In a colone we drive to Black Rock City. We leave the civilized world behind us. Heading for dust, impressionist landscapes and now and then a lonesome trailer. Nature is taking over. Four flat tires later we arrive at `the playa`. An enormous claysoil, remains of an ancient sea, lays like an empty canvas before us. We`re practicly on our own here, except for a few wacko Burners, one of them staightaway showed off his nude tattoeed butt. Nice to meet you too… In the distance you can see the mountains against a stealblue sky. The name of our project, Uchronia can be taken litteraly. Uchronia - U: nothing, chronos: time, everything seems to be standing still. Every notion of time is missing, at the same time, time is essential to find the way on the site. The playa is like a gigantic clock, a circle with a diameter of 8 mile in its centre point the Burning Man. Our camp is at 2.30 o`clock. Our survival-kit contains water, water and again water, gallons of sunlotion, skiglasses and duskmasks against the choking dust and a portion of good sense. Before you realize you`re knocked-out, struck by a first-class sunstrike. During `our travel in time` the container with all the material got cought in a delay. We improvise a base camp, struggle with the tents. A first sandstorm strikes. Chaos rules. The plan of our sculpture, a time-ship, is drawn in rough lines on the soil; a huge wooden sculpture on what we`ll get to work on with all our strenght. When evening falls we`re welcomed by a few Burners; 'Welcome to America, try not to get arrested.'