The Man
7:00 AM |
| Neville Harson, "The Man Burns", 1993 |
The Man has such presence in every representation throughout the years of the festival, but this photograph of him appealed to the pyromaniac in me. The flames destroy him, inside and out. And he can be interpreted in so many ways without having to get into an intellectual debate about masochism in plebeian desert art. He's just The Man, the one people set aflame every year to celebrate life, or how finite life is. And I'm thankful that he can open up such trains of thought - at least in me.
Nostalgia seeps in as I write this, and I realize that this festival sparked my passion for art. It helped my little 10-year-old self to understand that art wouldn't always be this carefully directed "expression" led in a smelly classroom by a rather grumpy art teacher throwing pencils at the bad kids. It could be, if I was into that, but it could also evolve. And that is why I find The Man so intriguing. People from all over the world get together to create and destroy him, and he evolves year by year just as art - in all its forms - has for me. He set me aflame, for lack of a better analogy, and for that I am thankful.
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