About a month ago, art critics Sarah Thornton and David Hickey threw in the towel citing frustration, disillusionment, and annoyance with corruption in the art world. Reading their back-to-back commentaries gave me pause. I found myself stewing on their words for several days–not because I am consumed with their particular concerns regarding the machinations of the art world (though these are, indeed, troubling), but because I’m beginning to lose faith that necessary transformation in the nonprofit arts sector will come.

Recently, I participated in a convening of museum professionals, critics, economists, and others to discuss transformation in the museum field at which one of the participants (someone I greatly admire) said (and I am paraphrasing):

During the recession  one kept hearing the advice: ‘The financial crisis is an opportunity – don’t squander it.’

But I fear that’s what we’ve done. We’ve wasted the crisis.

I fear my art world colleague was right.

We wasted our crisis.

Don’t get me wrong: we’re still talking the talk.

Whether subtle and slow, or radical and swift, there seems to be agreement among everyone in the arts and culture sector that change/innovation/reform/transformation must come. The world is changing and art organizations need to become more porous, resilient, and flexible; they need to be more outward facing and engaged with the world beyond their doors,  more diverse, and less exclusive; and they need to take greater artistic risks, fulfill their research and development roles, provide participatory experiences, take their educational missions seriously, and alter their programming to better reflect and serve their communities.

At least that’s the sector line.

And if you read the occasional report or magazine article highlighting field innovators you might actually comfort yourself with the idea that substantive change across the various arts fields has been happening.

But has it?

Or have most of the changes been cosmetic?

These past four years it seems that many arts organizations have simply hunkered down to wait out the storm. They have once again managed to kick the can down the street (to borrow a metaphor used by another friend a couple weeks ago when commenting on the decades of can-kicking that, she surmised, led to the spate of recent orchestra strikes).

Yes, of course there are bright spots – but most of them seem to be organizations that were already firing on all cylinders before the crisis. There have been bright spots for years and there will continue to be.

But what about the rest? The under-performing? The over-leveraged,  deficit-accumulating, audience-waning, administratively bloated, artistically tired, and community-disengaged? For all the talk about the economic crisis and the opportunity for it to provide the impetus for the arts sector to transform itself into something more intellectually relevant and socially inclusive, it seems that we have arrived at the “new normal” and it looks an awful lot like the old one.

Am I the only one starting to lose faith that widespread, systemic change is really going to come in the professional nonprofit fine arts sector?

We have been telling ourselves that in order to survive in the future the arts “must” transform; but the past four years seem to indicate otherwise. Evidently, the world will not demand transformation from us—it seems we can postpone transformation (or perhaps avoid it entirely) and survive simply by becoming more commercial, or more exclusive, or simply less ambitious and excellent (i.e., mediocre) versions of our former selves.

So, if we want transformation, it seems we will need to choose it (something that NYU professor Paul Light suggested a few years back in his provocative essay on the four futures of the nonprofit sector arising from the economic recession).

While the heat may be off for the time-being, I still believe that transformation of the nonprofit arts sector is necessary, desirable, and possible. Not a transformation that we flee to because there is an ax over our heads, but one we choose because we have come to the disquieting realization that we are on the wrong path—a path that leads to an end that is incongruous with our social purpose in this world—and that it is unacceptable to continue down it.

I haven’t been writing much on Jumper due to an intense term at the university, which has just ended. I expect to resume weekly posting with this post. 🙂

In November 2011, twenty-five theater professionals gathered in Washington, DC to discuss nonprofit and commercial collaborations aimed at the development of new theatrical work. In spirit (if not structure and size) the meeting represented the third installment of an ongoing conversation that was sparked in June 1974 when 224 representatives from the American theater gathered at Princeton University to entertain the (then) remote possibility of cooperation between the nonprofit and commercial theater in the interest of advancing the American stage. The 1974 convening was highly contentious and more than a quarter of a century would pass before another would be scheduled. By the time the conversation was rekindled in 2000, and a comparably constituted group gathered at Harvard University, much had changed: once unlikely alliances with commercial producers had become business-as usual for a number of nonprofit theaters.

