“Burning Man is not a place. It’s really a state of mind.”
By CRISTINA SILVA and SCOTT SONNER
Associated Press
RENO, Nev. — The biggest prior threats to the annual Burning Man gathering in the Nevada desert were U.S. land-use laws, undercover cops and the perception that the largest outdoor arts festival in North America is really just an excuse to get naked and do drugs.
But that was before the teeth-gnashing “ticket fiasco.”
Two decades after the free spirits moved their party from San Francisco’s Baker Beach to a dried-up ancient lake bed 120 miles north of Reno, the yearly pilgrimage with its drum circles, decorated art cars, guerilla theatrics and colorful theme camps has become too popular for its own good.
“The hard truth is that there are a lot of you who want to come to Black Rock City to celebrate your participation in the Burning Man culture this year, but not everyone will be able to attend,” organizers said in an apologetic email — this after a lottery ticket sale intended to keep attendance below the federally permitted cap blew up in their faces.
The counter-culture celebration in the Black Rock Desert, which culminates with the torching of a towering wooden effigy, for years has been open to all under the principal of “radical inclusion.” It sold out for the first time last year with a crowd in excess of 53,000, forcing organizers to make plans to sell the bulk of the 2012 tickets through random drawings. But it wasn’t until recently that many regulars got word they may not get in to this year’s psychedelic adventure combining wilderness camping with avant-garde performance.
Whether opportunistic ticket scalpers are to blame or naïve organizers were caught off-guard is a topic raging among Burners in the blogosphere.
Many lament it will never be the same.
“The ticket fiasco means Burning Man has to make decisions now about who to let in and who to keep out,” said Mark Van Proyen, chairman of the painting department at the San Francisco Art Institute who has attended the last 16 years in a row. “For that reason, it no longer can really truly be a radically inclusive event.”
Organizers feel supporters’ pain. Many regulars have camped together for 10 years or more, Burning Man spokeswoman Marian Goodell said.
“Some kids have grown up in the camp and they feel like family to each other,” she said. “We are trying to solve the problem of the community feeling ripped a part.”
Some are not sympathetic to those without tickets.
“I sat in line at Space Mountain for two hours once and somebody threw up and they closed it,” said Rick Dinoso, a past attendee from Reno who calls the complainers “crybabies.”
More important than the event itself, said Goodell, is keeping Burning Man’s spirit alive.
“Burning Man is not a place. It’s really a state of mind.”