Posts Tagged ‘Burning Man Art’

Kissing

September 30, 2010

At Burning Man 2010

Our neighborhood had a kissing booth.  It was usually staffed by young Europeans guys and American girls. I think when it wasn’t staffed it was open for whomever. Some of the European guys were amazing looking, well one was.

It was conveniently located on the way out to the playa and/or on the way home and near the port-o-potties. Can you say ambiance? It just didn’t matter. My first morning trip to the loo, I was dressed and fresh and feeling fine. I saw the young guys in the booth and smiled and one kept calling to me, I just smiled. He was gorgeous.

I did my business and as I was riding back home, decided to swing up. He started talking to me in a charming accent, smiling, complimenting me and why not start the day with a lovely long sweet kiss? Which we did.

I saw him several times over the week. He liked the mornings. He always called out to me. I always went over, except the one morning I hadn’t brushed my teeth yet, so then I just smiled alluringly. Our kissing got much better and hotter. He was from Belgium, so that’s what I called him.

P and Bird were with me on separate occasions and were duly impressed with me and Belgium.

Friday afternoon he said, “Come to our Karma Sutra party tonight.”

Of course! I asked him what time and he said 9. I half jokingly asked if it would be going on later and he said no.

I figured he didn’t understand me and said “Your Karma Sutra party is from 9 to 11?” And he said yes. I just smiled and said OK. He pointed out the purple RV and said to knock and ask for him. We parted with the best kiss ever. Really.

P had met someone from their camp earlier; we were kind of intrigued to see just what went on there. It was our night to explore the neighborhood and we couldn’t resist.

Long after nine, we rode up and knocked on the purple RV door. A man and a woman were waiting to get in, they said something like couples and single women were invited. P hung back a little.

A seemingly stern older German guy with a white brush haircut opened the door – no smiles, no hello. I had seen him at the booth. I glimpsed in and saw a couple men who looked just like him on mattresses, I believe they were naked. I sweetly asked if Belgium was there. He said NO.

So I asked, “What do you do in here?”

He said, “We make LOVE. “

His accent was so strong and he punched those three syllables like cement on stone, he slammed “love” the hardest in his guttural thick accent. What it sounded like was this:  Here, we torture and maim humans, cut them up, cook the flesh, devour with blood spilling down our naked bodies and scatter the remains in the desert. (Read with your best German serial killer accent).

Ok, I said. Great. The couple calmly waited to get in.

P and I rode off for other adventures, minus karma sutra. We only had another day and a half, I didn’t see Belgium again but didn’t look too hard either. He had been pure beauty, sensuality and joy for me.

I told the campmates and strangers/friends the story and “We make LOVE” became a fitting punch line to many giddy conversations, I probably over used it a bit.

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Dust looks good on you

September 23, 2010

At least as many words have been written as alkali particles riding the wind; as many photos taken as total playa residents, times 10,000, yet I want to add my words because it’s now my experience too.

In the last couple of weeks I’ve watched so many Burning Man videos with urgency, excitement and a permanent smile stretching my facial muscles. Now I find myself backing away from others’ experiences – I believe it now, I was there and want to look at and think about my own.

I’m attempting my wrap-up piece, although the much repeated and very sensible three week mark hasn’t passed yet. And I in no way believe this is the end of what I’ll write, it’s just for now. I want to preserve both my fleeting and lasting impressions and like a prehistoric short-lived dragonfly, retain my perceptions, of now, in ancient amber.

By this time, you probably know about the dust angels, ringing the bell, fire and the surreal dark streets that become so familiar you ache for them when it’s over. You know men wear skirts and women wear pasties or more and less.  You know you need a lot of water and ride your bike everywhere. You know how gorgeous and other worldly the Black Rock Desert is.

By now you know there are never ending street performances,some elaborate, some as simple as people walking or riding through the streets and playa;  dances, art structures, surreal vehicles, parties, new people to meet and meditations that come upon you as quickly as a dust storm.  You know the day is fantastic and the nights are magical. There is time with friends and time alone, music, connections, glances, greetings, sharing, hugs, kisses, laughter and tears. Hours both race by and linger on the tongue like pear vodka.