So begins In the Intersection: Partnerships in the New Play Sector, the report on the November 2011 meeting, released today by the Center for the Theater Commons at Emerson College (and written by yours truly).

As many will recall, the resident theater movement in the US was perceived to be a revolution: an attempt to create a viable alternative to the commercial logic that dominated the American theater in the first half of the twentieth century. Though things would begin to unravel for the resident theater movement by the end of the decade, at the 1974 meeting it was still confident and idealistic. As I write in the report, an alternative theatrical arena with alternative financing, goals, and values had been successfully created and it was gaining legitimacy. Broadway was no longer the only (or even preferred) destination for new work. Aside from the clear ambitions to align interests on the part of the commercial producers, what emanates most from the report on the 1974 meeting is the sense that nonprofit theaters were still actively defining themselves in opposition to the commercial theater.

By the meeting in 2000, however, collaborations between nonprofit and commercial producers had become commonplace. And while some continued to question whether deals between the two sides would corrupt nonprofits, they seemed unable to persuade others in the room that there were reasons for concern. Commercial/nonprofit partnerships were resulting in high quality (even Tony award-winning) shows, some of which recouped their investments; successful shows brought both prestige and critical income to nonprofits, most of whom were facing an increasingly tough financial environment.

Opinions on commercial/nonprofit partnerships in the theater have been, and continue to be, divided with some seeing them as a positive development (or at the very least benign if kept in check), some as a necessary evil, and some maintaining that they are, or will be, a corrupting influence on the values of the nonprofit theater. There are perhaps those that will read the report on the 2011 meeting and want it to be a clear-cut case for discouraging nonprofit/commercial partnerships; others, the opposite. From my perspective it is neither.

It is the documentation of twenty-five passionate, intelligent, open-minded people who love the theater attempting to grapple forthrightly and personally with difficult realities, among them: the challenge of attracting sufficient funds and audiences to sustain large nonprofit institutions with Broadway-sized venues and high fixed costs; the exorbitant costs of real estate in New York and the seemingly impossible economics of successfully producing on Broadway (or commercially Off-Broadway); the fact that the culture has changed dramatically since the formation of the nonprofit theater sector and, with it, the tastes and values of foundations, corporations, government agencies, board members, individual donors, audiences and other stakeholders; and the reality that it has become increasingly difficult, given these challenges, to produce the ambitious, transformational kind of theater that many set out to make when they got into the theater, much less uphold the original ideals of the nonprofit resident theater movement.

And there is something else. Participants (nonprofit leaders, in particular) grappled with the fact that these deals have gone from being a “dirty little secret,” to being, in a sense, a feather in the cap. They observed that the metrics, or meanings, of success in the nonprofit theater have been changed. And with them, perhaps, our sense of what the nonprofit theater exists to do.

I am close to both the report and the subject (since my research topic for my dissertation is the evolving relationship between the nonprofit and commercial theater over the past 30 years); thus, rather than commenting further on it, I will leave you with a key passage from the executive summary with the hope that it will entice you to read the full report and share any comments you may have. I welcome them.

Here is a link to the HowlRound Web site where you can get access to a free e-reader version of the report. Amazon also has copies for .99 cents. And beautiful paperback copies are available for $15.

I will close by saying that throughout the two-day convening I was struck by two things: the complexity of the issues (which are clearly agonizing at times for those dealing with them) and the generosity of spirit of all who attended the meeting. I am grateful to Polly Carl and David Dower for inviting me to write the report and the participants for trusting me to do so.

