Freezing Man 2001:  A Review
by Samantha Tanner 

Deep in my heart, I harbor a heartburning hatred toward ice, snow and temperatures below 70º Simply put, I despise winter.


For months now, I have anticipated experiencing the spirit of the playa metamorphosed into a magical weekend in the mountains redolent of the spirit of Colorado; yet, I simultaneously questioned my own sanity due to my dread of winter and everything related to it.


However, despite my misgivings concerning the weather, something in my soul was compelled to make the trek to the Nederland and fully experience Freezing Man '01, however artic-worthy the temperatures. Sometimes the gods are generous and bestow upon us more than our fair share of magical moments. Freezing Man '01 was a weekend overflowing with mystical moments wherein I caught more than brief glimpses into the beauty of ultimate
reality.

Fifty or more of the most wonderful, wacky and weird residents of Colorado gathered for a paradoxically earthy and ethereal experience. Freezing Man was much more than merely a great party. Virtually every individual arrived with an open heart and an open mind, desirous of participating with all others in the discovery of unknown possibilities. The beauty of the land was stunning and at times, overwhelming as the white moonlight reflected off the mountain peaks on the horizon, the flickering orange glow of fires dotted ones view and the snow crystals glittered in the moonlight as they gently fell to earth, lending to the magic of the gathering was an array of amazing art - body art, costumes, art installations, fire and performance art and musical art.

Despite the difficulty of costumery in frigid temperatures, many people decorated themselves in a variety of unexpected and interesting ways. Almost every person was adorned in one way or another - face and body paint, glitter, sequins, fuzziness of some sort or the simple beauty of naked flesh. One person built a beautiful blue tower that radiated color, light and beauty even though it was to be a tower of ice and the tepid temperatures precluded the possibility of ice sculpture. Four hollow orbs of string hung in the trees, reflecting black light and moonlight, reminiscent perhaps of hanging snow-globes or full moons. A pillar of wrapping paper was consumed by fire, a colorful spectrum of flames dancing in gleeful liberation. Across Paul's house and through the trees, strings of lights twinkled brilliantly. When snow began to fall after midnight, the icy crystals caught the glow of the moon and the lights, sparkling as they floated toward the ground, like hundreds of thousands of flecks of crystalline glitter falling from the sky.

An art-bike decorated the porch, providing many opportunities for laughter as peddlers tried to raise the giant hand attached to the bike that reached out over the porch. The fire and poi spinners thrilled us with their skill. I was mesmerized by the fire spinning, caught up in it to the point where I was not aware than anything existed outside of the dazzling circles and trails created by the fire dancing through the air. In the morning, I rested to the haunting melody a woman played on her violin - a score that had chosen to reveal itself to her in a dream the previous night. Whether standing on the porch of Paul's house and looking across the land or standing away from the house and looking back toward the art and the beautiful people the land so elegantly hosted, I realized my fear of the temperature was silly, for I felt a warm glow deep in my gut that radiated throughout me as I gazed upon a picture of the very real beauty for which this world has potential.

The crowning achievement of this magical experience was not the objects with which we were surrounded or the unexpectedly warmish air temperature or the number of people who attended. Rather, the greatness of Freezing Man '01 was measured by the caliber of the souls at the event. Those who came were fully present, yearning to completely give of themselves, willing to reach beyond themselves and perceive more, to become more aware, wiser, beautiful and greater people as a result of their experiences with others. Old friendships developed even deeper meaning and new friendships grew out of complete strangers practicing mayhem, mischief and misadventure together (how can you not become friends after stuffing your sinus passages full of Pop Rocks and hydrogen peroxide with someone who was previously a "stranger" to you?)

As I had anticipated attending Freezing Man, I looked forward to a break from reality. At the end of the weekend, on the drive through the mountains back to Denver, I realized that I was not returning to the "real world" or my "real life". What I had experienced in the mountains at Freezing Man (quite similarly to the experience of Burning Man) is reality. The respect, admiration, love and trust of one another among the people there is what is real. The collective creativity and end products of a number of imaginations coming together is reality.

This morning, as I write this, I sit in my office and look around me, I see nothing but suits which support pseudo-life-like beings, people who move through life like automatons, thinking they are living but who are really experiencing little more than the side-effects of not having died yet. Through the flickering of artificial fluorescent lamplight, I see nothing but prefabricated furniture and dismal cubicles surrounding me. Outside are towers of steel and glass that have been built by hundreds of nameless faces for use by thousands of people who never consider the creative process involving the structure of these buildings in which they spend an enormous part of their lives. It amazes me that this is what many people consider "reality". I close my eyes, remembering the tribal beats of drums and records that accompanied our hours in the woods, the fires, art, beautiful spirits and supernatural environment of Freezing Man and I am grateful for the opportunity to have -- yet