Andrew Taylor on the Business of Arts & Culture
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Rules of engagement
  Posted: January 14, 2008
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I'm back from the Arts Presenters conference in New York with a head full of questions and a pocket full of business cards (two good indicators of a successful conference experience). I'll be posting some of those questions and thoughts in the coming weeks, and reporting on the fantabulous work of my students on their session. But first, I need to get my oft-repeated rant off my chest:

Our professional conference models, methods, and metaphors are broken. They are successful to the extent that they attract a dense collection of practitioners into a confined space (which is why I have my questions and new contacts). But almost everything we do once we've collected that group seems misaligned with the opportunity of doing so.

We structure one-directional panels and workshops that promise time for questions but rarely deliver. We book keynote speakers to talk at us, as if there weren't a dozen other technologies that could deliver that kind of monologue without consuming our precious collective time. And we even schedule brownbags, discussion sessions, breakfast roundtables, and other informal conversations without establishing productive rules of engagement (clarity of topic, preparation of participants, and so on).

I mean no disrespect to Arts Presenters, as this error is seemingly generic. As I'm helping craft a conference of my own this spring, I'm making the very same errors. It's what's expected in a conference. It's what the buyers say they want, to the extent they can articulate. And none of us have the time, staff, and energy to entirely reconceive something so large.

So, during this conference, I decided to come up with ''little innovations,'' that might help turn the tide, or at least encourage more focused and effective use of this invaluable collective time. I'm sure there are others (post comments to suggest them). But it's a start.

• The ''No Exposition'' and "No Bios" Rule
  The large majority of every panel discussion seems to be exposition -- here's who I am, here's what my organization is, here are all the details of the project or program I was asked to speak about. Any questions? Oops, there's no time for questions. The juicy stuff -- the tensions, the contexts, the discoveries, the back-and-forth with others in the room who have struggled with similar programs -- is inevitably delayed or eclipsed. Bios and project descriptions can be posted on the web, included in the program, even provided as audio files to download before the event. Conference leaders should prohibit exposition and biography readings, and deliver a spitball to the back of the head of anyone who violates the rule.
• The ''Hot Mike''
  It's not only panelists and moderators that have trouble with clarity and being concise, it's everyone else, as well. Once we have the mike in our hands, we feel compelled to provide the very same exposition allowed of the panelists, even when it adds no relevance to the conversation. To provide a visceral feedback against this challenge, I suggest the design and production of the ''hot mike,'' a microphone that slowly heats up to unbearable temperatures over the course of three minutes (or, perhaps you could set the ''unbearable temperature'' clock to a duration most appropriate to the convening). Then, everyone who spoke would know that they would burn their hand if they spoke for more than three minutes (and they might prepare their comments accordingly). And those who got lost in their own exposition would have a not-so-subtle reminder that they've spoken long enough.
• The Disconfirming Information Track
  We're all aware of ''confirmation bias,'' or the unique and powerful ability of humans to seek out and select ideas and evidence that reinforce what we already believe to be true. The modern professional conference seems to be an extraordinarily efficient ''confirmation bias'' machine. Panelists and keynotes tend to be people like us (arts professionals, from nonprofits) who agree, in general, with our collective assumptions (arts are good, professional nonprofit arts are better). It seems to me that conferences are an ideal time to throw a wrench in our collective beliefs -- not because they are wrong, necessarily, but because they are weak and untested. How about a whole track of panels, keynotes, and workshops that convey evidence disproving what we believe to be true? Large fixed investment in cultural facilities might not be the best strategy toward cultural vitality. Audiences might not be aging. Young people might not be technology-crazed, socially detached culture haters. The nonprofit arts might not be the only path to meaning, discovery, and social capital. I know that we're concerned that the world is watching, and we can't discuss anything critical to provide our enemies ammunition. But I'd suggest that the nonprofit arts are less sustainable over the long run if our understanding is biased, our perspectives are blindered, and our arguments are unclarified by intensive scrutiny. Bring it!
• The Moleskin Conference Program
  There were several sessions at Arts Presenters on fostering ''green'' arts organizations (a welcome innovation in conference content, I'd say). And we all went to these sessions with our registration tote bag jam-packed with glossy, non-recycled promotional materials, artist and agency fliers, compact discs, plastic promotional crap, and thick programs and listings. Granted, the conference tote bag is a revenue opportunity for the convener. But I wonder if we've really run the numbers on the net revenue of such endeavors, especially after we calculate all the staff time that went into securing those promotions. What if, instead, the essential elements of the conference schedule were bound into a single notebook, with space for participants to write their thoughts and key ideas. How about a version of the Moleskin City Notebook, including a city map, a calendar, and lots of empty note pages? Moving toward a more sustainable footprint would suggest limiting the use of paper and physical objects to their most necessary and focused use. Further, the goal of conference materials should be clarity, not clutter.
• The Trained Facilitator
  I saved the most radical innovation for last: How about requiring or even encouraging professional training for anyone who would like to moderate a panel, convene a roundtable, or facilitate an informal conversation? Perhaps provide a $50 registration discount for any member who takes a one-hour facilitator training course on the basics of group learning, conversation direction, and effective facilitation. Imagine what would happen if an increasingly large percentage of conference attendees were trained in effective conversation and group learning. Might that not only transform the conference, but also the field?

Sorry to blather. But this issue continues to vex me. I'm eager for any other innovations you've seen, or you've considered. Please post some.