Reflections, Part VI

So….Burning Man…

At the end of my third year of schooling, my professor, Samantha Krukowski, approached me about a studio she was running that summer. The studio was in its second year and there was hesitancy for people to sign up for the studio. The studio was set up to provide students with the opportunity to design and build an art installation to be installed in the Playa at the Burning Man festival. To date, Iowa State University is the one and only school in the entire world to ever sponsor and give course credit to students attending the Burning Man festival. Not that I’m bragging or anything, coastal and ivy league schools, but it’s pretty sweet for a Midwestern public university to be the one to do this.

I had only heard of the Burning Man festival in vague references, but since I was going to be in Ames for the summer, I figured, why not, and I signed up, before really realizing what I was getting in to. To be fair, there was nothing that could have been told to me that would have prepared me for the summer I was about to have. If you are like I was, then here’s an incredibly brief and vague introspect into what Burning Man is. The Burning Man festival is a yearly even held in the Black Rock desert in a dried lake bed. Every year, an entire city, Black Rock City, made up of tents and camps is formed in the circular site around the Man, with the camps making a periphery and 8 miles of open desert surround the Man. The festival lasts a week, and all participants must bring their own supplies, including food and water, to last them the week, and then upon leaving participants must leave absolutely no trace that they were there. No trash, no food, no water leftover, nothing. Completely clean slate. During the week, complete expression, freedom, and exploration is encouraged, as art displays of every kind are set up in the camps and out in the desert. There is nothing of the ordinary, and all walls a free to break.

But it’s the journey to this place that I want to talk about, as much as the destination. That’s what it’s always about with us designers I guess, the results are always secondary to the process. In any case, I hope to show why this experience was so crucial to how I understand design, and why I think experiences like it need to be more common in an educational setting.

We began at the start of the summer, and I was the only architecture student. We had students from integrated studio arts, from english, from graphic design, and even one from engineering at the start. We were individuals from different places and walks of life, almost nothing really in common, save that we all decided to take the course. When I think back to the first time we met as a group, I remember thinking that our differences would get in the way, that we would never be truly in sync.

The first project broke that fear. It was a sand mandala, to be completed in a week. Suddenly we had to break the walls that separated us, and quickly. There was no time or room for shyness. The sand mandala represented a lot. We worked hard for every grain of sand poured. We had to trust in each other, communicate, and work hard in order to come to a completed mandala. Then, we had to be wiling to let that hard work go and wash the mandala away. But in the end, the mandala was only a physical representation of the connections that stayed between us.

Then came our interventions in nature, creating something in a natural setting with only the environment around as supplies, and eventually, it would fade away. The product of this again wasn’t the important things, but the process. The lot of us went out to Ledges park on afternoon and, in the rain and mud, went about making things. It was beyond aesthetic, beyond process. It was honest and good making. Now there’s something that’s missing in most studio cultures, good, old fashioned making stuff, out of the need to make something, not because you were forced to or because you have to, but because you are able. I don’t know if that was the lesson, but I like to think it was. I had never slid down a muddy hill on my behind before that day, and I haven’t since, but if I get the chance to again, you better believe I’m taking it.

Then, finally, came the project, the installation, the big enchilada. Haystacks, CRT monitors, copper wiring, paintings, sand, old chairs, new chairs, styrofoam, jewelry, clay, wood, steel, and paper plates were some of the materials we used to explore different ideas for a month. We messed those studios up, but, not beyond repair, cause when we were done, you never knew we were there. Well, maybe, if you looked hard or scraped some paint away. You might find some writing on the walls. I ended up with a series of signs, each representing important times and aspects of my own life I hoped would communicate and inspire other stories from others.

The Playa came, quicker than I expected. From Reno to the the desert, the change was jarring. This is where I have to sparse, because it’s hard to capture words to create an image that is vivid enough to relate the feelings and imagery I experienced. The desert spreads out everywhere, ridges rising in the distance. No life besides us humans though. No animals, no plants, not even devil grass in the alkali dust. And alot of people. From all over the world, every nationality, all ages, shapes and sizes. And a vast majority of them are indeed naked, but you kinda get used to that. You acclimate pretty quick, at least we found. We all hit our lows, and then just like that, we bounced back and immersed ourselves in the new planet we found. And it is a different planet. You don’t see structures like these anywhere else in the world.

Steel, flaming loop-de-loops. Thunderdome. A bass lounge (ten couches, on big ol’ bass). Art cars and monster vehicles (scorpions, dinosaurs, dragons, and more). Barby head camp. Saloons and wagons. Herds of zebras, flocks of jellyfish. Houses buried in the desert. Giant wheels. Stages and theaters. Bands and vaudevillian acts. People on bikes, people on unicycles, people on tricycles. Sculptures and paintings. And the lights, oh the lights when the sun goes down. Fire lights up the night as the lamps are lit and fire dancers take stage in the desert. Glow sticks, neon, and LEDs sparkle on the landscape as raves and parties go on all night throughout everywhere. Music and food and drinks everywhere. And then the temple, out in the north Playa, rising. At the time we went, the third largest wooden structure in the world. Majestic and beautiful, as the prayers, wishes, regrets, hopes, and dreams of all those who pass through are written on its walls and floors. Then, smack dab in the middle, rises the Man, looking out over it all, ominous in presence.

But, and this is the thing that most people don’t know, no matter how amazing it is, we always had to be focused, grounded. Many people think that going to Burning Man means you go crazy for a week. No. Not at all. Erase that concept from your mind. You try to go crazy at Burning Man, you die. Not the “oh man I could have just died” die, I mean you will dehydrate and get run over by a monster car in the middle of the desert. We had to stay hydrated, fed, focused, and alive. We were never in real danger, but we could never ignore that danger was one missed bottle of water away.

Placing my signs in the desert have been, to this day, the most holistic and rewarding experiences I have ever had. To see the thing I designed and made placed out in the desert and then noticed had my brain releasing more endorphins than I knew what to do with. I had never made something so real before, and it was just what I needed. It was a success that no A could ever equal. I think that’s something every architecture student should experience.

And just like that we were back. Air conditioning and WalMart. Buffets and cable TV. Culture shock. We were never the same. To this day, I try to keep in touch with all of those I went to Black Rock City with.

I remember laughing alot that summer. Laughter heals, and if you recall my last story, you’ll know I needed it. There’s power in laughter, and we should all remember to be laughing.

It’s always hard to write about Burning Man and why its so important, but I hope I touched on it here. Stay tuned though, there’s more to come.

Note: Since my going, the studio has not been held due to the ticketing policy changes made by the Burning Man organization. I hope they will soon allow this program to continue.