Burning Man flames rise in Portland by Tom D'Antoni special for The Oregonian Friday, October 27, 2006 Burners called last weekend's event "Diversion" and referred to it as a "decompression." Burners are people who go to Burning Man, that mysterious annual event in the California desert. If you ask any of the estimated 1,000 people gathered at the City Repair Warehouse space on North Mississippi Avenue or any of the rest of the Oregon folks who populate Burning Man (some say 1,200, some 3,000), you find that the yearly art, music and general genial weirdness festival, which ends with the immolation of a giant effigy, is an experience of a lifetime. This year's Burning Man ended Sept. 4. It has become popular throughout the country for locals to get together afterward and share. So a small contingent of the March Fourth Marching Band led a parade to the event site, kicking things off. Inside the big room was a giant five-foot hand on a pedestal with the index finger and thumb extended. The centerpiece was an approximately 15-foot hanging sculpture made of aluminum. Inside it, plastic tubes had green water coursing through. People were still building and installing things when the party got under way: 4:15 p.m.: Vagabond Opera takes the stage. On the dance floor is a solo woman with a hula hoop. 4:30 p.m.: Nearly everyone is in costume of one kind or another. There are men in skirts. They are not drag queens, and the skirts are not kilts. They're just skirts. One man wears a gray two-toned skirt with red and black horizontally striped stockings. He is one of the people in charge of things, and busy. His name is Tucker Teutsch III, better known as "Tuk Tuk." 4:50 p.m.: Testing begins, observed by the fire marshal, on a flame thrower and other-fire related entertainments. Fire is important to Burners, as you might guess. There is a collective sigh of relief when the fire marshal gives his OK. 6:45 p.m.: They light an 8-foot fire water fountain called a Water Candle, flowing water from the top of a plastic tube, out of the top of which fire simultaneously shoots. DJs spin drum and bass and related music inside. 7:30 p.m.: Outside the bus, I am introduced to some members of a performance art troupe, Monkey Bounce. One member is Miss Nude Oregon. Inside the bus, she tells me that Burning Man inspires art, teaches survival in the wilderness, and provides a freedom like no other. When they perform she is dressed as a bride. 8:30 p.m.: Outside a DJ crouches on the ground behind his gear, blasting out Gypsy punk and Middle Eastern hip-hop. Strings of red and white lights illuminate the ground in front of dancers who are lit by the Water Candle. 9:25 p.m.: The Nest is full. A DJ is pounding out the music. Fire dancing begins outside. Every couple of minutes there is a blast of fire and heat from cannon that sends fire 20 feet into air. 10:30 p.m.: Lance Grider is on stage, the crowd impatient. Overheard: "He's better in a club on a Monday night. People want to dance now." The crowd has swelled to fill the space. There are wigs and legs in fishnets. A man plays catch with his dog. 11:30 p.m.: Mic Crenshaw and Keith Schreiner, aka Suckapunch, take to the stage and begin a hip-hop set. Everybody dances. 11:45 p.m.: Noah Mickens and his Societas Insomnia performance group dressed as zombies walk through the crowd doing Butoh moves. 12:45 p.m.: The room is jammed. Solovox with Dahlia's Jen Folker sends the room to heaven. The evening reaches its height even though the event continues until 5 a.m. How many people partook? I asked Tuk Tuk. He said, "I don't know, we ran out of wrist bands twice." www.burningmanportland.com -- Tom D'Antoni Special to The Oregonian
Burners called last weekend's event "Diversion" and referred to it as a "decompression." Burners are people who go to Burning Man, that mysterious annual event in the California desert. If you ask any of the estimated 1,000 people gathered at the City Repair Warehouse space on North Mississippi Avenue or any of the rest of the Oregon folks who populate Burning Man (some say 1,200, some 3,000), you find that the yearly art, music and general genial weirdness festival, which ends with the immolation of a giant effigy, is an experience of a lifetime.
This year's Burning Man ended Sept. 4. It has become popular throughout the country for locals to get together afterward and share. So a small contingent of the March Fourth Marching Band led a parade to the event site, kicking things off.
Inside the big room was a giant five-foot hand on a pedestal with the index finger and thumb extended. The centerpiece was an approximately 15-foot hanging sculpture made of aluminum. Inside it, plastic tubes had green water coursing through.
People were still building and installing things when the party got under way:
4:15 p.m.: Vagabond Opera takes the stage. On the dance floor is a solo woman with a hula hoop.
4:30 p.m.: Nearly everyone is in costume of one kind or another. There are men in skirts. They are not drag queens, and the skirts are not kilts. They're just skirts. One man wears a gray two-toned skirt with red and black horizontally striped stockings. He is one of the people in charge of things, and busy. His name is Tucker Teutsch III, better known as "Tuk Tuk."
4:50 p.m.: Testing begins, observed by the fire marshal, on a flame thrower and other-fire related entertainments. Fire is important to Burners, as you might guess. There is a collective sigh of relief when the fire marshal gives his OK.
6:45 p.m.: They light an 8-foot fire water fountain called a Water Candle, flowing water from the top of a plastic tube, out of the top of which fire simultaneously shoots. DJs spin drum and bass and related music inside.
7:30 p.m.: Outside the bus, I am introduced to some members of a performance art troupe, Monkey Bounce. One member is Miss Nude Oregon. Inside the bus, she tells me that Burning Man inspires art, teaches survival in the wilderness, and provides a freedom like no other. When they perform she is dressed as a bride.
8:30 p.m.: Outside a DJ crouches on the ground behind his gear, blasting out Gypsy punk and Middle Eastern hip-hop. Strings of red and white lights illuminate the ground in front of dancers who are lit by the Water Candle.
9:25 p.m.: The Nest is full. A DJ is pounding out the music. Fire dancing begins outside. Every couple of minutes there is a blast of fire and heat from cannon that sends fire 20 feet into air.
10:30 p.m.: Lance Grider is on stage, the crowd impatient. Overheard: "He's better in a club on a Monday night. People want to dance now." The crowd has swelled to fill the space. There are wigs and legs in fishnets. A man plays catch with his dog.
11:30 p.m.: Mic Crenshaw and Keith Schreiner, aka Suckapunch, take to the stage and begin a hip-hop set. Everybody dances.
11:45 p.m.: Noah Mickens and his Societas Insomnia performance group dressed as zombies walk through the crowd doing Butoh moves.
12:45 p.m.: The room is jammed. Solovox with Dahlia's Jen Folker sends the room to heaven. The evening reaches its height even though the event continues until 5 a.m.
How many people partook? I asked Tuk Tuk. He said, "I don't know, we ran out of wrist bands twice." www.burningmanportland.com
-- Tom D'Antoni
Special to The Oregonian