TED演讲：火人节，在沙漠里做一场集体梦想的实验！

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Nora Atkinson是一位精湛的工艺策展人，是一位人文主义者，也是一位浪漫主义者。本期，她将带我们去内华达州的黑岩沙漠，观看精美设计和参与的“燃烧人”艺术，揭示她如何在那里发现博物馆经常缺少的东西：好奇心和参与度。

演说者：Nora Atkinson

演说题目：火人节，在沙漠里做一场集体梦想的实验！

TED视频TED演讲稿

It's like a dream. Imagine, in the empty desert, you come upon a huge wheel ringed in skeletons,and someone invites you to come pull a series of heavy ropes at its base, so you walk to one side, where a team is waiting, and you all throw your backs into it, and you pull in turn, and eventually, the wheel roars to life, lights begin to flicker, and the audience cheers, and you've just activated Peter Hudson's "Charon," one of the world's largest zoetropes.

就像做梦一样。想象在荒无人烟的沙漠里，你看到了一个巨大的轮子，上面挂满了一圈骷髅，然后有人邀请你一起拉动底下那串沉重的绳子，你走到底部的一边，那里已经有一群人就位了，你们所有人用尽全力往后拉，然后又轮流拉，最终，轮子轰隆隆的动起来了，灯光开始闪烁，观众开始欢呼，各位刚刚成功启动了Peter Hudson的作品“卡戎”（冥府的渡神），这是世界上最大的西洋幻境之一。

This is the farthest thing from marketable art.

但这也是最不具有商业价值的艺术品。

It's huge, it's dangerous, it takes a dozen people to run, and it doesn't go with the sofa.

它很庞大，很危险，要十几个人合力才能启动，还不能坐在沙发上观看。

It's beautifully crafted and completely useless, and it's wonderful.

虽然制作精良，但却毫无用处，可是却无比壮观。

You're unlikely to see works like "Charon" in the art-world headlines.

在当今的艺术世界里，像《卡戎》这样的作品不太可能出现在头条上。

These days, the buying and selling of artwork often gets more attention than the works themselves.

如今，人们对艺术作品买卖的关注超过了作品本身。

In the last year, a Jean-Michel Basquiat sold for 110 million dollars, the highest price ever achieved for the work of an American artist, and a painting by Leonardo da Vinci sold for 450 million, setting a new auction record.

去年，尚·米榭·巴斯奇亚的一幅作品卖到了一亿一千万美元，成为了美国艺术家历史上卖得最贵的作品，还有列奥纳多·达·芬奇的一幅画，最终以4500万美元成交，创下了拍卖会上的历史新高。

Still, these are big, important artists, but still, when you look at these works and you look at the headlines, you have to ask yourself, "Do I care about these because they move me, or do I care about them because they're expensive and I think they're supposed to?"

但毕竟，这些都是伟大的、举足轻重的艺术家们，可即便如此，当大家看到这些作品，看到那些成交的新闻标题时，依然要问问自己，“我在意这些作品是因为它们让我深受触动，还是因为它们卖得很贵，所以我认为他们本应如此？”

In our contemporary world, it can be hard to separate those two things.

在当今社会，要将价格和作品本身的价值区分看待也许很难。

But what if we tried? What if we redefined art's value -- not by its price tag, but by the emotional connection it creates between the artist and the audience, or the benefits it gives our society, or the fulfillment it gives the artists themselves?

但如果我们能试一试呢？要是我们能够不再用价格来定义一幅作品的价值，而是由作品给艺术家与观众之间搭建这座情感交流的桥梁，或者作品给社会带来的好处，又或者是艺术家们所得到的成就感来重新定义呢？

This is Nevada's Black Rock Desert, about as far as you can get from the galleries of New York and London and Hong Kong.

这是内华达州的黑石沙漠，是离纽约、伦敦和香港的画廊最远的地方。

And here, for just about 30 years, at Burning Man, a movement has been forming that does exactly that.

