The Eternal Fire
The spectre comes into focus when the wind starts blowing and brings the dust with it. Because, the colours grow pale here and there. A little at first, and then ever stronger. Until finally everything dissolves into soft contours that somewhat tone down the strident reality. It is the ideal time for reflection – especially, when the dust pleasantly blurs this corner of America for a few brief moments. One probably asks oneself: “Just what was that?” And: “Is it simply the idea of the West that makes itself felt so strongly here?” Maybe it is. In any case, the sandy yellow ground is still pristine here. Or let’s put it like this: It is dead, completely gone, totally perdu – making it the ideal base for a festival like “Burning Man”. Every year, the spectre arises like a fata morgana behind the desert city of Reno. However, the reflections do not reveal distant oases but the depths of the human soul. Or, more precisely: the soul of the West. That this sometimes looks like a montage of advertisements gone off course and that time and space have long since become a chaotic mess – that could be right! Because it offers us a labyrinth just perfect for getting lost in. That’s where the love of the masquerade and the desire for surreality come in. “Burning Man” is definitely in the vanguard for that: Thirty thousand exhibitionists transform the principle of Desert Art into a bizarre kaleidoscope of Nirvana and delirium. Air Guitar Car Bar, Naked Aquarium, fire dancers, body painting, vinegar ablutions complete with Cleopatra’s barge, a moon landing alongside drag queens, free telephone calls with Jehovah – there is nothing that cannot be found here. Nothing except cash. At least that has been done away with in Nevada’s alkali arena. Maybe that’s why the declared foes of the self-release festival call it Satan’s completely private breeding ground.
Robert Haidinger (from the book "west")
