Creativity
16 of Burning Man’s Biggest Artists on Showing Their Work at the Smithsonian
During the summer solstice of 1986, a small group of friends met up on San Francisco’s Baker Beach and burned an eight-foot-tall effigy of a man. The ritual was dubbed Burning Man two years later, and moved to a dried-up lake bed in the Black Rock Desert in 1990. Eight thousand people attended in 1996, and within four years, that number had swelled to 25,000. In recent years, 75,000 people—though more would likely come if ticket sales weren’t capped—have set up a temporary city within a seven-mile square plot of land known as Black Rock City, which lasts the entire week before Labor Day.
Recent popular conceptions of Burning Man have focused on all-night parties set to electronic music and fueled by all manner of substances. But, at its core, Burning Man is much more an art festival and experiment in temporary community than it is a marathon rave. The event’s true cultural essence forms the focus of “No Spectators: The Art of Burning Man,” an exhibition currently on view in Washington, D.C., held both within the Smithsonian American Art Museum’s Renwick Gallery and its surrounding neighborhood, with some works installed outdoors just around the corner from the White House. (An initial set of these installations will close on September 16th, while others remain on view until January 21, 2019.)
Artsy asked artists presenting in the show to describe their works on view, and reflect on what it means for Burning Man’s alternative culture to be presented at an art museum in the nation’s capital. Their responses have been condensed and edited for clarity.

Marco Cochrane

Marco Cochrane, Truth is Beauty, 2013. Photo by Eleanor Preger.

Marco Cochrane, Truth is Beauty, 2013. Photo by Eleanor Preger.

Tell us a little bit about the piece you’re installing in D.C., and your background creating works at Burning Man.
I’m installing an 18-foot-tall version of Truth is Beauty (2013), of which a 55-foot version was at Burning Man in 2013 and is now permanently installed in San Leandro, California. It is the second in a series of sculptures featuring the model Deja Solis. The first, Bliss Dance (2010), was at Burning Man in 2010 and is now permanently installed in Las Vegas; the third sculpture in the series, R-Evolution (2015), debuted at Burning Man in 2015. These sculptures are intended to be agents for social change, challenging the viewer to see past the sexual charge that has developed around the female body; to de-objectify women; to inspire people across the world to take action to end violence against women, create spaces for women’s voices, and to demand equal rights for all, thus allowing everyone to live fully and thrive. At Burning Man, around the base of the sculpture, the question “What would the world be like if women were safe?” was written in 50 different languages. The artist and crew handed out 10,000 wristbands, and asked everyone who agreed to wear one to “take active responsibility for the safety of their sisters (and brothers) on the playa.”
What does it mean for the art and culture of Burning Man to be exhibited at—and canonized by—a national institution like the Smithsonian?
I like that the Smithsonian is a place where art is for everyone. The art of Burning Man is like this, too. But we take it one step further. We want you to interact with the art, come help us build art, and, even better, get inspired to make your own. This exhibition is another step forward in bringing art into people’s lives—as doers, not viewers.

David Best

David Best and the Temple Crew, The Temple at Burning Man 2016, 2016. Photo by Scott London.

David Best and the Temple Crew, The Temple at Burning Man 2016, 2016. Photo by Scott London.

Tell us a little bit about the piece you’re installing in D.C., and your background creating works at Burning Man.
It’s a large temple structure made out of plywood, similar to the temples that I’ve built in the desert. It’s about 90 feet tall. It has a large chandelier and four altars. I’ve been going to and working with Burning Man for 18 years, and have built eight temples in the desert.
What does it mean for the art and culture of Burning Man to be exhibited at—and canonized by—a national institution like the Smithsonian?
I think Burning Man is taking it very seriously. Right now, given the climate we have in our government and in our country, is a very important time for Burning Man to be exposed to the larger public. I think it’s going to help spread its principles to the outside world. I was talking to someone from the BBC about the difference between the art that comes from Burning Man and the art that comes from the general public—nothing at Burning Man is for sale. The work that people make in the desert doesn’t have a value on it. There’s no market value on what I do, or on what other artists at Burning Man do. It’s a gift, it’s designed not to sell in the commercial market but to share with the community. And people are amazed at something that’s built not for sale, not for profit.
What do you hope visitors to the exhibition will walk away understanding about Burning Man?
I hope that the Burning Man community can be gracious enough not to be haughty and act as if they know something other people don’t know. I hope that our community isn’t as arrogant as the contemporary art community is, or as the general outside world is—that they are more superior, more knowledgeable than anybody else. I hope that people will think “Oh, these people make art for us”—it’s not exclusive, it’s inclusive.

