9: Sun Lit Wanderings
It took us a while to get out of camp. Water, beer, goggles, hats, camera, snacks. We knew what we needed but just as we were about to leave, I realized I wanted my green bandana, too. Finally, Lu and I were ready to roll. We were off to see the City in the day, and find out exactly what this Burning Man was all about. We knew it was going to be photographer's feast. And Lu loves nothing better than taking pictures of the beautiful things in the world.
Lu and I took nearly 400 photographs, a good many of which actually came out pretty good. Others in our camp came back with even better photos and I've seen numerous Web pages with the striking imagery of lens-captured art. There is no point in trying to describe the otherworldy, the insane, the hilarious configurations of materials and ideas melded to one another and then set out to play with. The only unique thing I have to offer is the way these structures, the sun, the tents, the people, made me feel and what I found within me as we pedaled through the subtlely curved streets.
At the simplest level, I was content. I felt no worries, no concerns, had no agenda or unmet needs, except for one. I wanted to see it all. Surrounding contentment was eager wonder. To find the crazy nooks and bizarre crannies of this city that sprung from dust and desire, and was hammered into place. When contentment and wonder mixed with the incredible sights we passed at every turn, I felt a growing sense of largeness, of edge, of possbility, of uncertainty, and a thrill that the efforts of my fellow humans had created these remarkable sights.
A bookcase filled with books, alone on the playa gave me pause for the written word. I was happy to see books! I love books! And their tight, powerful depths between their covers reverberated nicely with the hard-packed distances that expanded exponentially from where this lone bookcase stood.
A pirate ship was marooned on the sand. But I knew that once night fell, the dark playa rock would give way before it's skull and bones flag.
Then we came upon huge footprints. A few steps in, a second, smaller pair appeared beside the first. And rising from the sand, before us, were a Woman and Child, constructed out of wire, writhing with thin streams of flowing water, and paused in their trek towards The Man that rose above The Maze in the distance. The figures were tall, and their scale reinforced in me the huge power of life and love and family. We all strove, we all had needs. And someone had seen this in a year gone by. Had seen The Man in the distance and had wondered why he was alone. Where was his family? Where was his wife and child, if he even had them? And if he did, where they on the night when The Man burned to the ground for the sake of a band of dust-filled humans?
We took a loop around the structure where Wags' bike had been stolen the night before, hoping against hope that they had realized their mistake and dropped it off again. But of course, it was no where to be found. We did find a band of French Maids, about thirty of them, scantily dressed, feathers in hand, doing their best to keep the art and humans and bikes playadust free. Their hilariously good spirits and impressive talents belied the enormity of the task before them that day. Lu and I howled with laughter as they sauntered across the brown expanse, towards dustier pastures.
We saw women with dragonfly bikes. We saw a human-sized version of Mousetrap, we saw formations of poles with flags and art cars covered in mirrors. There was a preacher's pulpit and the five headless supplicants. That piece, I'm pretty sure, involved fire during the night. We saw the huge roving flower that we'd seen opened up the night before, but now it lay closed and silent, parked beside the camp it called home.
But it was getting late, and the Fiesta of Curvas Peligrosas was on at 4:20 in the afternoon. We had to ride back, make guac and settle in for a full-on, afternoon disco fiesta of epic proportions. On the way back we passed the Barbie Death Camp and Wine Bistro. Lu took lots of pictures and I laughed at the destruction of so many tiny dolls.
Lu and I took nearly 400 photographs, a good many of which actually came out pretty good. Others in our camp came back with even better photos and I've seen numerous Web pages with the striking imagery of lens-captured art. There is no point in trying to describe the otherworldy, the insane, the hilarious configurations of materials and ideas melded to one another and then set out to play with. The only unique thing I have to offer is the way these structures, the sun, the tents, the people, made me feel and what I found within me as we pedaled through the subtlely curved streets.
At the simplest level, I was content. I felt no worries, no concerns, had no agenda or unmet needs, except for one. I wanted to see it all. Surrounding contentment was eager wonder. To find the crazy nooks and bizarre crannies of this city that sprung from dust and desire, and was hammered into place. When contentment and wonder mixed with the incredible sights we passed at every turn, I felt a growing sense of largeness, of edge, of possbility, of uncertainty, and a thrill that the efforts of my fellow humans had created these remarkable sights.
A bookcase filled with books, alone on the playa gave me pause for the written word. I was happy to see books! I love books! And their tight, powerful depths between their covers reverberated nicely with the hard-packed distances that expanded exponentially from where this lone bookcase stood.
A pirate ship was marooned on the sand. But I knew that once night fell, the dark playa rock would give way before it's skull and bones flag.
Then we came upon huge footprints. A few steps in, a second, smaller pair appeared beside the first. And rising from the sand, before us, were a Woman and Child, constructed out of wire, writhing with thin streams of flowing water, and paused in their trek towards The Man that rose above The Maze in the distance. The figures were tall, and their scale reinforced in me the huge power of life and love and family. We all strove, we all had needs. And someone had seen this in a year gone by. Had seen The Man in the distance and had wondered why he was alone. Where was his family? Where was his wife and child, if he even had them? And if he did, where they on the night when The Man burned to the ground for the sake of a band of dust-filled humans?
We took a loop around the structure where Wags' bike had been stolen the night before, hoping against hope that they had realized their mistake and dropped it off again. But of course, it was no where to be found. We did find a band of French Maids, about thirty of them, scantily dressed, feathers in hand, doing their best to keep the art and humans and bikes playadust free. Their hilariously good spirits and impressive talents belied the enormity of the task before them that day. Lu and I howled with laughter as they sauntered across the brown expanse, towards dustier pastures.
We saw women with dragonfly bikes. We saw a human-sized version of Mousetrap, we saw formations of poles with flags and art cars covered in mirrors. There was a preacher's pulpit and the five headless supplicants. That piece, I'm pretty sure, involved fire during the night. We saw the huge roving flower that we'd seen opened up the night before, but now it lay closed and silent, parked beside the camp it called home.
But it was getting late, and the Fiesta of Curvas Peligrosas was on at 4:20 in the afternoon. We had to ride back, make guac and settle in for a full-on, afternoon disco fiesta of epic proportions. On the way back we passed the Barbie Death Camp and Wine Bistro. Lu took lots of pictures and I laughed at the destruction of so many tiny dolls.
posted by Bones at 9:05 PM
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