In keeping with our proud and deeply unserious tradition of treating permanence as a suggestion rather than a rule, we hereby declare:
This newsletter will be renamed on a constant basis.
Next week it might be something else entirely. The week after, something else again. We might name it after a feeling. A physics pun. A stray cat that wandered through camp. A phrase overheard at 2 a.m. that sounded profound at the time. We reserve the right to change the name mid-sentence if the mood strikes.
Why?
Because everything is relative, including what we call things. Because consistency is a construct. Because naming things once and leaving them alone feels, frankly, a bit rigid for a community that builds a city in a field and dismantles it four days later.
So if you're trying to find us in your inbox, look for the sender you recognize, not the subject line. That part is going to be a moving target.
Welcome to the newsletter formerly known as The Sunflower Signal. Enjoy it while it lasts. It won't.
The Reso 2026 Newsletter — Everything you need, relatively.
Here we are, speeding toward September at a velocity that feels both impossibly fast and agonizingly slow—depending entirely on your frame of reference. (See what we did there?)
There's a lot happening, a lot to do, and a lot of ways for you to get involved. So let's cut through the spacetime continuum and get to it.
If you read nothing else in this newsletter, read this: our website is the hub of all things Reso 2026. Every update, every form, every deadline, every scrap of information you need lives there.
And here's a little hint: scroll to the News section. That's where the magic happens. New posts go up regularly. If you're wondering about something, chances are the answer is already there—or will be soon. Bookmark it. Check it. Love it.
Let's state the obvious: to be onsite as a participant, you need a ticket. To volunteer, you need a ticket. To do just about anything that isn't wistfully imagining Reso from your couch, you need a ticket.
Adult tickets are currently 55∗∗,risingto∗∗. Youth tickets are 25.Vehiclepassesare
No ticket, no entry. The universe is, regrettably, quite absolute on this one point.
We want art. We crave art. Physical art, spoken word, performance, installation, sound, light, movement, the thing you've been dreaming up at 3 a.m. that you're not sure qualifies as art (it does).
Spread the word to every artist you know. Tag them. Drag them. Tell them Reso is a canvas and we are desperately hungry for their weird, beautiful, baffling creations.
Art grants are available—starting at 1,500andgrowingasticketsalesgrow.Materialsonly,butthat′s1,500 worth of making your vision real.
Apply through the website. Yes, the same one. The News section. You're sensing a pattern.
Got an idea for a gathering? A talk? A workshop on underwater basket weaving? A late-night dance ritual? A poetry slam at dawn? A variety show? A quiet tea ceremony? A loud one?
Fill out the event form on the website. We want your events. We want them scheduled, supported, and shouted from every rooftop (or, you know, listed in the guide).
Don't assume someone else will host the thing you're hoping to find. Be the someone.
We need hands. We need hearts. We need humans willing to give four hours of their time in exchange for a meal and the deep satisfaction of making Reso happen.
Multiple departments. Multiple shifts. One form. On the website.
Sign up. Show up. Be part of the engine.
If you have a legitimate need to arrive before the event officially opens on Thursday, September 17—early entry forms drop next week. Stay tuned. We'll blast it everywhere.
Early Entry is September 16. That's it. That's the early day. Plan accordingly.
Listen closely, this one matters:
Driving passes are required if you want your vehicle to remain with you in a car camping area. Applications go live next week.
If you do not have a driving pass, here is the rule, carved in stone: you may drive to your campsite, unload your gear, and then immediately park your vehicle in the main lot. That vehicle does not move again until after the event. Period. No exceptions. No "just one quick trip." Park it and leave it.
Plan your hauling strategy accordingly. Bring a wagon. Make a friend with a wagon. Become the wagon.
We tried to build shade last week. Almost no one showed up. The folks who did show carried the burden of those who didn't.
There will be more work days. When they're announced, ask yourself: am I the person who says I'll be there and means it, or am I the person who stays home and lets someone else carry my share?
We're building a city out there. Cities don't raise themselves.
| Thing | Where | When |
|---|---|---|
| Tickets | Website | Now ($55, rising July 1) |
| Volunteer signup | Website | Now |
| Art grant applications | Website | Now |
| Event submissions | Website | Now |
| Early entry forms | Website | Next week |
| Driving pass applications | Website | Next week |
| All updates | Website → News section | Constantly |
We're building something out there in the Kansas dust. A temple. A city. A moment in time that will exist for four days and then vanish, leaving nothing behind but memories and footprints and the lingering scent of sunscreen and bad decisions.
Be part of it. Not just in theory. In practice.
See you on the field - relatively speaking.
Relatively
Speaking is the official newsletter of
Reso 2026: Everything is Relative.
September 17–20 | Near Hutchinson, Kansas
Website: https://www.resonanceburn.com/