work, so I decided to only go for a few days, I believe it was Monday – Thursday. Yes, that’s correct, I didn’t even see the Man burn my first year, or my second, because I was a weekend warrior at some BBQ Steak House and by god, I had rent to make, so get off my back about it! Anyway, come August I drove to the LA airport where the BXB was waiting for all of us hippies to climb aboard. I remember choosing the grocery stop route, a modest haul of mainly sweets, treats, and canned meats, and a fuck ton of water. Oh, and a bag of cat liter with a bucket, and if you’ve ever read the preparation list, you know why (I did in fact not need to use it – extra baggage to carry, yay me!) So there I was, by my lonesome, dropped off in the hot, dusty city with tens of thousands of other hot and dusty folks already fully immersed in this experience. I grabbed my big ass military grade duffle bag, and my cat litter, and I walked to 6:00 & D where I would meet what has since become my Burner family, The Greeters *liquid DnB music* I was greeted (snorts) by Topless Deb, and forever taken into the household of hootin and hollerin.

Over a decade later, I’m obviously still apart of the sui generis that is Burning Man. Long time Greeter turned NVO Ranch Operations (fuck your burn DPW), and also Center Camp gallery artist, post-coffee era, so yea I know not as cool anymore. All that to say, of course I’m watching the new docu-series and I have some god damn thoughts that I want to share. Since I don’t feel like grabbing stills from the show, and I have hundreds of my own personal materials to share, I’m going to just force feed my BM photos down your throat, and you’re going to like it and say thank you!

Episode 1: The Great Unknown

What I loved about it – the history of all that is our sord and lavor Larry Harvey and his counterculture mayhem in the depths of 1980’s San Francisco. I can only imagine the pandemonium that was orchestrated by The Cacophony Society in their heyday, to which I owe a tremendous amount of gratitude to. Not just for striking the match on what has manifested into a global, subversive ethos, but having a significant impact on the experimental and avant-garde genre, covering a multitude of industries such as film, literature, theater, and performance art, all creative economies that have made up my entire career as an artist. These “culture jammers” really were visionaries who provided an alternative route of the human experience. Additionally, this was a time when art, sex, and music were used as rebellious tools to dismantle the rigid societal constructs of purity and all it’s absurdity. I understood their entire objective as an ironic mirror, reflecting to the everyday folk the taboo of freedom and how their judgment and normalcies have truly imprisoned them. The history of The Cacophony Society (1986), and its precursor The Suicide Club (1977), are all well deserving of your time to research and I highly recommend falling down those rabbit holes.

What I loved about it – the first time Burner, also a Army Veteran, Ray Christian, who was preparing for his trip to the dust with the heartwarming support from his family. I love this for several reasons, his desire to experience something new and hopefully transformative as a middle-aged black man, in a predominately adolescent, white filled space (yes, that matters). The research and prep he does with his family to acquire all the necessary things, including the all revered tutu. The solid backing of his wife and children, even if they didn’t fully understand what BM was, who does anyway, but took an interest enough for Ray and his solo journey out onto the playa. Not just Ray, but also the introduction to other first-timers and returning burners, participants, artists, engineers, theme camp organizers, and Burning Man Project employees, the folks who actually make the magic happen out in the middle of god forsaken nowhere. Each person had their own unique yet relatable connection to the Man, and making the adventure out to Gerlach was pinnacle for their own sense of sanity and reason. This event has become almost entirely autonomous from the tangible wooden statue that is set on fire, and has taken a whole other life of its own that has now reached a worldwide influence. 80,000 attendees is what the current cap limit permits, which was nearly achieved in 2019 when 78,850 people went, so far the highest attendance on record, and my personal favorite year of any Burn I’ve had to date. Obviously, with that many people who continue to show up year after year or who make the brave decision of venturing into the unknown and their lives forever altered, it means a lot to us, it means something important to us.

What I hated about it – The focus seemed to be centered around Marian, the board, and the billionaires. There was hardly any mention of the thousands of hired employees and volunteers who work up to 6 months pre and post event, building, hauling, cleaning, prepping, and organizing BRC. There were some highlights about the importance of participants, but the ambiguity of the sentiment was disappointing. That’s not to say Marian, Harley, Michael and the other directors don’t have quantifiable involvement in producing the thing, but without all of us, there literally would not be the thing. Futhermore, the video announcement? What the fuck even was that? Folks waited forever for the decision and all they got was 30 seconds of her saying “Not this year, next year, but also, do whatever you want.” It felt like Marian just winged it on the spot and give zero shits about any of it. I’ve felt more sincerity from my gynecologist. Alas, if I was being guilt tripped for weeks about to burn or not to burn, I too would be over it. Which brings me to my next point…

What I hated about it – Kimbul Musk. How pathetic do you have to seriously be to try and coax Marian to put on an event, as if it’s very existence is medically detrimental to your life. “The man has to burn!” *sad violin music* I understand the divide pertaining to the Pandemic, I think there’s valid perspectives and very real consequences for each. Ultimately, as acting CEO, the choice was put on Marian’s lap to make the final call, while thousands of people waited, some with very obstinate and pontifical standpoints. Kimbul’s argument, however, was arrogantly how much money he donated to make sure the event happens…a significant donation at that; how completely tone-deaf, egocentric, and juvenile. I find it redundant to entertain the tsunami of riches most of these folks toss around with each other, it’s as boring to talk about as it is obvious. I don’t think Marian or any of the directors are samaritans in any sense and if there wasn’t some sort of payout for them, our beloved Burning Man would have stayed a pile of ash a long ass time ago. I guess it just solidified what I had already assumed, witnessed, and experienced working for the BMOrg, an obtuse aloofness among the dusty elite. As someone who has helped set up and take down First Camp, which included all the bells and whistles, I know that either way, their experience would be luxurious, and however things unfolded for the rest of us, would have hardly put a damper on their opulent retreat. There is absolutely no relatability with him. The founders at the very least have been among the muck and grunge at some point along their climb to psychedelic stardom. The only climb Kimbul had to do was to his booster seat to sit at the big kids table and slam his fists shouting, “waaaaah I gave you money waaaaaaah” – oh and most importantly, fuck that guy.

So there it is, my futile conclusion of episode one from The Man Will Burn – a four part documentary directed by Jehane Noujaim and Vikram Gandhi, now streaming on HBO Max. Each episode will premiere on Thursday nights at 9pm EST. I plan on writing a review on each episode because I’m also insufferable and have made Burning Man apart of my identity *circus music*.

HIGHLIGHT: Thunderdome’s announcement of not participating for 2021 – everything they said was pure poetry.

HIGHLIGHT: Marian calling them pussies.

HIGHLIGHT: The Virtual Burn and the six online worlds where we all stood around with uncanny avatars, clinging desperately to the 10 principles and our dignities.

HIGHLIGHT: Crimson Rose knitting during the conference call, completely unbothered by the state of affairs – LOVE!