THE BEE DIVINE HIVE TEMPLE

An Epic Adventure

The thing about an epic adventure is that it is only an adventure if it is given the room to unfold with surprises and unexpected twists and turns. I believe it is all in there with The Good of the Hive – excitement, struggle, people, places, laughter, spirit, wonder, and love. The thing about a true adventure is that you are following it, not the other way around. It unfolds. The 50,000th bee is way down the line and the shifts are in the now. This way of life changes you… and I believe it changes those it touches as well. It leaves in the wake of experience solid evidence that change is possible - I have a front-row seat to it every day. Blank walls are filled with color and life while the things that no longer serve the mission must be let go. The paintings somehow turn walls into windows. New ideas are sealed in the paint like the healing propolis around the cracks in a hive.

I have had to let many things go in order to survive on this journey with any kind of sanity. For the first four years of this adventure, I didn’t even realize I was identifying with a suicidal bee! I’ve told the story hundreds of times. When a bee feels sick, she will exit the hive and fly off into the abyss for ‘the good of the hive.’ It is where the name of the organization came from. Suicidal behavior was actually linked to the name of this organization! Bees take this action because they are hard-wired to understand that their immune system is collective. The health of the individual bee is based on the health of the collective hive, not the other way around. That discovery is what changed me. Our immune system is collective as well, but we rarely act like it. The connection with that bee and that behavior launched The Good of the Hive. She sparked a vision and mission in me that 4 years, 25 murals, and over 5,250 bees later, is poised to create real visible change. I will be grateful to her forever. I’ve even tattooed her on my body! But I realized at some point this summer that I was identifying too strongly with a suicidal bee. I was starting to lose energy and feel burnt out. Art and environment are still low on the totem pole of value in this world. I battle daily against resistance and insurmountable odds to keep this organization going while painting 8 hours a day - often in 90-degree heat. I’m not complaining, I love this work with every fiber of my being. I’m just putting in pixels that I am human and I am not just living 6 weeks like a bee. I have a marathon to run. So at Burning Man I literally and symbolically burned a bee that had been signed by all of the collaborators on the Bee Divine Hive Temple. That old idea of the bee… the suicidal one was blessed, thanked, and offered to the fire for change. She served valiantly and will be my Helen, the bee that launched 1000 shifts, forever. But it is time to make room for a new bee and a new phase of this adventure. As always, I look to the hive for that inspiration.

—Matt

The Process

Building a container for something (literal or figurative) can be tricky, but with the hand-woven walls and open central ceiling, the Bee Divine Hive Temple became a soft, inviting oasis on the Playa. The Playa is the name Burners use for the ground at Black Rock City, but it is also a name for the dusty matter that is everywhere. You would assume it was sand, but it is actually dust and it is a part of you (every nook and cranny) from the minute you arrive until the first shower after.

The process of installation was a full collaboration like the rest of the temple experience. Everyone was working on different parts of the temple interior at the same time. One of the first things I noticed was that we had jumped into a collective, female-led experience. I often seek the wisdom of wise women, but The Good of the Hive has a male artist at the helm. Elizabeth Heubner was the lead and the visionary behind the temple. But rather than tell everyone what to do, she invited the collective in at every turn. I’ve worked for women in the past that have multiple covers of Architectural Digest under their belts. I understand how to let them lead when they know what they are doing. I am always in awe of that energy. But this was different. Although the beauty of the creation was hugely important, it seemed as though it was not as important as the collective experience of doing it while creating a space that would allow the embodiment experience to be as incredible as possible for the women who would be participating throughout the week. I had not yet figured out that the Playa has a way of molding things into exactly what it needs to be. These women arrived at the job site already connected to Mother Earth. 