Natalia Bertotti (in collaboration with )

Michael Garlington and Natalia Bertotti, Totem of Confessions, 2015. Photo by Daniel L. Hayes.

Michael Garlington and Natalia Bertotti, Totem of Confessions, 2015. Photo by Daniel L. Hayes.

Michael Garlington and Natalia Bertotti, Totem of Confessions (interior detail), 2015. Photo by Michael Holden. © Michael Holden 2015.

Michael Garlington and Natalia Bertotti, Totem of Confessions (interior detail), 2015. Photo by Michael Holden. © Michael Holden 2015.

Tell us a little bit about the piece you’re installing in D.C., and your background creating works at Burning Man.
The Paper Arch (2018) is made of wood and clad with photographs that Michael and I have taken. Its shape mimics the arching doorways of the Renwick and is a fitting portal for the show as a whole. Its style of black-and-white portraiture surrounded by photos of animals and plant life is similar to what we have brought out to the playa. This piece was commissioned specifically for the Renwick and has not been to Burning Man yet.
What does it mean for the art and culture of Burning Man to be exhibited at—and canonized by—a national institution like the Smithsonian?
I hope that artistic expression, in its many forms, will be celebrated, be encouraged, be taught, and be culturally relevant. I believe that through artwork, connections can be made, barriers broken down, and complex ideas and emotions understood. I believe in the Burning Man philosophies and hope that they will spread from added exposure. It is a place where individuals are empowered to express themselves and the community embraces you. Everyone belongs.

FoldHaus

FoldHaus, Shrumen Lumen, 2016. Photo by Rene Smith.

FoldHaus, Shrumen Lumen, 2016. Photo by Rene Smith.

Tell us a little bit about the piece you’re installing in D.C., and your background creating works at Burning Man.
Our installation is called Shrumen Lumen (2016)—a garden of three origami mushrooms with caps that expand and contract from a flat umbrella portobello into a bulbous cap when activated by visitors, creating a surprising and delightful experience. Nearly every one of the hundreds of parts for each mushroom were custom made by the FoldHaus team, an art collective based in the San Francisco Bay Area and currently led by Joerg Student and Jesse Silver. Many of the FoldHaus members work at, or have worked at, the design firm IDEO, where members spend weekends and evenings building and creating art. Each mushroom is made of 18 sheets of corrugated plastic, hand-folded and carefully welded together. A solid mechanical structure made of aluminum and steel defines the shape of the mushroom head, and an umbrella-like mechanism powered by an industrial actuator causes the cap to change shape. At night, over 1,600 LED lights create a spectacle for those near or far.
What does it mean for the art and culture of Burning Man to be exhibited at—and canonized by—a national institution like the Smithsonian?
The culture of Burning Man is impossible to experience outside of Burning Man, because it is all about people—their participation and contribution; their interaction with others; and their spirit of openness, sharing, welcoming, and helping, without even knowing one another. Even at Burning Man, it can take people a few days to embody this. During a short visit to a museum with other strangers, you can’t recreate that, but you can get a glimpse of it: It seems that even in the days the exhibition has been open so far, there has been more interaction and conversation between strangers than you might otherwise see in a museum. The experience of the art is, of course, different than on the playa—the context of the vast landscape, the dust, the fire, and the extreme conditions inevitably become part of the art itself. But many pieces can be experienced in a comparable way in the museum—they are just as joyful, interactive, and entertaining.
What do you hope visitors to the exhibition will walk away understanding about Burning Man?
We hope that the exhibition can help change some of the perceptions people have about Burning Man. It is often sensationalized as a big party involving lots of drugs. And while there certainly are wild parties, Burning Man is so much more than that. The art that is shown there is so unique and creative. We also hope people remember those feelings of joy, awe, and surprise that the art brings to them, as well as the feeling of permission—permission to touch the art, to interact with it, but also permission to interact with each other, with strangers. Lastly, we hope that the exhibition inspires people to discover that they can make art, as well. We’ve been especially excited when youth are asking questions about how Shrumen Lumen was made. Our works involve a lot of volunteers who are not full-time artists, and that possibility of participation—not being a spectator, but a participant—is such a big part of the magic of Burning Man.