就在这儿，仅仅用了30年，在火人节这个节日，一场艺术改革运动就此兴起。

Since its early anarchist years, Burning Man has grown up.

从最初一场无政府主义者的狂欢，至现在，火人节发展成熟。

Today, it's more of an experiment in collective dreaming.

如今，这个节日更像是一种实现集体梦想的实验。

It's a year-round community, and every August, for a single week, 70,000 people power down their technology and pilgrimage out into the desert to build an anti-consumerist society outside the bounds of their everyday lives.

黑石市全年开放，在每年八月里的某一周，有七万多名游客放下手中的电子产品，前来沙漠朝拜，就是为了建造一个超越日常生活的、反消费主义的社会。

The conditions are brutal. Strangers will hug you, and every year, you will swear it was better the last, but it's still ridiculous and freeing and alive, and the art is one thing that thrives here.

沙漠的条件是艰苦的，但陌生人之间会相互拥抱鼓励，而你每年都信誓旦旦的说这最好是最后一次来这儿了，尽管如此，但它却那么荒诞不羁，生气蓬勃，艺术在这片天地里繁荣的发展了起来。

So this is me on the desert playa last year with my brother, obviously hard at work.

这是我去年在沙漠盐湖拍的，还有我的弟弟，很显然他正在辛勤的劳作。

I'd been studying the art of Burning Man for several years, for an exhibition I curated at the Smithsonian's Renwick Gallery, and what fascinates me the most isn't the quality of the work here, which is actually rather high, it's why people come out here into the desert again and again to get their hands dirty and make in our increasingly digital age.

我已经研究火人节艺术好几年了，为了在史密森尼博物院的分馆伦威克美术馆举办一次展会，这里最令我着迷的不是这些作品的质量，虽然它们确实制作精良，而是为什么大家一次又一次的来到这个荒芜的沙漠，在这个日益数码化的时代，选择亲自动手制作一些东西。

Because it seems like this gets to something that's essentially human.

因为这样做似乎触及到了人类本质上的一些东西。

Really, the entire encampment of Burning Man could be thought of as one giant interactive art installation driven by the participation of everyone in it.

整个火人节的大本营，真的可以被视为是一个巨大的、交互式的艺术装置，由每一位参与其中的志愿者驱动。

One thing that sets this work aside from the commercial art world is that anyone who makes work can show it.

让这个大本营与外面的商业艺术世界不同的是，在这里，只要是你亲手制作的作品，你都可以带来展示。

These days, around 300 art installations and countless artistic gestures go to the playa.

时至今日，有大概300多件艺术装置和数不清的艺术作品都在被运往这个沙漠盐湖。

None of them are sold there. At the end of the week, if the works aren't burned, artists have to cart them back out and store them. It's a tremendous labor of love.

但没有一件艺术作品会在这里卖掉。接近火人节的尾声时，如果艺术家们不愿烧掉自己的作品，那么他们就得将作品运回去，收藏起来。如果不是因为热爱，谁又愿意这样折腾一番呢呢？

Though there is certainly a Burning Man aesthetic, pioneered by artists like Kate Raudenbush and Michael Christian, much of the distinctive character of the work here comes from the desert itself.

虽然沙漠里确实有着火人节独特的审美标准，该标准由Kate Raudenbush和Michael Christian等艺术家领衔创立，但这里大多数作品的显著特点，还是来源于沙漠本身。

For a work to succeed, it has to be portable enough to make the journey, rugged enough to withstand the wind and weather and participants, stimulating in daylight and darkness, and engaging without interpretation.

要想一个作品大获成功，首先得确保它方便运输，起码能完成这趟旅程，其次还要够坚挺，抵挡得住狂风、恶劣天气和众多参与者的影响，在昼与夜的交替中要给人带来感官的刺激，不用太多诠释，就能够让大家参与其中。

Encounters with monumental and intimate works here feel surreal. Scale has a tendency to fool the eyes.

