The 'Burning Man' festival held in the Nevada desert is an out-of-world experience where everything is free, says Frank Broughton
It was the Barbie Death Camp that won me over. Arranged behind a picket fence, about a thousand Barbie dolls were being force-marched by mini GI Joes into a microwave oven.
I was deep in the no-man's-land of the Nevada desert, entering the vast city of tents and motor homes that is the annual arts and music festival known as Burning Man. At this point, few sights could have been as reassuring as a Barbie Death Camp. I had travelled to Burning Man deeply cynical about its claims to be anything more than a rave in a desert, so this artwork and its display of twisted East Village humour sent up a ray of hope.
Better yet, as I smiled at the scene of toy-store genocide, I realised it wasn't merely a Barbie Death Camp. The rest of the sign read: "…and wine bistro".
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The Burning Man project, including a live broadcast for those who can't attend.