I got an ego check for sure as I felt rushed and was beyond overtired. My perfectionism was rearing its ugly head and I was worried the bees were not going to ‘look right.’ I had to let go of my own idea of how it would be ‘seen’ and surrender to the collective’s idea (with a little hand-holding from one of the priestesses). Although it is never fun to face my ego, I was grateful. I was held in that process by these women without judgment to allow the energy to shift to humble participation (and joy) in a hive mentality. I was raised in the days of art school where they talked a lot about facing a blank canvas alone with pride. I still value that, but I feel the need to be more a part of it these days. There are things that happen in the collective experience that cannot ever be found alone. I am finding that all I need to do is follow where the bees lead and I am awoken to this kind of experience over and over again. Although there is a point of focus in a hive (the Queen) the collective is where peace and balance are found. 

We were only just beginning to see what these women had in mind for the space when the bees were finally up. But when I looked at the bees in the evening with Orielle Cookie’s small but profound sculpture of the Divine Feminine center stage underneath, I could see that the parts were becoming a whole. People and things in relation to one another were starting to buzz. Little did we know that what was about to happen inside that tiny gem of a temple would easily rival the beauty and awe of some of the 50 foot high sculptures at Burning Man.

The First Ceremony

After a day of bravely stripping down to near nothing for clothing (no small feat for this somewhat modest human), we explored Burning Man until the sky began to darken and the art began to glow out of the Playa.

That evening I participated in my first ceremony at the temple. It was the anointing of the guard and the vestals. Having no real idea what to expect, I went in as I do with most things - full surrender to the ride. I noticed almost immediately as it began that I was not watching art, I was in it. As the priestesses looked deeply into our eyes, thanking us for our service to the Divine Mother, they dotted our foreheads with oils and had us proclaim our service to protecting this sacred space. I had studied the Oracle of Delphi in the past and I really did feel as though we were transported back in time to her temple. (Side note: The Oracle of Delphi is often referred to as the most powerful woman in the history of the world. She was telling kings and generals to go to war (or not) and they were listening!) Frankincense filled the room from a beekeeper’s smoker, beautiful vestals drummed as Elizabeth’s voice carried words and sounds both of this realm and beyond throughout the temple. The reverence for the ritual was held firm with love, peace, kindness, and clear intention. As the ceremony was completed, I really had a sense that I had become a Guardian of this temple.

So much of this piece of sacred art was about creating (with every available inch of space and soul) a place to celebrate women in a way that let go of who we think they are or who society says they should be. To see and feel a space like this come to life was nothing short of profound.

The art of nearly 30 people came together for this experience. It was a distilled container and you could feel it gathering strength. I loved that men were invited in to help create it as well, but it remained distinctly feminine. I couldn’t help but imagine if men were creating a temple to the Divine Masculine, what would the women’s roles be in that creation process?

Despite the fact that this was the first time the Bee Divine Hive Temple had been created, I had a feeling that we had all done this before, and I wasn’t the only person who thought that. As a person, I crave ritual and repetition. It is needed for my mind, spirit, and life to not spin out of control. Ritual reminds me I am here and grounds me to expand and take risks with purpose and intention. Inject and layer art into that process of grounding, it can carry us anywhere we need or want to go.

Seeing The World in a New Way

One of the things I was initially looking forward to about Burning Man was forgetting about the bees for a while. I love being an art activist. I cannot imagine doing anything else at this point, but it can be all-consuming and I rarely have time for an extended break. I was not trained for the rigor of holding steady to help cultivate big change. I just keep showing up. It is new to me and is heavy at times. I am finding that carving out time to unplug is vital to the work. In the desert, beyond putting up the installation, the usual day-to-day work of The Good of the Hive was non-existent. There was no cell service and no email for 12 days. There was no planning where the next murals and installations are going. There was no discussion of contracts or speaking engagements or websites. We were just there in the desert riding bikes, dancing, playing, dressing up (and dancing some more). 

One of my favorite things about Burning Man is the gifting society. It is de-commodified, so there is no money used at all (except for ice). People give things away everywhere. Little stickers to drinks to back massages. There are little boutiques set up throughout the city where you can try on clothes and just leave with them – no money or barter needed. You can create a new outward appearance for yourself in minutes without thoughts like, “Can I afford this?” Burning Man has a unique style that feels somewhere like Mad Max and Lady Gaga’s closets had a love child. I came very prepared for the desert in terms of survival, but I was shamefully underprepared in terms of creative attire. These gifting boutiques were just that, a gift. They also helped me drop out of the bee-activist mentality and into simply being a goofy human. 