Android Jones

Android Jones, Humming Dragon, 2014. Courtesy of the Smithsonian American Art Museum.

Android Jones, Humming Dragon, 2014. Courtesy of the Smithsonian American Art Museum.

Tell us a little bit about the piece you’re installing in D.C., and your background creating works at Burning Man.
My first Burn was in 2003, and I’ve been every year since. Burning Man has been a foundational aspect of my identity as an artist. I’ve made a lot of art at Burning Man, so I tried to pick ones for the Renwick that I felt the Burning Man community connected to the most. For example, the 13-foot-tall Union (2014) was made of a couple that met at Burning Man in 2008—it’s kind of a Burning Man love story. I also brought two pods which sit at both ends of the room and show virtual reality works that have been my focus the last two years at Burning Man. One of the goals of the show is to get people who have never been to Burning Man, to give them the feeling of Burning Man. There are a lot of amazing videos and photographs, but none of those really do justice to the essence of being out in the middle of a desert surrounded by massive scale artworks, things exploding, and art cars. So we created this VR piece that takes you from the center of the the room at the Renwick, and drops you right in the middle of the deep playa.
What do you hope visitors to the exhibition will walk away understanding about Burning Man?
I hope that seeing the show can potentially expand imaginations and unlock possibilities that people might not have been aware of. The first time I went to Burning Man was in 2003. I went there by myself, and it wasn’t any one individual piece that blew me open. The most profound was seeing the art that was possible, that was created by the community. There’s a living current of creativity that’s happening out there, and it’s tangible, it’s palatable. It’s the power of the whole community is something that shines through.
What, if any, tension is there between the mainstream display of and engagement with Burning Man’s art and the event’s counter-cultural roots?
I think if you look throughout art history, one common thread of any art movement—, or , or —is that the artists were all rebelling against different aspects of culture at the time. Obviously, Burning Man is no exception, and it really embodies that rebellious spirit. People at Burning Man create art out of a desire of wanting something different. Having the spotlight of the Smithsonian is a fundamental change to the narrative of Burning Man. There’s bound to be some tension, but I think that when you look at the way of how culture ebbs and flows, it’s a natural metamorphosis of any underground cultural movement. It doesn’t mean that Burning Man can’t still maintain its roots. That’s really up to the community individuals to keep that current alive.

Mischell Riley

   Portrait of Mischell Riley. Courtesy of the artist.    

  Portrait of Mischell Riley. Courtesy of the artist.    

Tell us a little bit about the piece you’re installing in D.C., and your background creating works at Burning Man.
Maya’s Mind (2017) is an approximately 20-foot-tall bust of Maya Angelou, who inspired me to go for my dreams, despite defeats. I want to represent women in history. Too many women are passed up for being honored in our nation’s monuments. This piece is about women speaking for women, about women. In keeping with Burning Man’s gifting principle, I donate sculptures to raise funds for scholarships for women. Maya’s Mind, for example, will help fund art scholarships.
What do you hope visitors to the exhibition will walk away understanding about Burning Man?
I hope they see that Burning Man is the largest open-air art gallery that displays large-scale art backed by the dedication of an entire community. This a fresh way to experience art. At Burning Man, you are more than a spectator. You design the theme camps; you wear the art; you drive the art; you experience, participate, and become the art, through engaging and interactive performances, operas, and choreographed fire spinning. It is so much more than walking around with a camera strapped around your neck. It is a way of life.      

Lisa Fryklund and Robert Ferguson

Lisa Fryklund and Robert Ferguson, Ursa Major, 2016. Courtesy of the artist.

Lisa Fryklund and Robert Ferguson, Ursa Major, 2016. Courtesy of the artist.

