Burning Man - Black Rock City

Mass Creativity, Fusion of Implementation

In the desert of Nevada, a harsh hostile dusty place, a gathering occurs once a year.
https://burningman.org/events/?f=event

# Ticket Price  Description #
$3,000  You’re illuminating the playa with generosity — making really special generational magic happen! Your contribution lights the way for inclusive celebration today and into the future.
$1,500  You’re embracing the Gifting principle — buying a ticket at full cost for yourself and making it possible for participants to access Black Rock City through the Renaissance, Ticket Aid and Resilience Ticket programs.
$950    You’re making things happen in wildly inspired ways — buying a ticket at full cost and supporting art grants and Black Rock City operational costs.
$750    You’re helping to bring this vibrant city to life — buying a ticket that covers all operational costs for one participant in Black Rock City — you!
$650    You’re putting Communal Effort into practice — bringing yourself and your creativity to enrich and enliven Black Rock City.
$550    You’re a creative soul destined for Black Rock City — this
From Burning Man - burning man.org

https://tickets.burningman.org/?_gl=117f3y8b_gaNDg1NzM0OTUxLjE3NDAyNzcxOTg._ga_FWW1ZLL84XMTc0MDI3NzE5OC4xLjEuMTc0MDI3NzcwMi4wLjAuMA.._ga_411YJ8ZFDEMTc0MDI3NzE5OS4xLjEuMTc0MDI3NzcwMy4wLjAuMA.._ga_4334FXWCMM*MTc0MDI3NzE5OS4xLjEuMTc0MDI3NzcwMy4wLjAuMA..

Lovers of Art

A lover of painting and music, the fine arts - but what is that, art? What makes art fine? Why does a piece deserve any admiration especially if without duration?

Here in Nevada, America there is a festival every year in the harshest of places in the desert, called the 'Burning Man," great and awesome sculptural works abound spread out upon the valley floor over miles a miles.

At the end of the festival, All is burned into nothing, non-existence, ash, cleaned up and carted off. Even the the signs and tracks of existence are swept like the sand is raked in a garden of contemplation in a Buddhist monastery, like novices scrubbing floors in a nunnery.

The swarms of the dilettante move about on foot and bicycle viewing and surviving in the desert valley, freezing at the down of the sun. Sometimes help with the erection. Original creations at huge expense erected, viewed, oohed, ahhh-ed over, gawked at, admired, temporary.

Made. Observed. Destroyed.

The assemblage of expressions, those who express grows into tens of thousands. A fifteen minute city is formed. Creativity like the mitosis of amoeba spreads, gives birth, multiples like yeast added to dough, a leavening.

I have always wanted to go. It's expensive for tickets. One needs an invitation to attend and there are no services allowed. Bartering with haves for water or food is the only way allowed.

All that remains year to year is a central temple.

It is hedonistic consumerism without consumerism and always gone as if they never were. Like it never existed and never happened.
Ghosts that reside in the desert, souls that gather for a mass to build their exhibition.

I have wondered if one could sneak in, camp on the outskirts off in the deep desert and roam in, around, explore, abound, clown around in the instantly here, vaporized city-town.

There's no security force like at a concert: it's like delivering five Dominoes Pizza to Sammy Hagar backstage at a concert in downtown Stockton, CA..

The art that lasts seemingly forever, things made from gold or stone in some tomb, the artist is never known.
Cave painting in France and rock relief upon Utah cliff faces, grooved into the flat face of a boulder here and there. Once such works were everywhere.

The line, the modeling, light and dark, medium, frescoes?

Intricate mosaics of millennia gone by does the dilettante admire as much as with the heart after beheld with the eyes. I sat there for an hour unable to join in all talk while I tried to recall name of Van Gogh and his "Starry Night." Of his blues and whites.

Whatever, whatever is it, a Critic might ask you?

Not. dilettante but judge, yet might scream of the work, I love you.

Which begs the question, what is love and is love art?

And upon this line, one does depart to fall in love with next year's love of art.

From Burning Man Org

So persons who generate, create, implement, complete have an audience of peers instead of critics, like great impressionists in cafe's in Paris, from which cubism results.

Ingenuity exposed au naturale. But can the poor hid somewhere off to the side sneak into the non-existent back door of the movie theater like children do to watch, learn, ascertain, sight, ingrain, inspired begin?