old sayings
new adages
remixed ideas
pure love
authentic actions
heartfelt generosity
thoughtful words
sincere listening
fearless creativity
tenacious artists
good work
steadfast friends
supportive family
open hearts
enlightened discovery
releasing yesterday
worriless tomorrow
embracing today
I love to watch stuff burn. I’m drawn like a moth, hypnotized when flames play in the wind and consume oxygen, paper or wood. Twice, as a child, I almost caught our house on fire from playing with it. Finally, I figured out fire isn’t a toy, but an element to revere. A year ago, I made it to the festival that celebrates fire (and much more) in all its glory: Burning Man.
My first pilgrimage to the desert was difficult, fun, sad, joyful and rewarding. Burning Man is a lot of things to a lot of people. Just as with any art, everyone has her/his own relationship to it, and some people love it while others can’t be bothered.
No matter your take, I’m amped. When I saw a video documenting the creation of the official welcome sign, it fueled my fire.
Burning Man 2012 – Fertility 2.0 Festival Sign from Mad Dog on Vimeo.
Earlier this year, Tedshots posted a beautiful adaptation of Dr. Seuss’ “Oh, the Places You’ll Go!” shot in 2011. It’s one of my favorites.
Now that I have the lay of the land and a better perspective on the culture of it all, I’m hoping I’ll be able to see more fun things. This video by Rainbow Raccoon is long, but that’s because it covers so much. I didn’t even see several wonders it features.
Home is where the heart is, and I know so many burners declare it’s like returning home. It may seem silly to you, or perhaps you’re a kindred spirit who gets it. Whatever the case, my heart fills when I imagine riding my bike across the playa.
The first thing you need to know: her name is pronounced “Key-Bee-Bee.” Not Ki-Bye-Bye. Not Ki-Boo-Bee. It’s, Kibibi. Dillon. But more important than how to correctly pronounce her name is understanding her heart.
I was inspired by this fantastically funny and loving woman. Yesterday, she died. And to me, death means we’re experiencing it. We’re doing it. That thing we all have to do. Follow life into death. It’s inevitable, and yet it’s part of life.
Kibibi followed life. Wherever it took her, she went. Whether creating a salon in her living room, filling the Zipper with joy and dreams, or kicking it at a club with other comics, Kibibi lived her life.
We met about six years ago, and I remember watching one of her first stand up shows. For the past couple years, I had the honor of working with Kibibi and seeing her realize dreams. She’d always been funny. Knew how to MC an event. But she wanted to be a comedian. For real. She wanted to tell the same twenty minutes to people gig after gig. She wanted to clown the crowd. She wanted to hit eight clubs in one night. And she didn’t want to hear you think women aren’t funny.
When she moved back to California earlier this year, I missed saying good bye. That’s why I’m writing. To say thanks for inspiring me to follow where life leads. The night before she died, Kibibi did what she loved doing. She made people laugh. She made people think. She touched lives.
I challenge you to think about how you can touch others’ lives. Today, that is my meditation.
Thanks, Kibibi.
For our wedding, I prepared a little surprise for my wife and gathered all her friends for a flash mob. The video’s all family shot (special thanks to Josh Crowley & Joanna Carter) and final photo by Pat Furey.
I’ve cobbled it together. But you get the idea.
Much love to my lovely wife, Christy. I hafta praise you.
There are a few things gnawing at me since my return from vacation. I’ve discovered I’ve got issues, and some of these issues also plague others.
Cynicism, overly critical thinking, and downright negativity overwhelmingly permeate society these days.
Conflict is the crux of drama; news organizations, bloggers, and advertisers are all responsible for taking drama’s foundation to create buzz. But, have we entered an era in which everyone is critical of everything?
Over the past eight years, I’ve been a curator and a producer. By nature, these roles require a keen eye and sharp critique. The audience demands it. The curator weeds out bad work and presents the cream of the crop.
