|
Pif Magazine
Pif Magazine |
Burning Man 2000 ( day 4 ) : Page 1, 2, 3, 4
Some days the Playa has the final word. After nearly a week, construction is all but finished on David Best’s sculpture, referred to as "the build" or The Temple, and it’s time to paint. There’s only seven gallons of paint, however, to cover a structure thirty feet square and twenty feet high, and David decides to paint only the interior and the rooftop spire. The resulting contrast of bare wood and dark pinkish interior walls and altar is stunning, a tribute to a man who sees new possibilities for expression in a shortfall of material where most of us would only see a problem.
A crowd soon gathers to take pictures, ooh and ahh. David mingles easily with the crowd, answering questions with straight-faced good humor—yes, a man cut all these pieces by hand; no I work for Steven Spielberg; he’s going to have this helicoptered out. Then in all seriousness, he goes into the crowd to ask a favor: if any of them have lost someone close to them recently, would they please write his or her name on a piece of paper, roll and tie it up, and put it on the altar before Friday midnight, the fiery end of the temple’s one day existence. David is an artist who requires some sort of catalyst, a gift, with which to create. Three weeks ago, Michael Hefflin — actor, sword fabricator, cycle enthusiast, and David's friend — who at 33 would have been the youngest member of our camp, was killed in a motorcycle accident. Though The Temple has been in the planning stages for a half-year, Michael’s spirit is what David puts into the work. "Michael’s death was a waste," said David. "But we won’t waste our love for him. People won’t see it when they walk by, but it’ll be there nonetheless." He may be wrong though. In addition to being beautiful and imbued with the creative spirit, the dark interior has the unmistakeable feel of somber tribute.
|
||||
An hour later in the early evening, the paint still drying, a boiling dust storm rolls across the Playa from the northeast. Visibility drops to six feet and The Temple disappears. Returning in the storm’s aftermath, a half-inch of fine Grey Playa-dust has aged the interior a thousand years. Entering, one feels like one has stumbled onto some ancient temple.
