 |
          |
(article for CQ) … a constant newness. ci as an integral part of a larger society of 30,000 people. Contact as an open base for an exploration of meaningful experience. 60 of us came together from all over the globe to form Contact Camp amidst the genre-defying temporary city which is Burning Man, united in a sense of adventure, generosity, and play, holding onto very little in the way of fixed ideas. We built 2 big domes to house dancing in the dust storms, sun, and cold nights and hosted daily jams, classes, labs, performances, and other acts of conviviality. All the events were wildly successful, and we quickly had to add more because of their popularity. Together, we created an easy sense of family that extended beyond our camp out into the rest of Black Rock City. Check out www.burningcontact.org for info on next year. Below are some words from fellow campers. Join us if you like, and Welcome Home. Your servant, Karl Frost (www.bodyresearch.org)
Riding my bike no hands, eyes closed, across the open expanse of the early morning Aaron Schwartzman (Seattle, WA)
I think the environment of Burning Man really offers something like a way forward for the practice of Contact Improvisation, a context in which it can thrive beyond the straight and narrow jam/class/festival scene. In turn, CI is greatly admired and appreciated— the daily contact jam in Center Camp is a focus of attention, a central place in the psyche of Burning Man. The idea that brings these people out to the desert is, in my mind, that we can create a radically different kind of experience on this planet, a culture based on giving and creativity and personal growth, and we can (and maybe need to) do it even in the most challenging conditions -- nothing builds a sense of community like celebrating and creating for days on end with little to no sleep in one of the most harsh desserts on the planet. the identity of "I" stretched out & "Our" community rose up suddenly from agreement of the limited time/space, which allowed people to go extreme. No similar experience to compare w/ meant that every moment was vibrating almost indescribable what i got out from the week... everything happened there seems to strike directly into "unconsciousness" that the memory became dreamy. Ayano Oride (Japan)
I dream of the playa nightly and I miss my dusty family. I especially miss the center camp jams. The experience of the center camp jam reminds me of a story. In post WW2 Hawaii, there was a group of spirited young men who gave meaning to their lives by dedicating themselves to Kung Fu. They drilled and practiced all day long. Later, they went to the bars frequented by servicemen to further hone their craft. It wasn't hard to find a fight. Later, they would regroup to discuss what worked and what didn't, and the very practical style of Mo Duc Pai Kung Fu developed. Every time I stepped out into the center of Center Camp, into that post-apocalyptic cafe at the edge of the universe lookin' place, at 10:30 AM, I thought of that story. I can't wait to go back. Quint (Eugene, OR) … Hundreds of bizarrely costumed spectators watched, interacted and eventually some joined us. The floor was vinyl, a bit hard, hot and dusty, but overall a great space. It was open to the sky and surrounded by dozens of huge fluttering flags. The dancing was a highlight of my BM experience. Over the course of the week we explored and performed nearly every facet of Contact. From the basic form and beautiful duets, to contemplative small dances to huge tada! lifts. Romantic and sensual connection, clumsy learning, teaching and technical exploration, comic tomfoolery, acrobatic counter-balancing, puppy piles, momentum charged whirling and exquisite blindfold exploration. In this wildly alternative Black Rock world, Contact still evoked a sense of wonder from those who saw it. The dancers came in every shape and size, skill level and age; some from our camp, some just wandering through. Dancers were adorned in wild costumes and occasionally little at all. We were the sweaty kaleidoscopic spectacle at the center of most bizarre scene on earth. …At my first class 18 people showed up, most of who had never seen Contact before that morning in Center camp. ‘had a blast meeting all these wide-eyed folks and sharing what we know. In one class, I had a VERY large novice student. About halfway through the class, it was clear that he was quite self-conscious about his weight. He wasn’t the only one, so I stopped the class and invited him to come into the center with me. I asked him how much he weighed. “400 pounds”, he replied. (I weigh 155.) I asked him to drape his full weight across my back. I explained to the class that it’s not about weight – that with the right mechanics virtually anybody could lift anybody. I offered a hip lift ledge and he reluctantly lay across my hips. I held him for about one second before collapsing. We lay in a heap on the floor, laughing. No one was afraid to make mistakes after that. These classes and our daily performances constituted our contribution to the Burning Man culture. The BM economy isn’t actually barter – it’s gift…everything is free and open everywhere and everyone is expected to offer something…there ALWAYS seemed to be an abundance of support. …it is by night that the beast comes alive in its most enchanted form. There are hundreds of parties every night and they are all open. Sublime white themed chill palaces; grinding, sweaty clubs boasting star DJ’s and earth shaking speakers; dark and erotic haunts like Spike’s vampire bar – complete with show-stopping pyrotechnic fire spinning shows by naughty Catholic schoolgirls; tiny makeshift Gilligan’s island style happy hours; huge socials like the Lamplighter’s party and surreal meditative islands in the playa like the Japanese teahouse and the Ashram Galactica. Mission accomplished, we moved on to touring the playa nightlife. We stopped at a giant empty head, half buried in the sand. Musicians played by a fireplace inside. We cruised far into the desert, to a place that could only be named Dante’s Disco Inferno; a couple of hundred sweaty people jumping to pounding music, jammed into a zigzagging metal pipe enclosure which shot propane flames into the night. From such an electric scene, it was like a Norwegian sauna to ice bath routine, returning to our trek across the freezing, dark and silent desert. Occasionally we would pass another group of cyclists, like a school of bioluminescent fish in the far deep. The inky night was repeatedly punctuated with explosive bursts of flame emanating from giant metal sculptures, some three stories high. …One evening the camp hosted a unique experience, a performance by Karl Frost and his troupe, creating an interactive, blindfolded score called Axolotl and engaging nearly a hundred visitors. Senses, communication, community, exploration, disorientation. …There was so much to do just around Contact Camp that I spent a great deal of my time there. It was wonderful to have a home base and familiar faces. BM is huge and can be anonymous and overwhelming. Next year I will probably venture out more. Oh yes, I’m going back.
|
playa, reveling in the shifts of weight and ease, was when I truly arrived. The intertwined fallings in and out of love and gravity and zaniness that constituted the center camp jam for me was a compass I caught my bearing by. The improvisation I managed to scrape together in borrowed jump suits, wind howling, taking off my jumpsuit and watching it catch the wind and come alive as it sailed back over my head and sent me tumbling. The joy of the wandering mornings where up all night met just risen. Teaching class and feeling the amazing willingness to participate that burning man gives space for. The man praying at the temple burn, immune to heat as the sparks leaped out to send the rest of us scurrying back. Feeling it disintegrate back towards emptiness as people left and order was purposefully removed. 
I felt the acceptance & encouragement to explore the oppressed sensations in order to fully experience "free"
Enormous flames leap out of the darkness of the desert and are consumed again. Mysterious glowing art cars, the luminous ghosts of Las Vegas, Detroit and Disney, float silently through the desert. As they pass, the passengers come into view like a snapshot - a whisp of music drifts by and they disappear into the night. At times the Art Cars congregate around party hot spots on the inner ring of the playa encampments – the Esplanade – a zoo of intergalactic mutant vehicles. We tried to climb aboard and ride, but there is an art of timing that we didn’t quite figure out, like Eskimos trying to catch a NYC bus. One night half a dozen Contacters set out on ‘A Mission’ to ride a mutant vehicle. After several abortive attempts, we finally stormed a three story Love Bus in mid-flight. There were passenger rails welded to the exterior and we danced, inverted, hanging and spider-like to the exterior of the moving bus, ultimately climbing to the satin pink swinging love seat twenty five feet up.