Building Black Rock City: Lessons Learned in the Middle of Nowhere

“It’s a city wherein almost everything that happens is created entirely by its citizens” – Burning Man Project

I didn’t expect to turn 27 eating gummy peach rings and driving 10 hours across the West Coast. But this birthday, I made the long haul to offer my services to some artists out in Nevada. 

Earlier in the year, I received the job offer; new crew members were needed to assist with art installations. As a budding experiential artist, I couldn’t believe my luck. Most of my peers were seeking corporate internships, applying for grants, or pursuing extra part-time work for the summer. Instead, I was flying across the country to work on passion projects at Burning Man. 

Construction began months before the actual event, with thousands making an early pilgrimage out to the playa to help set up. Some dedicated their entire summers to building the temporary metropolis. Others, like myself, arrived during Build Week.  

Witnessing the formation of Black Rock City was unlike any event production I’ve been a part of. In truth, I had no idea what I’d gotten myself into. But to quote a friend and veteran Burner, “Whatever you expect to happen, won’t. And whatever you expect least, will.” 

Lessons Learned in the Middle of Nowhere:

CHAMPION CURIOSITY

I’ve always had a loud internal monologue and a knack for deep listening. Leading up to the event, my thoughts raced. Worse, my imposter syndrome joined the conversation. All I could think about was how underprepared I was to attend and build my first Burning Man.

The initial day on site, I woke up early, eager to be productive. My plan was simple: silence my inner critic by proving myself. Nervous, I packed anything and everything I could think of. With my bike overloaded, I set out to find the designated build site for my crew. But in Black Rock City, things rarely go to plan. No sooner had I found the spot than I was told production was halted for the day. I was shocked. More, I felt useless. Here I was, in the middle of nowhere, with nobody and nothing to do. Thankfully, a cure would come in the form of curiosity.

Instead of biking back to camp, I ventured out into the desert where miles of unknown alkali flats lay before me. With no destination in mind, I spent the rest of my day wandering around. I’d stop, admire the worksites, talk with the crew, and offer them food or an extra set of hands. Little by little, my exploration helped to tune out my terror. And with each new encounter, I started to feel at home.

CRISES COME AND GO

Every year, my social media feed is bombarded with Burning Man ‘horror’ stories; camps swept away in dust storms, participants stranded in ten-hour lines, psychedelic misadventures, etc. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t concerned about attending such an infamous event. It seemed chaos was a constant in Black Rock City, and I didn’t exactly want more of it in my life.

But Burning Man is not a place for the risk-adverse. If anything, it constantly forced me to confront the uncomfortable. The weather itself was unpredictable. Dust storms rolled in like rain. We could lose half a workday to a windstorm or watch as hours of labor were erased in the rain. The days were hot and the nights were frigid. And everything was always covered in fine powdery playa dust.

Build Week felt like a miracle. The planning and pivoting of each creator was awe-inspiring. I watched as decimated projects were rebuilt and last-minute ideas were brought to life. In Black Rock City, experimentation and innovation are inextricably linked. And why wouldn’t they? In such an extreme environment, solutions are rarely ordinary. And to get things done, you must accept what you can and cannot control.

COLLABORATION CAN’T HURT

As an artist, I’m used to working solo. Most of my projects require me to be a one-woman production team. In my experience, collaboration can be indulgent and costly.

But Burning Man was a massive collaborative effort, especially during Build Week. Creators of all kinds came together to construct the temporary city. Some worked on specific projects, others offered their services to anyone who needed help. But everyone was involved.

Each day, trailers filled to the brim with tools and materials arrived. I watched as massive cranes were being erected in the middle of the desert and forklifts raced from one construction site to the next. There was no schedule, just an irregular rhythm of progress. If something were needed, you’d get it. And if you didn’t have it, you’d find someone who did. Asking questions and using your surrounding resources was expected. Yes, you could figure it out alone, but you never had to.

CREATE BEAUTY FOR OTHERS

I’ve never considered beauty a civic duty. If anything, making art can feel like an intimate, selfish act. I can easily talk myself out of a project, questioning whether or not my concept has any value. My desk is cluttered with sticky notes and scratch paper where ideas have gone to die.

Burning Man was the opposite. In the desert, art was given freely with no hesitation. Each installation, mutant vehicle, decorated bike, and outfit was created as an act of radical self-expression. Other opinions didn’t matter. To quote a friend of mine from the playa, “We have to make these things. It’s a compulsion. It’s our passions made real.”

The artists in Black Rock City championed expression for expression’s sake. And those of us who helped bring their works to life can attest to their conviction. Build Week allowed me to witness the work behind the result. Once the event began, there was nothing more special than watching participants gather at an installation you built or overhearing someone compliment the work of an artist you’d met. Artist or not, everyone knew it was an extraordinary act of love to create something with the intention of gifting it away.