Last week, I spent my time at the Burning Man Festival in Black Rock, NV. I went with expectations, and if there’s one thing I can encourage of festival newbies: don’t go with any expectations. I thought my mind would be blown at every step of the way, and though many times it was shaken, I found myself criticizing the art with an inner monologue that made me angry. I’d see a giant art car in the shape of a ship sailing across the dark desert, and I’d think, “Hmm…that’s all right, but you can see the wheels when you get up close.”
IT WAS A GIANT ART CAR IN THE SHAPE OF A SHIP SAILING ACROSS THE DARK DESERT!
You seriously aren’t impressed?
This critical nature is a part of me, and I realized as I searched the playa for a coyote voiced by Johnny Cash what a closed minded snob I’ve become about art, performance and theatre. For years, I’d looked at art and wouldn’t even consider it if I’d seen it before. It had to be unique. It had to be earth shattering. It had to be the best thing I’d ever seen.
You know what? That doesn’t exist.
There is nothing new. It’s all a remix. Everything you’ve seen in the art world (whether it be performance, visual or music) has been done before. And, often, it’s been done better than what you’re creating or watching.
It took me the better part of the week to realize this great connection with my soon to be wife, my best friends and the art around me hung in a huge gap of my hyper-critical mind. I spent most of my time theorizing and judging rather than engaging and enjoying. This discovery dawned the day before I left the grand social experiment. I finally found my mind blown. The intense critical eye through which I saw the world became like a child’s, and I soaked up the sun, dust, lights, costumes, art and love completely. I didn’t know what I was experiencing, and I just cried. I apologized to my love and my friends, wishing I could go back to the beginning of the week and experience it all over again with this open heart.
Then, it was over.
It wasn’t until we returned to Brooklyn I discovered @jlbhart and @sparrowhall over on Twitter with this exchange:
@sparrowhall: Does anyone have a #transmedia perspective on Burning Man?
@jlbhart: @sparrowhall talk to @jdcarter, he’s there right now
I read Sparrow’s blog post and shook my head over its ignorant snarky tone. I saw myself in the writing. I realized it was this attitude I feared. The judgment. The elitism. The disconnect. I use to be an open and gregarious person, but these days I spend my time hoping to get the right jab in to get a giggle from some nameless, faceless Twitter follower or blog reader.
Who cares? Really?
I get it if someone doesn’t want to attend a festival like Burning Man because she or he doesn’t want to deal with dust, heat or separation from an iPhone for a week, but why disparage it? The festival didn’t do anything to you. Obviously, everyone is entitled to her or his own opinion; however, creating drama from nothing just to draw people to a news station, blog or Twitter feed is increasingly the norm. Why create drama when there is none?
Often, life is good. Still, people find reasons to destroy and detract – even in one’s own mind – before absorbing the complete experience.
These days, I’m aiming to maintain these fresh eyes opened at Burning Man and look at every aspect of life with love and hope. This isn’t some hippy bullshit programmed from the festival. It’s reviving a memory of how I saw the world before false conflict solidified cynicism in my soul.
I once heard, “If art makes you cry, laugh, dance or think, then there’s something to it. Explore it more.” Burning Man made me do all four. Now, life is, too.
P.S.
In my previous post, I proclaimed I would write a poem for people I met at Burning Man. Another misunderstanding about how things work. The society is a gifting one, and gifts are more immediate and tangible (like sharing coffee, baked goods and misting strangers with spray bottles filled with water and essential oils). Also, I met few new people. Most of the time, I was with close friends. Still, I felt like sharing a little verse to sum up some of the experience. This is for them:
El Pulpo Mecanico breathes fire from
Golden tentacles.
Bikes kick up earth into
Haze of happy heat.
Banana bread, pop tarts and chocolate
Spin brains into joy.
Teamwork
Art work
Disintegrate to dust.
So long, playa.
See ya, pals.
Till we meet again in
Another phantasm spectacle
In the vast imagination
Of time.