“What I’m trying to say is that there are certain ideals that were constructed for the nonprofit theater, which I have not heard a word about in the last two days. We all deviate from the ideals—ideals are meant to deviate from. But you have to know what they are in order to deviate from them. And what I’m not hearing is the fact that there was a time when we were different theaters, we did different things. We didn’t join together to do the same things to please the largest number, to bring in the greatest amount of money, and the greatest subscribers. We did, as a nonprofit theater, most of us did these things because nobody else would do them!” —Bob Brustein

If there was a recurring theme to the 2011 discussion, it was that the nonprofit theater appears to have lost sight of its values and raison d’être. While commercial partnerships were not perceived to be the cause of this erosion of ideals, necessarily, participants acknowledged that commercial transfers from nonprofits have increased in frequency (within organizations and across the field) and—along with box office success, reviews in the New York Times, enhancement income, royalties, Tony awards, working with celebrities, and the other “bells and whistles” associated with them—have become increasingly important measures of success at many LORT theaters.

Collaborations and partnerships were generally considered to be beneficial by the group, with both commercial and nonprofit producers acknowledging that there is work that would not be created were it not for these partnerships. At the same time, concerns were expressed. Among them, that the goals and values of nonprofit and commercial producers can be at odds; that costs and risks associated with enhancement deals are escalating; that artists are often put in the position of serving two masters; that the prospects of a Broadway run can change the artistic process and product; and that such partnerships have the potential to create a legal and moral slippery slope for nonprofits.

If there was a clarion call from the meeting, it was perhaps for clarification around this moral line—what some called the value proposition of resident theaters. There was a sense that regional theaters have been, to some greater or lesser degree, falling down on their watch—not providing adequate support to artists; not taking the artistic risks that they were created to take; not existing first and foremost for their local communities; and, most of all, not upholding alternative measures of success and an alternative set of values to those upheld by the commercial theater. While there was agreement that a larger shift in the values of the culture at large has created an environment increasingly less supportive of the nonprofit theater and that, in many ways, the nonprofit theater has simply turned toward the market (by necessity) along with the rest of the culture—there was also a pervasive sentiment that the nonprofit theater, if it is to have a purpose distinct from the commercial theater, needs to reclaim its lost identity.

 

PS: Beyond the excerpt that ends this essay, this post draws heavily on passages I wrote for the executive summary of the In the Intersection report.

 

A couple weeks ago I wrote a post about the recent turmoils at a few orchestras in the US which garnered several comments—all well worth reading and more interesting, in my opinion, than my original post—so I thought I’d continue the conversation. As one person wrote, the section of my post that seemed to provoke the most discussion was the statement: “I must be hopelessly naïve because I want to believe that if you go work for a nonprofit you’re not doing it for the money.”

More than a few said that this was a potentially damaging idea for us to continue to perpetuate in the nonprofit arts as it seems to translate into a justification to pay both artists and administrators far less than a living wage, an action that, some suggested, can result in lower quality performance in arts organizations. I couldn’t agree more with the sad state of wages at many nonprofit organizations. But the point about “in it for the money” was meant to be read in context of the three points that followed.

(2) if you go work for a nonprofit that the nonprofit leaders are also not doing it for the money; (3) that nonprofit leaders are going to do the best they can to fairly and equitably compensate everyone involved in the nonprofit and; (4) those same leaders are going to expend resources in line with the values of the institution (e.g., art, artists, community, education).

“Not being in it for the money” is not meant to suggest that people should be exploited. Indeed, the degree to which the vast majority of arts organizations in this country pay non-living wages to both administrators and artists led me to write a post for the McKnight Foundation awhile back asking whether we can rightly call ourselves a “professional” nonprofit sector or whether we are, rather, a sector made up primarily of “pro-am” organizations. The pro-am frame is not intended to be a negative one (though I imagine some may perceive it as such); I would suggest, however, that it has become a more accurate way of describing the majority of arts organizations.

The thing about pro-ams is that they are doing it for the love and not the money. And if they stop loving it (e.g., become demotivated), they aren’t willing to sacrifice the time (on the side of the day job they often have to hold) for the low or nonexistent compensation that comes with their art work.

Here’s the second point that I was attempting to make above: Asking people to do it for the love and not the money (i.e., take lower wages) only works if everyone is on the love boat. Arts administrators cannot pay themselves rather decently and expect everyone else to happily work for non-living wages.