Tell us a little bit about the piece you’re installing in D.C., and your background creating works at Burning Man.
We created our first project at Burning Man in 2010: a 12-foot-tall candy box heart made of red, plastic sign material. Behind it was a smaller heart covered in my portraits of people in loving relationships. The piece shown at the Smithsonian, Ursa Major (2016), was created for Burning Man in 2016, as a follow-up to our first project using pennies, Penny the Goose, which we made the year before. It was created out of concern over the loss of grizzly habitat in North America. Both pieces use tiled U.S and Canadian pennies, with over 170,000 used to create Ursa Major’s fur. After Burning Man, we received several requests to show and purchase Ursa Major. We chose to sell her to Judy and Steven Gluckstern, the couple who organize Mystopia, one of the largest camps that gives away food at Burning Man. Ursa Major was given a place in front of their home in Santa Fe. The Glucksterns asked if Ursa Major could be a part of the Smithsonian’s “No Spectators” event, and arranged to bring Ursa to Washington, D.C.
What does it mean for the art and culture of Burning Man to be exhibited at—and canonized by—a national institution like the Smithsonian?
It is an honor that we are being seen as something other than a curiosity. Those of us who go to Burning Man have already recognized that our festival is many things, but its focus is art. We are part of an inclusive event; it’s not a closed society. We want more people to be given the gift of personal growth and creation, in the same way that we once were. Being a Burner may just help push the world ahead to a better place. I hope visitors can walk away and think they can do all this, too. Perhaps they want to come to Burning Man, perhaps they want to do fun things in their community, perhaps they may just decorate their front yard with a sculpture of found objects and flowers.

Jack Champion

Jack Champion, Attempted Murder, 2017. Courtesy of the Smithsonian American Art Museum.

Jack Champion, Attempted Murder, 2017. Courtesy of the Smithsonian American Art Museum.

Tell us a little bit about the piece you’re installing in D.C., and your background creating works at Burning Man.
I had set art aside for 30 years to raise a family, but I went to Burning Man in 2009 where I rekindled my love of art and haven’t looked back. I have worked on a number of projects out there with other artists, primarily as a welder and builder, including numerous David Best temples. I had one of my own pieces, a bottle tree, on playa in 2012. In 2016, I brought five large crows made from cast fiberglass and epoxy resin, titled Jack Champion’s Murder; for the Smithsonian show, I’ve created two bronze crows from new molds. The piece is titled Attempted Murder (2017)—a play on the fact that you need three crows to call it a murder, and here I only have two.
What does it mean for the art and culture of Burning Man to be exhibited at a national institution like the Smithsonian?
It certainly enlarges the audience for the art and culture of Black Rock City. But I don’t agree with the idea that the Smithsonian Renwick exhibition somehow legitimizes the art coming out of the Burning Man event. In a very real and culturally impactful way, artists who have chosen to create against the desert playa backdrop of Black Rock City have been pushing the boundaries of art for decades now. Burning Man and the artists who create there have been expanding and driving art in new directions not just for one week in the desert, but around the globe, 365 days of the year. The event is like an art incubator. If you can make your art come to life out there—in extreme heat, cold, wind, and weather; in harsh terrain under harsh conditions—you can pretty much make the idea spring to life anywhere, under any circumstances. If people enjoy it there, people will likely enjoy it anywhere. The art and culture of Black Rock City and Burning Man needs no legitimizing.

Candy Chang

Candy Chang, Before I Die, Townsville, Australia. Photo by Kim Kamo.

Candy Chang, Before I Die, Townsville, Australia. Photo by Kim Kamo.

Tell us a little bit about the piece you’re installing in D.C., and your background creating works at Burning Man.
Before I Die (2011–present) is a memento mori for the streets that I made after losing someone I loved. It reimagines the walls of our cities as places where we can grapple with mortality and meaning in an age of increasing distraction and flux. The Black Rock Arts Foundation was one of the first champions of the project. We created Before I Die installations together in Reno and then they brought it to Burning Man.
What does it mean for the art and culture of Burning Man to be exhibited at—and canonized by—a national institution like the Smithsonian?
It’s a great recognition of the value of participatory public art in society. Public art reflects our values as a community and it plays a vital role in how we connect and reflect together. Thousands of years ago, public art was mostly giant monuments of powerful leaders. Today it’s expanded into so much more, and it continues to evolve as our values evolve. The heart of Burning Man is the belief that inclusive, community-driven art is essential for a thriving culture. Those are values you see permeating cities and towns across America and beyond. This exhibit is giving important space to those ideas and how they’ve been explored by some of the pioneers over the past few decades.
What do you hope visitors to the exhibition will walk away understanding about Burning Man?
It’s a significant land of experimentation—of what community can look like, of what art can do, of how society can work. And I really like that this exhibit is only one block away from the White House. Those are two strong visions of what American democracy can look like.