You know about the art that emerges from minds so open and free of borders, that to see the pieces, in this arid, humbling and bewitching place is to feel your own boundaries moving back if not completely dissolving. And that evanescing of perimeters seems to make possessing, permissions and judgments actions of somewhere long ago and far away; replaced with giving, receiving, acceptance, support, joy, love, power and release. That’s what my first Burning Man was for me.

At first I was anxious to live with campmates, would I fit in and do it right? Would I be overly cautious about being vulnerable? A wise friend said I chose to be vulnerable there, in what was a safe place for me which helped me heal, since that choice was taken from me, before. I felt I grew as expansive as the playa, in no way reaching a limit to possibilities and opportunities.

Sunday morning I wrote fragments in my journal, sitting in a small temple with my three camp amigas. Two had just become engaged at the larger temple. The wind was rushing across the playa, the air was white with dust; it was beautiful, and quieter as many people had all ready left.

I wrote words to the effect that I wanted the wind to drive everything constricting and negative from me and I saw my bones white and clean. The wind makes every structure a musical instrument and I imagined myself as one.

I wrote “I choose” several times. All week, the words sensuality, empowerment, receiving and love appeared on the pages.

Outward signs of freedom like sexy costumes, sexy clothes, few or no clothes, art designed for people to touch, write on, climb and sit with; music, music, music; then nature – desert sun, gusting wind and stinging sand; the triumphant dust you grow to love; heat, cold, fire, stars and rainbows; the city – so much to see and do you never see it all; you can’t meet everyone; you sleep little yet the perfect amount of time – it all brews into an unmitigated glamour you wear like skin that rewires your brain and swells your heart.

Virgin no more and looking forward with joy to next year.

Art!

June 26, 2010

Friday, June 26

Last night I went to Mission Rock to hear artists present what they were creating for Burning Man this year.

I looked around at the groups of friends who came to listen and the teams of artists who all seem to know each other and I felt a real longing for Burner community.  It very much seems like a group effort although I’ve read of profound solo treks. And once there, is the solo traveler really welcomed in? What a challenge.

The words, images and artists themselves have played in my mind all day, becoming things I can see and begin to think about all ready.

I was mesmerized by sculptor Marco Cochrane’s presentation of “Bliss Dance.” He explained he’s exploring the feminine energy within the masculine structural materials that sculpting requires. I felt very dreamy as he spoke about his vision and showed slides of what will be a magnificent, sensuous and beautiful illuminated 40 foot dancing woman. He said participants will be empowered to dance freely in this space. He said something like, there’s nothing more beautiful than a woman dancing when she’s completely comfortable and free. They’ll have belly dancers and hula-hoopers too.  I’ll find this one.

Another one that caught me was “Syzygryd” by Interpretive Arson, False Profit Labs and GAFFTA. This will be a huge  music, light and fire interactive sculpture. Participants will create music on panels, each unique composition will become part of the collective symphony that’s being created by others at the same time. It will be a place where friends and strangers create “melodious compositions.” This sounds fantastic and marvelous. It reminds me of “Close Encounters of the Third Kind” when we considered music was the universal and peace-making language of the cosmos. It made sense to me then and certainly does now. I can see participating and hanging out listening and watching the lights and fire for hours.

“Home,” by Michael Christian intrigued me. He spoke about the beauty of maps and called them “lace-like,” -a small poem. He expressed how he feels about cities and maps which struck a note. As I understood him, he explained how cities in reality can be disharmonious, not where one wants to be, but knowing cities through maps can connect a person to the city in another way. He’s exploring his love/hate relationships with cities. To know “of” a city versus knowing a city.  I also liked how he described how he works, “in process.”  He doesn’t have a lot of slides and drawings because he creates as he goes.

Tasty food for thought.

The theme: