That one man's forum of personal expression would eventually be transformed -- by its own autre garde eccentricities, no less -- into a cultural fete of mythic proportions is not altogether surprising. What is amazing is that the annual tradition's ever-increasing assemblage of so-called "technopagens" somehow seems to be withstanding its own commercialization. Having weathered this year's press frenzy alone was no mean feat for the multifarious tribes of the playa. The mainstream media's coverage of their spectacle reeked of didactic intent, and rumors circulated that fundamentalist Christian groups were planning to crash the party on a soul-saving mission. Add the invasion of MTV's Jenny McCarthy and a "Strange Universe" camera crew and, well... You get the gist. Will Burning Man ever be the same? Should it be?
In
fact, the now renowned "Black Rock Arts Festival" reveals little
that would betray its humble beginning in 1986 at Baker Beach,
California. Originally motivated by a sense of activism, anarchy, and
jilted-male angst, founder Larry Harvey built and burned the first
effigy with the help of Jerry James as a reaction to what Harvey calls
"some kind of fiery passion bottled up inside." Years passed, and as
more and more people came to witness the annual torching of the wooden
golem, it became clear to the pair (with some prompting by local
authorities) that the rite had outgrown its Golden Gate Park venue.
Teaming up with the San Francisco Cacophony Society, they moved the
event to the Black Rock Desert east of Reno and the rest, as they say,
is the stuff of tabloid TV.
Under such circumstances, one might think that a book would be the last thing on the mind of anyone closely associated with the festival -- unless, of course, that book could effectively convey the promoters' own anarchotopiac vision. Seeing is believing, after all, and by virtue of being a meticulously indexed (albeit scantily essayed) photo-journal, Burning Man (Hardwired Books) exploits its own exploitation vis a vis certain coffee-table collectibility. By employing a National-Geographic-on-acid approach, publishers Brad Weiners and John Plunkett deftly sidestep the almighty metaphor to showcase the work of thirteen photographers, and do so with an ineluctable lack of discernment regarding actual subject matter -- thus leaving any strained analogies or glib sound bites to the aforementioned talking-head types.
The dried-out basin of Black Rock's prehistoric sea provides a stark setting for this impressive tome's many portraits: Artists, inventors, ravers, hippies, neo-primitives, punks, Wiccans, Druids, nudists and wannabe whatevers captured for posterity; temporal images availing themselves to the indomitable spirit of a post post modern society. Shot in color and black & white, the camera's aflated subjects seem contradicted by the harshness of the desert's alkali-and-gypsum flats, making for an oftentimes startling effect. There are also still-life studies and technoscapes -- not the least of which evince the towering neon crux of the affair -- but, by their very nature, these examinations serve the documentary's general theme of humanism. Of particular note are the contributions of photographers Barbara Traub, Klaus Schonwiese, and Kevin Kelly, whose compositional aesthetics are well-honed. Variously, the pictures are elegant, evocative, comical, and thought provoking; they are also peculiarly non-contextual, not unlike the phenomena they endeavor to interpret.
The text of Burning Man is sparse but worthwhile, enlisting the first-person experience of those who have been involved with the festival, from the history-heavy tutelage of its founder to the avant meanderings of publisher Weiners and photographer Kelly, with some naive-yet-heady observations of other participants thrown in for good measure. Each of the narratives is brief, concise, and independent in trim and tack, and it is by featuring this diversity of perspective that the publisher's point is made apparent: Burning Man, the book, is a lot like Burning Man, the event -- immediate, expressive, and beautiful to behold. In any case, you come away with nothing less than what you bring to the experience... Though there is always the possibility that you will discover more of whatever-that-is than you thought you had.
Under such circumstances, one might think that a book would be the last thing on the mind of anyone closely associated with the festival -- unless, of course, that book could effectively convey the promoters' own anarchotopiac vision. Seeing is believing, after all, and by virtue of being a meticulously indexed (albeit scantily essayed) photo-journal, Burning Man (Hardwired Books) exploits its own exploitation vis a vis certain coffee-table collectibility. By employing a National-Geographic-on-acid approach, publishers Brad Weiners and John Plunkett deftly sidestep the almighty metaphor to showcase the work of thirteen photographers, and do so with an ineluctable lack of discernment regarding actual subject matter -- thus leaving any strained analogies or glib sound bites to the aforementioned talking-head types.
The dried-out basin of Black Rock's prehistoric sea provides a stark setting for this impressive tome's many portraits: Artists, inventors, ravers, hippies, neo-primitives, punks, Wiccans, Druids, nudists and wannabe whatevers captured for posterity; temporal images availing themselves to the indomitable spirit of a post post modern society. Shot in color and black & white, the camera's aflated subjects seem contradicted by the harshness of the desert's alkali-and-gypsum flats, making for an oftentimes startling effect. There are also still-life studies and technoscapes -- not the least of which evince the towering neon crux of the affair -- but, by their very nature, these examinations serve the documentary's general theme of humanism. Of particular note are the contributions of photographers Barbara Traub, Klaus Schonwiese, and Kevin Kelly, whose compositional aesthetics are well-honed. Variously, the pictures are elegant, evocative, comical, and thought provoking; they are also peculiarly non-contextual, not unlike the phenomena they endeavor to interpret.
The text of Burning Man is sparse but worthwhile, enlisting the first-person experience of those who have been involved with the festival, from the history-heavy tutelage of its founder to the avant meanderings of publisher Weiners and photographer Kelly, with some naive-yet-heady observations of other participants thrown in for good measure. Each of the narratives is brief, concise, and independent in trim and tack, and it is by featuring this diversity of perspective that the publisher's point is made apparent: Burning Man, the book, is a lot like Burning Man, the event -- immediate, expressive, and beautiful to behold. In any case, you come away with nothing less than what you bring to the experience... Though there is always the possibility that you will discover more of whatever-that-is than you thought you had.