Tell us a little bit about the piece you’re installing in D.C., and your background creating works at Burning Man.
The convergence of this exhibition and the Renwick Gallery is particularly meaningful to me, as I made my first light sculpture ever at Burning Man. I began attending the event in 1994 and found myself getting continually lost in the vast desert. In 1997, I decided to create a beacon for myself, which I mounted on the top of my mobile home. A matrix of 16 strobe lights flashed in distinctive patterns, and it was the first time I had combined software, light, and space. This was an epiphany for me, transforming my art and resulting in many gallery and museum exhibitions. I continue to show my work at Burning Man, working communally with my camp, DISORIENT.
For my light sculpture, Volume (Renwick) (2015), 23,000 LEDs—which were embedded in mirrored steel rods and installed above the Renwick’s grand staircase—follow an algorithm that creates patterns of light and dark at varying speeds, never repeating in exactly the same sequence. This artwork was created for the exhibition “Wonder,” which inaugurated the reopening of the Renwick in 2015. The Smithsonian decided to acquire the artwork, and it has remained in place since.
What does it mean for the art and culture of Burning Man to be exhibited at a national institution like the Smithsonian?
It’s tremendously exciting. Burning Man is a major cultural force that has gone from a few people gathered on the beach in San Francisco to an event of 75,000 people in the Black Rock Desert of Nevada. Currently there are hundreds of gatherings inspired by Burning Man happening around the world. It’s important to recognize this global movement, as well as its uniquely American roots.
What do you hope visitors to the exhibition will walk away understanding about Burning Man?
The rules at Burning Man are different than those in the default world. The senses of generosity, sharing, and participation that Burning Man propagates bring out the best in people. People are longing for change and for something new, and this is what Burning Man represents.

Aaron Taylor Kuffner, Gamelatron Pohon Electrum, 2015. Image courtesy of the artist.

Aaron Taylor Kuffner, Gamelatron Pohon Electrum, 2015. Image courtesy of the artist.

Tell us a little bit about the piece you’re installing in D.C., and your background creating works at Burning Man.
Gamelatron Bidadari (2013) is from my “Gamelatron” series of sonic kinetic sculptures. I first went to Burning Man in 1995. It was not until 2011 that I really brought an artwork to the playa. It was Gamelatron Tirta Asli (the original fountain), installed in the Temple of Transition (2011) by the International Mega Arts Crew. This piece had about three times the number of gongs in it than Bidadari does. It played day and night scaling the inner walls of the temple, aiding people’s rituals within the temple. I was invited back in 2013 to share a new work, Gamelatron Roh Ageng (meaning “Great Spirit”), to play a similar role in the Temple of Whollyness (2013) by Gregg Fleishman with Syn and Lightning. In 2017, Burning Man commissioned me to create a “Gamelatron” for the interior space of the Temple of the Golden Spike that housed the Man. The resulting artwork, Gamelatron Gandaberunda, helped the man pavilion transform it into a space of celebration and wonder.
What does it mean for the art and culture of Burning Man to be exhibited at—and canonized by—a national institution like the Smithsonian?
Acceptance. Because of the outsider underground origins of Burning Man, the art was seen as outside and underground as well. The art was created for different reasons than most art that is conventionally created (and collected) by galleries and museums. Successful art at Burning Man is directly correlated to potency of the experience that it inspires in the community that interacts with it. This is a far cry from the formula that most fine art institutions would apply to the success and relevance of an artwork. A national institution like the Smithsonian showing this work says two things to me: The artwork has validity within the fine art cultural structures for critique, and the fine art cultural structures of critique have shifted and expanded to the point that at least some of the ethos of what I think makes successful art at Burning Man is within that construct.

Laura Kimpton, XOXO, 2017. Courtesy of the artist.

Laura Kimpton, XOXO, 2017. Courtesy of the artist.

Tell us a little bit about the piece you’re installing in D.C., and your background creating works at Burning Man.
I began creating my “Monumental Word” series in 2005 to resonate positivity, love, and connection. My latest “Word” is XOXO (2017). It’s my love letter to D.C., sharing love from the playa to the nation’s capital. I make all types of art—painting, collage, clothes, jewelry, as well as sculptures in steel, aluminum, clay, and more—but Burning Man is the space where I can build out my largest ideas.  
What does it mean for the art and culture of Burning Man to be exhibited at—and canonized by—a national institution like the Smithsonian?
Having the Smithsonian officially recognize and promote art associated with Burning Man helps expose the world to all the crazy, inspirational, mind-blowing art that was once only seen in the desert. The great thing is that, as Burning Man artists, we didn’t feel as if we needed the stamp of approval from a formal museum. But partnering with the Renwick feels like an evolution, a growth for everyone involved.