Truth be told, I did think about the bees. I can’t help it. They are always hovering just behind my eyes, asking me to look at something in a new way. Throughout the time there, I thought a lot about the incredible difference between the world outside Burning Man and this temporary oasis of ‘something completely different.” If we can create a place like Burning Man and people collectively embrace those changes, doesn’t it mean that big change out in the ‘default world’ is more possible than we think? Isn’t it all a socially constructed reality, therefore socially changeable? Doesn’t it mean that it could actually be joyful to change? I haven’t said it in a while, but I used to say often, the good news is that every problem the bees face is human-made, so it can be human solved. Is it possible to dance our way toward global policy change for healthy pollinators and people? Why is that so strange to think about? What would happen if global leaders rode bikes together wearing ridiculous, yet beautiful, hats and glow sticks? Would it remind them that we are all just grown-up kids that want to get along deep down? Change is palpable at Burning Man because it is experienced through the body, not just the head. ‘Being” here showed me a side of myself I’d forgotten lately. 

There is so much joy to be found by facing who we are as beings without judgment. If seeing things in a new way is the goal, radical curiosity is not just of value, it is a principle to live by.

Getting Where I Want to Be

A hive is not just a structure or container for the bees, it is a place built on what the bees bring to it from the outside world. The real beauty of a temple is the same. The human energy buzzing through with personal, vulnerable, expressions of life, love, sorrow, embodiment, letting go and faith are the magic. 

Things burn at Burning Man. Fire is both real and an idea that hovers over everything. The temporal nature informs the experience. The big temple was set to burn on the last night of the festival. Throughout the week people offer all sorts of things to be burned for a myriad of reasons. As you walk around the temple, you see depictions of love, sorrow, and gratitude. Reverence for all life was there in every note, picture, poem, or scratching that adorned the walls. Fire can be a violent forcing of change. But a controlled, intentional fire offers something unique. Most people, as I saw it, were honoring life with imagery and words. They were setting themselves or the people they loved free with fire. 

When I committed to painting 50,000 bees, I committed to seeing where that process would take me, not the other way around. This has been a huge obstacle in a world that perpetually tries to answer every question posed as quickly as possible. I receive pressure on every level to define this project that is a giant piece of art in progress. Following a path that has as many twists and turns as a bee in a flower-laden yard is no small feat for a recovering perfectionist. It is literally like trying to put a honey bee on a leash. I sat in that sand storm writing out my thoughts about The Good of the Hive. I wrote about the last four and a half years painting over 5,000 bees in 24 murals and installations. I wrote about the things that have not been possible for me while doing this work and the things that I thought were holding me back from successfully creating this artwork. I wanted it to burn because I do not have the answers yet. I wanted to create space to hear what the right answers are. 

In the end, I cut myself off and just stopped writing. At this moment, burning an incomplete, imperfect note made “perfect” sense. Writing about it or thinking about it wasn’t helping. Practicing a life that shows up each day with openness, willingness, and compassion (for myself as well as others) is where I want to be. I started (again) with sticking that tiny symbol of imperfection and change in the crevice of a temple that was about to burn. It offered me a container to mark my progress and reignite my intentions. No matter how small or insignificant, I had added my piece, and perfect or not, it felt good.

 I often say there is no way we are going to save the bees and the environment if we don't do some dancing and make out with each other a little in the process. Why do we tend to only celebrate the changes we choose to make? What if we celebrated change itself? Life must be infused into the process of change or we are doomed. The bees celebrate life with every beat of their wings. They carry life from flower to flower and back to the hive. They dance... and so should we. The world as we have known it is shifting and changing. This has the potential to be very bad for humans. We need to take that seriously, but we do not need to become sad, angry people in the process. If we let some old ideas burn, invariably something different will rise from the ashes. Plus, we get to do some dancing around the fire in the process.