这里，与不朽、充满亲和力的作品接触，给人的感觉是那么不真实。作品的规模很轻易就骗过人的双眼。

What looked enormous in an artist's studio could get lost on the playa, but there are virtually no spatial limits, so artists can dream as big as they can build.

那些在艺术工作室里看起来巨大无比的作品可能进了盐湖就找不见了，但是实际上，沙漠里是没有空间限制的，所以艺术家们可以尽情的建造自己想要的规模。

Some pieces bowl you over by their grace and others by the sheer audacity it took to bring them here.

有一些作品优雅得让你为之倾倒，还有一些作品则需十足的胆量和放肆才能够呈现于人们眼前。

Burning Man's irreverent humor comes out in pieces like Rebekah Waites' "Church Trap," a tiny country chapel set precariously on a wooden beam, like a mousetrap, that lured participants in to find religion it was built and burned in 2013 ... while other works, like Christopher Schardt's "Firmament," aim for the sublime.

火人节那玩世不恭的幽默体现在像Rebekah Waites的作品《教堂的陷阱》上，一个小型的乡村教堂摇摇欲坠的支在木梁上，造型像个捕鼠夹一样，吸引着游客们进入这间教堂寻找信仰，这个作品已于2013年建造并烧毁...其它的作品，如Christopher Schardt的《苍穹》，目的是为了表现庄严的感觉。

Here, under a canopy of dancing lights set to classical music, participants could escape the thumping rave beats and chaos all around.

躺在交错的灯光下聆听着古典的音乐，游客们可以借此逃离周围那狂野的节拍和喧嚣。

At night, the city swarms with mutant vehicles, the only cars allowed to roam the playa.

夜晚时分，黑石市到处都穿梭着改装过的车辆，盐湖里唯一允许行驶的车辆。

And if necessity is the mother of invention, here, absurdity is its father.

如果说需求是创造力之母，那么在盐湖里，荒诞则是创造力之父。

They zigzag from artwork to artwork like some bizarre, random public transportation system, pulsing with light and sound.

这两点在不同的作品上各有体现，比如一些造型怪诞随性的运输车辆，闪光和音效此起彼伏。

When artists stop worrying about critics and collectors and start making work for themselves, these are the kinds of marvelous toys they create.

当艺术家们不再担心作品是否会遭到批判或被人收藏时，他们就真的开始在为自己创造了，这些都是他们创造出来最棒的玩具。

And what's amazing is that, by and large, when people first come to Burning Man, they don't know how to make this stuff.

但最神奇的一点是，总的来说，当大家第一次来庆祝火人节时，他们并不知道如何制造这些东西。

It's the active collaborative maker community there that makes this possible.

但正是有了这一群互相合作的制造者，这一切变成了可能。

Collectives like Five Ton Crane come together to share skills and take on complex projects a single artist would never even attempt, from a Gothic rocket ship that appears ready to take off at any moment to a fairytale home inside a giant boot complete with shelves full of artist-made books, a blackbird pie in the oven and a climbable beanstalk. Skilled or unskilled, all are welcome.

像“五吨起重机”这样的组织团体会聚在一起分享创作技巧，还会承接一些单个艺术家们永远不会尝试的复杂的项目，如看起来似乎随时要起飞的哥特式火箭船，还有童话故事里才有的巨靴一样的家，房中的书架摆满了艺术家们制作的书本，还有一个放有烤派的烤箱，以及一个可以攀爬的豆茎构成。无论技巧娴熟与否，火人节都欢迎你的到来。

In fact, part of the charm and the innovation of the work here is that so many makers aren't artists at all, but scientists or engineers or welders or garbage collectors, and their works cross disciplinary boundaries, from a grove of origami mushrooms that developed out of the design for a yurt to a tree that responds to the voices and biorhythms of all those around it through 175,000 LEDs embedded in its leaves.

