I have yet to attend Burning Man in my lifetime, but I had an opportunity to visit the Afterburn at Venice Beach this year. This is a Southern California event that takes place after the annual gathering in Nevada. I was also informed that smaller, regional gatherings are regularly hosted throughout the year. My boyfriend tells me that the Afterburn is considered a “decompression party,” a subdued version of all the goings-on at Black Rock City. I walked into the experience with many questions and shared interesting conversations with attendees, aka: Burners.
From what I gathered, enthusiasts claim to enjoy the sense of community and all the liberating, creative expression. Building sustainable spaces, leaving no trace and no waste behind. Separating from conventional norms and constructing a unique ecosystem that thrives in the harshest conditions of the desert. If I had to compare it to some of my own experiences, I attended Camp Katawana with my sister and a handful of her friends in Sacramento this past summer. I imagine there are aspects of the Burning Man experience that require all-hands-on-deck, but part of that joy is creating an entirely unique destination from dust - existing for a limited time of one-week.
I learned that some people shed their identity and adopt an “alter ego” during the burn. When I spoke to some of the attendees, they gave me their Playa (preferred) camp names. At the afterburn, I met Turbo, Foam and Bonks. Speaking with them, I realized I don’t need to take on another persona; I think my raw, authentic self comes out when I’m most comfortable. I understand that some people likely attend Burning Man to escape reality and completely immerse themselves in this bohemian environment. I don’t know how I feel about sharing those experiences with strangers on a grand scale.
During my visit, I had an unusual moment. Two young guys approached me while I was flowing and started cheering for me. Seeing their excitement, I mirrored and cheered with them. As we passed one another, I heard them chant, “Goddamn, that chick is thick!” … I smiled awkwardly on the outside, but started feeling self-aware. Is it meant to be a compliment, or do I take offense to that? I know that any response I give is valid, but I felt uncomfortable for a moment. Then, another flow artist at the event said, “Hey, people really enjoy your silk fans.” I decided I to just slow down and enjoy the rest of the night.
What I liked about Venice Afterburn was turning off my critical-thinking brain for a few hours. Tapping in to enjoy visual arts, movement, music and dance. Someone at the event told me, “Flow Artists are the cheer squad for Burning Man.” She said this with lightheartedness of course, but it made me think about why I still flow and what keeps me going. I still feel new to this entire experience and find myself exploring parts of my own identity. When I enter my flow state, I tune everything out except for the rhythm. I love seeing my shadow move on the ground. I keep engaging this part of myself so I might be less self-conscious and more comfortable with myself overall.
My boyfriend used to attend Burning Man with his bandmates over a decade ago. His stories of yesteryear only offer a fraction of those experiences, but I enjoy hearing him reminisce of the ‘ole days. It always sounds like it was an adventurous and completely different time in his life. Sometimes I wonder about that past life; if I knew him back then, would I be receptive to this? I’m sure the resources and technology that support Burning Man have likely evolved since he last attended. When we talked about attendees who sport the Top Hats and Goggles, we laughed about it and he said, “Somethings never change.” Wackiness indeed.
From what I gathered, enthusiasts claim to enjoy the sense of community and all the liberating, creative expression. Building sustainable spaces, leaving no trace and no waste behind. Separating from conventional norms and constructing a unique ecosystem that thrives in the harshest conditions of the desert. If I had to compare it to some of my own experiences, I attended Camp Katawana with my sister and a handful of her friends in Sacramento this past summer. I imagine there are aspects of the Burning Man experience that require all-hands-on-deck, but part of that joy is creating an entirely unique destination from dust - existing for a limited time of one-week.
I learned that some people shed their identity and adopt an “alter ego” during the burn. When I spoke to some of the attendees, they gave me their Playa (preferred) camp names. At the afterburn, I met Turbo, Foam and Bonks. Speaking with them, I realized I don’t need to take on another persona; I think my raw, authentic self comes out when I’m most comfortable. I understand that some people likely attend Burning Man to escape reality and completely immerse themselves in this bohemian environment. I don’t know how I feel about sharing those experiences with strangers on a grand scale.
During my visit, I had an unusual moment. Two young guys approached me while I was flowing and started cheering for me. Seeing their excitement, I mirrored and cheered with them. As we passed one another, I heard them chant, “Goddamn, that chick is thick!” … I smiled awkwardly on the outside, but started feeling self-aware. Is it meant to be a compliment, or do I take offense to that? I know that any response I give is valid, but I felt uncomfortable for a moment. Then, another flow artist at the event said, “Hey, people really enjoy your silk fans.” I decided I to just slow down and enjoy the rest of the night.
What I liked about Venice Afterburn was turning off my critical-thinking brain for a few hours. Tapping in to enjoy visual arts, movement, music and dance. Someone at the event told me, “Flow Artists are the cheer squad for Burning Man.” She said this with lightheartedness of course, but it made me think about why I still flow and what keeps me going. I still feel new to this entire experience and find myself exploring parts of my own identity. When I enter my flow state, I tune everything out except for the rhythm. I love seeing my shadow move on the ground. I keep engaging this part of myself so I might be less self-conscious and more comfortable with myself overall.
My boyfriend used to attend Burning Man with his bandmates over a decade ago. His stories of yesteryear only offer a fraction of those experiences, but I enjoy hearing him reminisce of the ‘ole days. It always sounds like it was an adventurous and completely different time in his life. Sometimes I wonder about that past life; if I knew him back then, would I be receptive to this? I’m sure the resources and technology that support Burning Man have likely evolved since he last attended. When we talked about attendees who sport the Top Hats and Goggles, we laughed about it and he said, “Somethings never change.” Wackiness indeed.
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