In any event, returning to the orchestra post, my initial point was simply that money is not the primary motivator for pursuing nonprofit arts work; one assumes that if money were the motivation most people would pursue other work given that nonprofit arts work is often difficult to find and, once found, often involves long hours and low pay (a lot of love, not so much money).

The reason I characterized the recent disputes as “unseemly” (a word that was also questioned) is because, as I understand it, a few involved locking musicians out of orchestra venues or refusing to let musicians play concerts they were willing to play—behaviors that strike me as rather out-of-step with the idea that nonprofit professional performing arts organizations exist, in large part, to support talented artists and the creation of great art works and educational programs: it is the means by which they are understood to achieve their ends. What ends would those be? Let’s call it “contributing to a civil society”–an idea Russell Willis Taylor spoke eloquently about in a recent keynote address.

We presume that nonprofit performing arts organizations exist in large part for the purpose of supporting artists, who (as a colleague in the theater said at a recent meeting) are the workers that make the artistic goods and services around which our institutions are centered. They justify the nonprofit administrators’ salaries; not the other way around. At the formation of the nonprofit arts sector in the early-to-mid twentieth century, many nonprofit organizations were granted nonprofit status first and foremost on the basis of doing just that—providing better wages to artists so that they would not have to hold other jobs, so they would be available for rehearsals and performances, and so that the quality of the performances would improve.

Likewise, a cornerstone of the case for nonprofit status for theaters in the 60s and support from the Ford Foundation was the support of acting companies. To be clear, this wasn’t charity. A case was made that the quality of theatrical performances would only improve if actors could devote more time to their craft and rehearsals and didn’t have to also work other jobs on the side; and also, that no actor in his or her right mind would relocate from New York to Texas without some financial incentive and the promise of being able to play multiple roles within a given season. A key feature that was intended to distinguish the “professional nonprofit” theater or orchestra from the “community” theater or orchestra was the quality of its talent and productions or concerts—quality that was achieved through deeper investments in artists.

So here we are decades later and most theater companies that had acting companies (and not all of them did) have lost them. And now, as I watch the proposals for contracts based on fewer weeks of employment and significantly lower salaries in some professional orchestras I wonder if some orchestras are pursuing a path of nonprofit professional resident theaters (perhaps to a lesser degree, but nonetheless in spirit): outsource as much of the “talent” as possible, but keep the administrators.

I share the concern of Margot Knight who remarked:

What I DON’T see, often enough, is the willingness for pain to shared among EVERYONE that works for the organization in a proportional way. (e.g. EVERYONE takes two weeks unpaid leave which equates to a one-time savings of 4%). Depending on the job and the responsibilities, the time can be taken throughout a year or all at once. And that should be coupled with EVERYONE having a role to play in fund development. There must be some models that are collaborative, that are working, to ease this discord.

We have systematically made the case for administrative growth (and the sustaining of the infrastructure that was built up) over the years—growth that has had the unintended effect of increasing pressure on the artistic product to bring in higher revenues. We now have artists supporting arts institutions. It’s the opposite of the goal at the outset.

I’d like to suggest that one thing that might distinguish a “professional” nonprofit arts organization from an “amateur” arts organization would be that it pays its artists well enough that they can take money off the table (in the words of Daniel Pink, in a great RSA animate video on money and incentives) and invest sufficient time to achieve a level of mastery in what they do. What seems to be at issue in many of the recent disputes is that not only  are wages being reduced to the point where it is making money an issue (i.e., people are sincerely worried about being able to pay rent, support children, etc.), but contracts are being shorted to the point where they are sincerely concerned about the quality of their work.

As Margot Knight remarked, the musicians feel backed into a corner.

Many Americans have, of course, had to accept much lower wages in recent years (and many have lost their jobs entirely). Those working in the arts cannot expect to be immune from this reality. As Andy Buelow suggested, no one is entitled to wages in perpetuity and our wages are, to a great degree, based on our value to society. There was a time when society valued professional journalists and that seems to be waning. There was a time when being a customer service representative, or an accountant in the US, might give one steady employment—now one’s job is likely to be outsourced to India.

