Sometimes I think I live in this tiny little world and have no idea about anything. A cowboy with no horse; a deipnosophist with no drivel. I feel kinda like the day I first discovered Firefly. How have I never heard of this? And this, this is even more so.
During my Gen Con carpool, I first heard of a little, tiny art show called Burning Man. After researching it, I realized that to call it "little" or a "show" or even merely "art" was a misnomer. It's like calling Gen Con a little gaming party. I started reading about Burning Man a couple of days ago and realized how left in the dust I am.
I have an artist inside that craves to come out, but I never find the time. I pour my talent into other things: cooking, RPGs, even mini painting. Minis…well, sure, they're art, but let's not kid anyone: I get EXP from my GM too. Ever the multitasker am I. All of the art of mine that is on display in my house is at least ten years old.
Then I hear of and read about this place where people not only view art, but live and breathe it to a level I can scarcely comprehend. I want to be challenged like that. I want to sit in front of a statue for three hours and not say a word. I want to stand in front of a light installation for 30 seconds and be unable to stop yammering because of the excitement. I want to talk art with artists and arties who know far more than I, and who can teach me so much. I want to feel awkward in the face of great art.
Burning Man takes my emotions one step further and burns them. It's not a painting where I can look at one brushstroke, so lovingly placed, and my eyes well with tears. It is art that feeds on itself, and thus mirrors the fact that the art's experience is fed by those who experience it.
Here I am on the raggedy edge of the emotions I feel and the sad hole where my artist's soul used to be. I am envious of those who allow themselves to go to this weeklong indulgence. I wish I could be as free. I wish I would let myself.