事实上，这些作品之所以富有魅力和创新精神，部分原因是他们的制作者根本不是艺术家，而是一些科学家、工程师、电焊工或清洁工罢了，他们的作品跨越了学科领域，从根据蒙古包形状设计发展起来的折纸蘑菇丛，到能够回应周围一切声音和生物节律的树木，树叶上镶嵌了十七万五千个LED感应器。

In museums, a typical visitor spends less than 30 seconds with a work of art, and I often watch people wander from label to label, searching for information, as though the entire story of a work of art could be contained in that one 80-word text.

在博物馆里，游客们平均花在每一幅艺术品上的时间不超过30秒钟，我经常看到游客们在作品简介的标签之间徘徊，寻读信息，仿佛这幅作品的全部故事都包含在那一张80字的作品简介里一样。

But in the desert, there are no gatekeepers and no placards explaining the art, just natural curiosity.

但在黑石沙漠，这里没有看守的门卫，没有艺术作品的解说，只有单纯的好奇而已。

You see a work on the horizon, and you ride towards it. When you arrive, you walk all around it, you touch it, you test it.

你在远处看到一个作品，就驱车向前驶去。等你到达了，你绕着它走一圈，摸一摸，试一试。

Is it sturdy enough to climb on? Will I be impaled by it?

是不是够坚硬可以攀爬？会不会被刺伤？

Art becomes a place for extended interaction, and although the display might be short-lived, the experience stays with you.

艺术成为了延申互动的地方，虽然这里作品的展示时间也许很短，但这段经历会永远伴随着你。

Nowhere is that truer at Burning Man than at the Temple.

在火人节里，没有一个地方比“庙宇”更加真实。

In 2000, David Best and Jack Haye built the first Temple, and after a member of their team was killed tragically in an accident shortly before the event, the building became a makeshift memorial.

2002年，David Best和Jack Haye建立了第一座庙宇，但不幸的是他们团队中的一名成员在活动开幕前意外丧生了，这座庙宇因此变成了一个临时的纪念馆。

By itself, it's a magnificent piece of architecture, but the structure is only a shell until it disappears under a thick blanket of messages.

它本身是一个宏伟的建筑物，相比庙宇在消失前墙上布满着无数条思想和口讯，它的华丽构建仅是个外壳。

"I miss you." "Please forgive me." "Even a broken crayon still colors."

“我想你。”“请原谅我。”“即便是断掉的彩笔，依然不失色彩。”

Intimate testaments to the most universal of human experiences, the experience of loss.

人类存在于这世上的最普遍的亲密见证，就是生离死别的经历。

The collective emotion in this place is overpowering and indescribable, before it's set afire on the last night of the event.

在活动的最后一晚，放火焚毁这些艺术作品前，大家的情绪都已经无法抑制，难以言表了。

Every year, something compels people from all different walks of life, from all over the world, to go out into the desert and make art when there is no money in it.

每一年，总有某些因素驱使着这些来自各个阶层，来自世界各地的人们，走出家门走进沙漠，进行艺术创作，即便其中无利可图。

The work's not always refined, it's not always viable, it's not even always good, but it's authentic and optimistic in a way we rarely see anywhere else.

这些作品并非总是制作精良，并非总是切实可行，也并非总是令人赏心悦目，但它们体现了作者的原创和乐观精神，而这是我们在其他地方难得一见的。

In these cynical times, it's comforting to know that we're still capable of great feats of imagination, and that when we search for connection, we come together and build cathedrals in the dust.

在这些个愤世嫉俗的时代，令人宽慰的是，我们知道我们依然能够发挥自己丰富的想象力，我们还在不停的寻找彼此间的联系，我们欢聚一堂，在沙尘中建造教堂。

Forget the price tags. Forget the big names.What is art for in our contemporary world if not this? Thank you.

让我们忘掉作品的价格吧。忘掉那些响当当的作者大名吧。在当代社会里，如果这不是艺术，那什么才算是艺术呢？谢谢大家。

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