Tell us a little bit about the piece you’re installing in D.C., and your background creating works at Burning Man.
I’ve been creating art at Burning Man since my first year in 2004. Some years I’ve led fabrication for very large, high-profile pieces, such as Rebekah Waites’s Church Trap (2013) and El Nino’s MÚCARO (2017). Other years, I’ve done very small, very personal works. In 2013, while building Church Trap, I met the founder of Burning Man, Larry Harvey, and talked to him about its vision moving forward. Larry said that it’s our job as artists to litter the ground with alternative solutions, so when someone gets pushed out of their comfort zone, they might pick up something that was placed there—not for profit, but maybe for self exploration or to create empathy. That was when I realized that I wanted to take the messages of Burning Man and find a way to represent them outside of the confines of Black Rock City. I wanted to start littering the ground with alternative messages—lessons of connectivity and immediacy and playfulness, and find a way to bring them back to other parts of the world outside of Black Rock City. At the Renwick, I’m installing three street signs fabricated to the specifications of the Department of Transportation. In place of the language that you expect to find on a street sign—“stop,” “do not enter,” “no left turn”—which is traditionally negative, my pieces have positive ideas.
What does it mean for the art and culture of Burning Man to be exhibited at—and canonized by—a national institution like the Smithsonian?
I have felt the struggle that Burning Man has had with expressing its identity to mainstream culture. After assisting in the installation of a piece in the show “The Art of Burning Man” at the Hermitage Museum in Virginia, I realized that museums are in a specific position to engage the public with the ideas that underpin Burning Man—not just the hippie drug fest that gets eyeballs stuck to online articles. Museums have the experience to provide context, and that’s what Burning Man needs. The Smithsonian provides the opportunity for the public to connect with Burning Man in an experiential way, for the public to be in the presence of Burning Man art in a context that is thoughtfully crafted to connect with the museum’s community.

Five Ton Crane

Five Ton Crane, The Capitol Theater, 2018. Courtesy of the Smithsonian American Art Museum.

Five Ton Crane, The Capitol Theater, 2018. Courtesy of the Smithsonian American Art Museum.

Tell us a little bit about the piece you’re installing in D.C., and your background creating works at Burning Man.
The Renwick Gallery commissioned us to create a brand new mobile art installation called The Capitol Theater (2018); it’s our version of an “art car.” It’s a reimagined 1920s or ’30s movie theater: We have three rows of seats, a proscenium arch, a concession stand, a grand staircase, an imposing marquee, and a ticket booth. The front of the vehicle is inspired by a double decker bus, with the ticket booth doubling as the driver’s cab. All of the silent black-and-white movies that we are debuting at the Renwick were created by Obsolete Pictures.
Our first large-scale installation was the Steampunk Tree House from 2007, which is now permanently installed at Dogfish Head Brewery in Milton, Delaware. In 2009, we created the Raygun Gothic Rocketship, which was subsequently installed on the San Francisco waterfront for two and a half years before being permanently installed in Denver, Colorado, next to the Wings over the Rockies Air & Space Museum. We collaborated with a friend of mine, Christopher Bently, in 2011 to create the Nautilus Submarine, our first art car and most ambitious project to date. And in 2015, in an effort led by Bree Hylkema, we created Storied Haven: a 30-foot-tall giant “boot” inspired by fairytales and storytelling, which is currently installed at Paradise Ridge Sculpture Garden in Santa Rosa, California.
What does it mean for the art and culture of Burning Man to be exhibited at a national institution like the Smithsonian?
Burning Man allows us to create large-scale immersive and interactive works of art on a level that is rarely seen anywhere else in the world: art that you can engage with on a very tangible and intimate level, and that invokes strong emotional responses, triggers nostalgic memories, and transports you out of time and space. At the same time, we don’t create art for Burning Man. We create art that we want to see out in the world: art that engages, challenges, and pushes the limits of the expected and the known. And the Renwick has provided us with a venue to create a new monumental work of art confined mostly only by our imagination, and providing us with the opportunity to engage with a whole new audience.
Artsy Editors