Art and anarchy at AfrikaBurn

We left at 4 am for the South African Karoo in convoy with two friends; four journeying four hours north of Cape Town, only stopping twice for coffee and to send last messages to loved ones. A rather large concern of mine was that AfrikaBurn as a festival has no mobile signal or data. It is designed to separate itself from the “default world” so that those in attendance may escape the lives they lead the other 51 weeks of the year and be free. Regardless, this lack of communication was certainly a concern. Not because I am deeply attached to my phone (well, I am but let’s not get into that), but rather that my assignment with Plaster was to analyse the contemporary art scene at this Burning Man-esque festival. Meaning, believe it or not, that I needed to conduct interviews with artists to truly understand the appeal of AfrikaBurn as a space for creative expression. With no wifi, no given contacts or even a list of names (yes, I did attempt to request before flying from London) nor a means of communicating with them other than maybe pigeon or desert rat, I had my work cut out for me.

One bone-rattling journey later along the R355 gravel road which left our designated driver, Josie, vibrating for 30 minutes after the engine cooled, we arrived. After being subjected to an “initiation” as a first time burner that included rolling in the dirt and then hitting a metal gong while screaming “I’m not a virgin anymore!”, alongside the warnings of snakes and scorpions, I seriously began questioning the sanity of this decision and what lay in store for me in this desert wasteland.

Located on two farms, Quaggafontein and Vaalfontein, and bordering the Tankwa Karoo National Park, the festival site boasts 10,000 hectares and attracts a similar number of “burners.” It describes itself as a “temporary city built on ancient land,” often referred to as “Tankwa Town.” (Tankwa = place of thirst). In turn, various artists venture to the site each year to erect sculptures two weeks prior, made predominantly of wood and other flammable materials and to be set alight and marvelled at over the course of the week.

One night in, sleeping in the back of a bakkie (a pick-up truck) while the doof doof of techno vibrated the metal work beneath me, my off-the-grid research began with a press briefing at the DMV (Department of Mutant Vehicles) behind a disheveled double decker bus. Myself and six photographers sat while Brian Palmer, AfrikaBurn Communications Lead, dressed in a blue suit decorated with orange goldfish (I was told wore his high school prom dress for the final day) outlined the dos and don’ts for us. He also suggested tips for finding artists in the dust, introduced the 11 principles, handed out our media passes, and gave a second reminder that there was no “red carpet” for press here–although he did state we could make use of the instant coffee to our right. I knocked back three in that single sitting.

So, with only a hopeful prayer that my pathways would align, I set out to locate some artists. Good luck to me.

I walked ten feet and bumped into a friend queuing for ice. Paths aligned. Turns out he was with the Porcupine Fly Theme Camp, a group of rather vivacious homosexuals that I know in varying manners from Cape Town, and this year they brought Spikey, a mutant vehicle taking the form of a porcupine, equipped with a full sound system, DJ platform, and lighting rig. The festival itself didn’t have any stages, let alone headliners of any variety. Instead, music was played at self-funded Theme Camps and aboard some 200 individually designed Mutant Vehicles roaming the desert plains from dawn till far past dusk. These took many forms but personal shout outs to Appa from the Legend of Aang and his champagne stocked underbelly, Loki the Rhino who’s rumoured to have been at 11 burns, Zogy whose owner Dionne Devereux works in the plexi-glass business, bought the car for Burn and decorated with jellyfish that were later collected by the fearsome winds of the Karoo. Finally, the Bangler Fish, an anglerfish “playing BANGERS” that gave us a rather wobbly ride atop after nearly being run over by it in the 2 am dark.

Only one similarity connected them all: they were not road worthy, and I couldn’t help but think that the DVLA would have a field day out there.

Many mutant vehicles had to be assembled on site, including Spikey whose front was a tractor followed by three further sections of trailers and vehicles–not to mention the bamboo and palm used for the quills, measuring upwards of two meters to create the desired “organic” vehicle. Later that day, I passed by the Porcupine Fly camp to catch up with the gaggle of gays and to sit down with the designers, Francois Riley and Pieter Brewer. “I thought about what lived in the Tankwa Karoo indigenously, which led me to the porcupine,” Brewer elaborated. “It is a night-time animal, always in costume.” During the nights, its quilled exterior could be seen lighting up the dusty sky, flamboyant and luminous like its owners.

Having decided to embrace the reality of burn, one morning I opted to visit the Birthday Suits Theme Camp for a naturist shower–a first for me that I then repeated the following day. After stripping down and queuing up for a scrub, I met Minka, a team member of The Oasis of the Crone who had assisted with the artwork’s construction. We got talking as two naked souls do and I mentioned this article which received intrigue and promise. After being sponged down by four nude strangers and drying off my birthday suit, I walked with her to the camp to meet the artists responsible–Dominique Rowberry and Aimée Barnes-Louw. With the lack of able communication, Aimée agreed to meet at an open-mic event the following day to pick her brains on the life of an artist at AfrikaBurn. We met that next afternoon, and after a boerie roll (a kind of South African hotdog) we sat away from the sun and Aimée’s awfully reflective glasses reminded me that the Birthday Suits’ scrub was not as thorough as I had hoped.

