Larry Harvey normalized the abnormal, expanding the boundaries of what creators
could attempt. That’s why there’s a special bond between Silicon Valley and Black Rock
City , the desert
settlement where Burning Man transpires. Both ditch “what are we supposed to
do?” for “what can we do?”. Both encourage risky expression that appears insane
to outsiders. And by establishing an open canvas just a few hours’ caravan from
San Francisco , Harvey helped entrepreneurs come back freshly
invigorated to make change.
Burning Man began as an exhibition of
disruption on SF’s Baker
Beach back in 1986.
Igniting that first 9-foot effigy was an artful affront to the status quo.
Meanwhile, a technology-driven shift in consciousness was underway just a
hour’s drive south. Burning Man and Silicon Valley
evolved in parallel, straddling the concept of the open platform. Rather than
dictating what should be done, each provided the tools and autonomy necessary
for their participants to birth new experiences and opportunities.
The relocation of Burning Man that Harvey helped orchestrate
in the early 1990s would exemplify this boundary-less vision. The Black Rock Desert outside of Reno , Nevada
is perception-warpingly flat in every direction, punctuated only by the art
that participants install. It’s a landscape free of distraction, and that
sensory deprivation seems to coax novel ideas from those it envelopes. When you
stare past the edge of the world into the sunrise, your thoughts laid bare,
dreams seem to crystallize more easily. The emptiness shouts back “why haven’t
you built this yet?”
There’s a good reason why founders from Google, Facebook, Tesla,
and many more startups attend Burning
Man. It dismantles your
pre-conceived notions about what’s possible. This is an important
characteristic for those seeking different solutions to emergent problems, and
one that can wane with age as we become more accustomed to life the way it is.
Great startups often come from challenging an
underlying premise about how the world operates. Nowhere makes that
malleability as tangible as Burning Man, where you can’t buy anything, the goal
is simply to delight others, everyone responsible is welcome, and self-reliance
is undergirded by a generous community. Harvey
helped institute The 10 Principles that leave attendees wondering how to
terraform “the default world” to closer mimic this ephemeral society.
From
Burning Man sprung early attempts at
self-driving vehicles, as the Disco Fish art car’s pilots sought to make it
avoid pedestrians in the inky night. Pioneers of LED technology bring glowing
sculptures, each year brighter than the last. In 2017, Symmetry Labs invented a
way to use Apple’s ARKit to map the positions of thousands of LED leaves so
patterns could roll through its Tree Of Tenere. Google’s SkyBox Imaging
micro-satellites demonstrated how frequent aerial imagery could reveal transportation
and population trends by making the GIF above of Burning Man’s construction.
I’ve seen
cross-company tribes of tinkerers working the kinks out of accelerometer light-up
shoes, VR theater performances, and all manners of team management software.
It’s a chance to test one’s talents beyond the container of capitalism.
Transformative moments spur
word of mouth, and soon Burning Man would be faced the questions about how to
scale to its newfound popularity ‘A good problem to have’ as Silicon
Valley calls it, but a problem nonetheless. Harvey could have slipped away into the
festival he created. There was plenty of fun to be had. The frivolity does lure
leaders away from their worldly responsibilities at times when their teams need
execution, not more enlightenment.
Instead, Harvey stuck together with a cadre of fellow
organizers to convert Burning Man into a non-profit with the appropriate
longevity. Sure, there would be more tourists, more unindoctrinated rookies,
more pampered rich folk, and more ‘sparkle ponies’ who just came to show off
and take Instagrams rather than contribute. At its worst, Burning Man is a
party for the privileged, unconcerned with suffering elsewhere. Yet the old
guard worked tirelessly to sustain the core cooperative ethos of the event and
push the tangential to the city’s edges.
I’ve
gone for 10 years and the magic remains, despite the anecdotes you hear. There
might be more affluent techies in expensive RVs than before, but many from the
industry earnestly embody Harvey ’s
ideals of radical inclusion, decomodification, and communal effort. I’ve seen
billionaires sweating as they cook grilled cheese for strangers in the blazing
sun, and on their hands and knees picking motes of trash off the “playa” floor.
Now at 70,000 attendees per year, Burning Man
offers an escape into a creation, but also an escape from digital inundation. It’s one of
the few metropolises you don’t need a mobile phone to navigate. Harvey called for
immediacy and participation. People find that in a week off the grid, freed
from the social contracts of constant electric connectivity. Cell service is
creeping in, you see a few more people trying to text, and some bring their
airplane-mode devices out to snap pictures, yet face-to-face communication
rules. Being offline gives a sensation of having all of your mind’s tangled
wires unplugged and reorganized neatly. For those jacked into the tech world’s
ever-churning news cycles and product roadmaps, this rejuvenation is ecstatic.
Most obituaries encapsulate a life lost. But
the elemental Larry Harvey has been decentralized and instilled into a legion
of self-expressionists. While the event might only touch a tiny fraction of the
world, those inspired by it build for everybody. Harvey ’s legacy is restored, celebrated, and
returned to dust each Labor Day. He succeeded, because no one ever doubts the
Man will burn again.
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