Artica 2015: The Weirdest One Yet

Let’s go ahead and proclaim Artica the ultimate underdog of any and all events held in the City of St. Louis. As in, literally: any and all. Even in the best of years, Artica’s held in a north-of-downtown corridor recently dubbed “a wasteland” (and much worse) by proponents of a new football stadium, who’d like to build on the exact grounds long used by the arts fest. To survive this far, Artica’s been reliant on the opposite formula of a stadium: a small amount of dollars and big tallies of volunteer labor, along with the supportive okays of a few key business owners in that funky district. With that mix, the organizers are able to put together an event that runs every October, rain or shine, and features a cultural mix otherwise unseen here.

This year, though? This year! Crazy! It’s as if every factor that could harsh Artica’s mellow decided to get together and have their own two-day party.

No doubt, 2015’s version (titled "REAL ART>civic gibberish") will be regarded as The Weird One. Let’s count the ways.

The specter of the National Car Rental Field hangs around as the largest spoken-and-unspoken element, bar none. Fellow stlmag.com cultural blogger Chris Naffziger was onsite on Saturday, armed with a camera and determining the footprint of the stadium as he walked. He suggested that where we standing was an endzone. Kinda hilarious.

The Cotton Belt Building was off-limits to participants, squashing the usual indoor space for installation art, DJs, and random happenings. The building’s owners have been in litigation, due to folks who’ve been injured during their uninvited forays into that big, old, fascinating building. Gah! Litigation’s evils! The mere specter of other injuries kept Artica confined to the outdoors only. To be honest, as cool as some elements of this year’s event were, the Cotton Belt’s always been home to some wild, experimental stuff. Artica without the Cotton Belt is hummus without chickpeas, The Dead without Jerry, eyes without a face. It just ain’t the same.

One of this year’s performance artists, Bodybagman, aka Typewriter Tim Jordan, took a fall and broke his hip, adding another wrinkle to the unusual vibes.

Even the Mississippi River was in on the conspiracy of odd. Every year, the opening of the Artica features a Boat of Dreams Parade, in which musicians lead marchers to the river. There, they set boats into the river, or they send off/toss in other, totemic items. In the past, people have pitched in fruit, scattered the ashes of loved ones, or poured mandala sands into the Mississippi’s waters. All are highly personal moments, but this year the river access was cut off due to work being done on the Arch grounds. There was still a parade this year, though it was modified and snaked down to an area that allowed some people, but not all, the chance to make like billy goats and scramble down to the water.

According to stalwart Artica artist Josh Wolf, this year’s Boat of Dreams Parade added a dose of metaphor. While standing with another participatory artist, Joe Neaf, Wolf explained that a few people had to pass their Boats of Dreams down the hill, hand-to-hand contact the rule, in order for their totems to go into the water. As he saw it, this added a layer of interesting complexity, in that people were quite literally sharing their dreams with others.

So. Very. Artica. Josh Wolf FTW.

Okay, we’ve acted all like “Artica was so weird and what-not and there were things that happened,” but things always happen at Artica. Weird, weird, truly weird conversations. Impromptu, renegade performances that appear on no schedule. The occasional sunset that takes your breath away. All are possible, even likely.

What’s for sure is the ritual burning of Our Lady of Artica, a wooden figure that’s spearheaded by Artica linchpin D. Lohr Barkley. He and crew of burners typically wait until the festival’s final sundown to set it ablaze. First, though, fire dancers, who accompany the sounds of the drone of the band Johnny Vancouver. They’ve become expert at matching the mood, the spirit of the moment and crest and coast and the fire begins to take a tool on Our Lady’s sturdy build.

As the minutes passed on Sunday’s burn, the sparks began to catch nearby, dry ground and Barkley’s burning buddies kept that under control, though the flying, fire-y debris and intense heat chased folks from the northern edge of the circle. Nearby, the St. Louis Fire Department hung back, allowing this ritual to commence as it does most years, peacefully and dramatically. As Johnny Vancouver played their song “Artica,” Our Lady collapsed in on herself and Artica co-founder Hap Phillips and Nita Turnage whooped and hollered along.

Eventually, one of the burners spoke over the musical notes and fire crackles: “Come in, it’s your fire,” he said. And the crowd did come in, dancing and prancing along the edges. As the fire continued, smaller by the minute, a few of us gathered sticks and debris and tossed them in, again adding that key Artican ingredient: participation.

That vibe this year? So unusual. There was a feeling of elegy to it all. The last one? Not my place to say, but much of region’s leadership wants to see something large and permanent on this site, home to so many, small, fleeting, ethereal, uniquely Artica moments. Whatever that leadership builds will lack the humanity and authenticity of the Articans. And they probably won’t put up a plaque, which is just as well.