For the last four years, I’ve made a trek at the end of Summer to the Burning Man festival. It is a place like no other, a temporary city of 50,000 rising in a few weeks time on the Black Rock Desert of Nevada, and disappearing just as quickly, leaving no trace. It is an experiment in community, where radical self-reliance and radical self-expression are the founding principles. Gifting of your art, your food, a massage, a cup of tea, or just a helping hand is the only medium of exchange and learning to say “yes, please” and “thank you” is as important as receiving the gift. I go to be renewed by the heat, by the art, by the geography, by my friends new and old and to break out of my patterns and escape the demands of my everyday life, even if only for one week a year. It is a place of extremes, in weather and in experience. You’ll laugh until your stomach hurts and be moved to tears by a gesture. Some people go to party until dawn, some people go to do yoga at dawn, some people get up at dawn ride the playa and take pictures of the amazing art. It’s all there, the wild raucous parties, the quiet of the break of day, the lazy afternoons watching the dancers at Center Camp, the Lamplighters hanging lanterns along the 3, 6, 9, and 12 o’clock roads at sundown, and of course, the burning of The Man. The Black Rock Desert will bake you, thrash you, and ultimately, open you up.

I hope you enjoy my photos and know that they only represent the smallest glimpse of the experience.