Everything is temporary, to an extent.
We just don’t usually think about it at this scale.
We know relationships can end.
Bodies will age.
Festivals pack down and vanish behind us.
But we rarely choose to love something knowing exactly when and how it will be destroyed. At Kiwiburn, the Temple exists in this space. It is built with the full knowledge that it will be set on fire. That this is not a failure of the project, it is the work.
I spoke to Buggy about what it feels like to build something you love knowing, from the very beginning, its purpose is to burn.
How would you describe the Heart and Home Temple?
Buggy doesn’t talk about the Temple as a monument.
She talks about it like a practice.
Something you show up for.
Something you let move through you.
Something you let go of.
When she starts explaining the build, she lowers the stakes deliberately. This is her first time stepping into a leadership role in the build. She knew going in:
“It wasn’t designed to be the biggest Temple structure the paddock’s ever seen. I didn’t want to do some massive effigy-sized thing. That’s not what Temple is about.”
Instead, she focused on what kept returning to her, over and over, as people began to hear what she was making:
“The stories are the thing. Every day someone comes to me and tells me what the Temple means to them. Multiple stories a day. About loss. That’s what fuels it.”
“For the Temple this year, there’ll be people standing in a ring on the outside. Everyone lights at the same time. The fire moves inward. It all comes together to burn the heart. That movement matters to me. It’s about people joining together to create that heart fire.”
When the official Kiwiburn poster was released, designed by artist Izzy Kirkpatrick, Buggy recognised it instantly.
It matched her Temple proposal almost exactly. The form. The figures. People holding hands.
“I messaged her straight away,” Buggy said. “Like… what the hell. This is awesome. I swear I didn’t copy you.”
It wasn’t a sign so much as a feeling.
That the work was already moving between people.
Does knowing it will burn change how you build it?
“The burn itself is actually simple. It’s still just firewood and diesel.
People think it must be hard to put that much work into something that’s going to be destroyed.
From my background in game design, I actually carry that ethos with me; that you may work for months on something just to be told it doesn’t fit the bigger picture.”
Reflecting on the Temple Burn last year, it was rough for Buggy. She was deep in grief. She remembers how quickly sound returned, the singing of waiata, voices, noise, and how beautiful it was…
But also how fast.
This year is different.
“This Temple is a memorial to my friend who passed. So the silence matters. Or… not silence exactly. Not silence is still a surprise. But I want to hold the moment longer. To resist the urge to fill it until the time is right. I want people to have time to sit with it.”
Why did you say yes to the build in the first place?
Last year was Buggy’s first Burn.
It was also the year her best friend Kyle Whorrall, an entomologist, was murdered in Auckland.
“Losing him was huge.
When I lost Kyle, I started asking why I wasn’t embracing my passions the way I should be.”
Temple came into focus slowly.
“The community held me. They gave me a safe place to grieve when I didn’t feel ‘ready’ to be in public. So when I thought about doing a big art project, Temple just felt right. Now I can give that space back.”
Unfortunately grief, for Buggy, didn’t arrive once.
It kept coming. In the span of six weeks she faced:
- The passing of a beloved dog.
- A relationship ending.
- A custody battle.
- A broken down ute.
“I was just screaming into the universe like Lieutenant Dan screaming at God in Forrest Gump. ‘Is that all you’ve got? What else do you want to take from me?’”
Then, a week before the build proposal deadline for Kiwiburn, she went searching for tunnelweb spiders. The same spiders Kyle kept as pets.
Buggy reflected on being a kid, about being discouraged from loving bugs because she was a girl. About being told it wasn’t serious. Girls weren’t supposed to like bugs.
As she reached up a tree for a spider on the shoulders of a mate, she lost her balance and fell to the ground…
… breaking her wrist.
“I absolutely got to a point where I thought about the Temple, ‘I can’t do this.’
Then one night my friend told me, ‘Don’t be scared. Just fucking do it.’
She’ll say it was loving encouragement.
It was slightly drunk, affectionate bullying.
But she was right.
That’s when it clicked.
Loss isn’t always loss. It can be like pulling out Jenga blocks that don’t fit your life.
Loss is an opportunity for building again.”
What would you miss if you hadn’t done this?
“The people. Finding a tribe.
Being on site early and meeting ten times the number of people I met last year.
I knew it would be harder to lead a project when I had to learn who everybody was, and what they needed to shine. But I didn’t want a fast-tracked way in. The Temple is a work of community.”
When the Temple is gone — what do you hope remains?
The stories aren’t going anywhere. The hugs I’ve shared with people around their own loss, that stays. People work their guts out here. They give so much time and heart. It is built by the community. I want that to be seen. And I hope there’s more of a spirit of taking care of each other after this year’s Temple…
.. and I really can’t wait to see it burn.“
Most of the time, impermanence sneaks up on us.
An injury. A job dissolves. Loss.
At Kiwiburn, impermanence is the agreement you make at the Paddock gate.
You build anyway.
You care anyway.
You show up knowing exactly how it ends.
Buggy didn’t lead the build for the Temple in spite of loss.
She built it because of it.
And then, deliberately, letting it go. Not because it didn’t matter. But because it did.
Kyle is in every step of the Temple this year.
What burns is the structure.
What remains is the practice:
of gathering,
of listening,
of holding space longer,
of trusting that meaning doesn’t require something lasting.
We don’t usually get to choose the moment things disappear.
But sometimes, if we’re lucky,
we get to choose how we say goodbye.
And sometimes,
we get to light the match ourselves,
and in the fire see what we carried return to the air,
ready to be felt again.
Written by Lilith
In memory of Kyle
And in awe of Buggy, David and the Heart and Home Temple team.
Featured Image Credit: Kym S and David Y
This work is held by many people.
If you’d like to learn more about volunteering at Kiwiburn, you can read more here.
Volunteering Is How Ordinary People End Up Doing Impossible Things