Aimée, who moments earlier had stroked my neck while I not-so-gently sobbed witnessing the proposal of two men, spoke to me about the ability to craft at AfrikaBurn. Being “free of branding or corporation frees us so we can do things that are different,” she stated cross-legged in the dust. “When it’s art for its own sake, you take agency, and when you have agency, you are no longer victimised by it.”

The Oasis of the Crone, Aimée’s “hopeful act of defiance” and debut at AfrikaBurn, was created as a tribute to the elder female archetype, a space to represent the place that older women hold in our community. Built to reckon and process her own feelings towards aging, The Oasis of the Crone became a mediation in aging for all to access. The piece itself held 3000L of ice cold drinking water, accessible from three taps placed throughout to represent the emotional and spiritual undercurrents that water holds and gives to our existence. As such, the space opted for a usable and useful existence, something that Aimée perceived as inherently feminine across an artscape that often places focus on the grand and impressive. In addition, Aimée invited multiple artists to help craft the space, including Carmel Ives who created a multimedia piece from previous burn sites across the years.

Late Friday, we had the pleasure of watching Phoenix 2025 burn to ashes. With crowds and vehicles moving into position, the mighty wooden bird was engulfed in flames, accompanied by howls, gasps, and a subtle cry behind me exclaiming “fried chicken”–a comment that didn’t slip my acidic haze leaving me laughing rather rudely during such a profound moment. It was here that I also came to understand the complexities of sitting cross-legged in a short dress. I quickly changed.

Saying that, the burn that came to frame my time in Tankwa Town was that of Scratch by Nathan Victor Honey. A wooden sphere built the previous year that remained onsite at the request of the artist was set alight during the 6 am sunrise on Sunday. Designed as “a continuation of an investigation into shape, space, colour and the visual and physical interaction between nature and built structures,” the flames licked from the “windows,” before a tongue of fire erupted from atop. During the nights, projection mapping filled its surface and, like moths to a flame, burners trekked the dust to glimpse its lunar presence.

With little space for further evaluation of the antics that presented themselves, I want to highlight a few artworks that, despite my best efforts to leave questions and locations at Radio Tankwa, I was unable to contact the creators of. Firstly, 8th Day of Creation by 8Doc Crew featured a wooden, expectant mother on her back emerging from the ground, with a space for peaceful meditation inside her pink hued belly. People have been rumoured to fornicate in the piece’s breasts, watched by onlookers–a celebration of human connection, physicality and fertility. Secondly, Best Friends, a sculpture of a man and his dog. I was told that the artist’s four-legged companion died the year before and there was something sweetly poetic watching the male wooden figure collapse into his dog before then falling away. I guess it was the man who fell from heartbreak. Next up, Tetragon. A black wooden box with a mirrored lowered exterior, containing a fur-trimmed black inside. I can only assume that pleasure was to be exchanged inside, but the exterior perfectly cut into the night sky so much so that I nearly walked into it crossing the desert. Finally, QONGQOTHWANE, an African dung beetle created by Xhosa artist Ceduma Qamata. The work was created as a transformative soundscape where participants could be guided by the sounds of African indigenous instruments. Inside, incense lingered in the air while tools littered the floor.

On the final day I popped my head back into Radio Free Tankwa 99.9FM, a globally accessed station, to tune into the burn antics, to say goodbye to Brian and run over some final queries. Reacting to my thanks and stories, he mentioned the importance of burn in the wider context of South African art and how poorly funded it is. “We like to think we’re a part of the solution, but not the solution,” he uttered as we looked out onto the desert to see structures littering the landscape and vehicles hurtling past chasing the next burn. “AfrikaBurn has always been about incubation and development, it should be seen as a catalyst for change as to how art is seen, displayed and funded.” Given the festival’s rejection of sponsorship and branding, the lack of limitations, space, or need for approval, it enables art and creative prowess to flourish.

AfrikaBurn is not only a festival, it is a playground. A carnival of light and sound where the possibilities of experimental artistry are endless and fruitful. Yes, it invites artists alike, but the sheer existence of Tankwa Town is a moving art piece in itself. An ever-changing social cluster migrating in excitement towards the latest plume of smoke overhead, where communication runs on a rumour mill of abrasive whisper and the glow of art’s destruction brings a new era of rebirth. A grassroots opportunity to explore the ability of one’s hands through mutant vehicles or artworks, where all the while a collective generosity blooms when the currency of use is gifting and exchange rather than coin (Top Tip: visit the sweet couple gifting Coconut Jam Toast). AfrikaBurn is a step towards freedom of artistry yet rooted in traditional methods of communal existence. A must-go for those experiencing doubts over the future of individualistic practices. Just be sure to remember, hat hair is a very humbling ordeal.

“The burn does not end when the last embers fade. It continues within you, spilling over into your everyday life. Friendships forged in the dust endure. Family is made. The gift is received, and the cycle continues.” – AfrikaBurn, 2025.