What eleven years at Burning Man taught our Creative Director about building experiences that matter.
By Kris Kish, Creative Director, TBA US
Twelve years ago, I drove into the Nevada desert for the first time and found something I still can’t fully explain to anyone who wasn’t there. Eleven burns later, I’m still going back. It’s not out of habit, but because every single time, I am reminded of what’s actually possible when human beings decide to build something extraordinary together.
Black Rock City rises out of an ancient lakebed for one week a year, then disappears without a trace. At its peak, it holds tens of thousands of people.
My best description of it is that it’s “a Salvador Dalí painting come to life.” And every inch of it is imagined, built, and carried in by someone.
That’s the part that stays with me: what it takes to make a spectacle alive and working. Getting a piece of art from someone’s head into the middle of the desert is its own kind of achievement, long before anyone else ever sees it. To me, it’s a testament to human imagination, grit, and what is possible when people come together to accomplish something creatively.
Craft over noise
The scale is impressive, but what’s inspiring me most right now is the craft. This year it was a Canadian goose made entirely out of pennies. The sheer patience and precision behind it made you stop in your tracks. And yes, it was also very clever. In a world obsessed with moving fast, there was something quietly radical about someone choosing to slow down and do something exactly right.
That’s a discipline I try to bring back with me into the work I lead every day.
Experience design lives or dies in the details most people will never consciously notice but will absolutely feel.
Talk to the person who built it
One of my favorite things about Burning Man is that you can meet the builders behind the art, learn what they are working on, and see how they are pushing boundaries. That direct line between creator and audience changes how you experience the piece entirely.
It’s also changed how I think about the experiences my team creates. People don’t just want to consume something polished and finished. They also want to understand the thinking behind it. In my view, the best experiences let people in on that, even for only a moment.
Community with purpose
Most importantly, none of this works without the people. I go back each year with friends through Burners Without Borders, a nonprofit born out of this community that focuses on grassroots volunteering, disaster response, community resiliency and regenerative solutions.
At camp, there’s an understanding that everyone looks out for each other, while still being expected to take care of themselves. Playing with purpose, not just playing.
There are people I only see once a year, at this exact spot in the desert, and that scarcity makes the reunion mean more. It reminders me that the strongest communities don’t always need constant contact but are built on showing up fully when it counts.
What I bring back
If I could take one thing from Burning Man into everyday life, it would be this: we need more wild imagination. Not the polite, focus-grouped kind. The kind that dreams up something completely unreasonable and then finds a way to build it anyway.
That’s ultimately what experience design is about. Beauty and logistics are two sides of the same coin, and Burning Man is proof of what happens when both are taken seriously at the same time. I don’t go to escape the work I do. Burning Man is a place to go and be re-inspired, and I go every year to remember why the work matters in the first place.