Is it troubling that society places less value on orchestras and theater companies and dance companies than it once did?

Deeply.

Do we have to face this reality and respond to it?

Yes.

But in line with Margot’s sentiments, if orchestras have reached the point where they need to dramatically reduce wages and weeks for the band I too would feel better if I saw administrations being radically restructured as well. Indeed, I’d go one further and say that BEFORE we start cutting wages to artists we should perhaps pursue all possible ways to restructure the administration of the organization.

How?

Well, some are evidently trying outsourcing large parts of the administration. I have more confidence in this approach than trimming positions across the organization and trying to make do with a dangerously bare bones staff. But there could be another way forward. In one of his comments William Osborne* quoted a well known report by Richard Hackman on the low level of job satisfaction of many orchestra musicians:

It is true that the most powerful influence on orchestra players’ professional satisfaction is the degree to which their organizations provide them opportunities for meaningful involvement in orchestral affairs. (We also found that professional dissatisfaction was highest in orchestras where the board of directors dominated the decision making process, the other side of the same coin.)

Artistic advisory committees are a case in point. Many orchestras have them, but few orchestras take them seriously. Musicians on the advisory committee may (or may not) meet regularly, but rarely do their views count in developing the artistic direction of the orchestra, in choosing guest conductors or soloists for future seasons, or in deciding about tours or repertoire. […] Players are professional musicians who have much more to give to their orchestras than usually is sought from them—and involvement about artistic matters is one arena in which those potential contributions can be harvested. But it has to be real involvement. Pseudo-participation usually is worse than no participation at all.

Notably, in the same video mentioned above, Pink suggests that autonomy, mastery, and purpose are what contribute to job satisfaction. Does the musician that does nothing but play music feel connected to the purpose of the organization (contributing to civil society through the arts)? Does the administrator that does nothing but execute a marketing or individual donor plan week-in and week-out?

With growth and professionalization of the nonprofit arts sector came specialization—a degree of which, by all accounts, seems to have enabled quality of performances to improve (perhaps even to a degree that many people cannot now fully appreciate). But specialization comes with tradeoffs. And it is sometimes hard to reconcile the myopia that comes with specialization with the full-on, whole-hearted, multiple-skill investments that we often expect (and may increasingly depend upon) from employees of nonprofit arts organizations.

Is it completely crazy to think that one way forward is a degree of generalization (or de-specialization): for musicians to take a more active role in running their institutions? If there is only enough “concert” work to support a 20-week contract, could musicians be paid the remaining weeks of the year to do (not only) education and outreach activities but also to help run the joint (as I hinted at last week when I asked what would happen if all the administrators walked out the door and left the musicians in the building)?

Moreover, is it possible that these entrepreneurial musicians would be more fulfilled in their work than the majority of musicians or admininstrators (working in nonprofit arts organizations) are at the moment?

And that the band would still play excellent concerts?

Is this a better option than shuttering our orchestras when they finally collapse under the weight of their asset intensity ratios?

I’d be curious to hear from those that have been doing this for years, and also those graduating from music or arts admin programs these days.

* Correction: In the original post I inadvertently credited Henry Peyrebrune with citing this particular quote from the Richard Hackman report. While Mr. Peyrebrune initially raised Hackman’s report for discussion it was William Osborne who cited the above mentioned quote in his comments.

 

In one of the more recent (of many) essays on the controversial move of the Barnes collection from the home of Albert C. Barnes (in Merion, PA) to a new facility in downtown Philadelphia, Peter Dobrin of the Philadelphia Inquirer questions some of the changes that have been made in the name of improvement of the cultural landscape of Philadelphia, which he perceives to be eroding some of the distinctive characteristics of the city. In his post, Barnes move to Parkway is progress, but a quirky something has been lost, Dobrin writes:

Paradoxically, though, the repackaging of the Barnes may also be seen as the latest in a string of changes to Philadelphia that dilute its special character — advancements that bring Philadelphia into conformity with what visitors from other places may expect, but that also render the city more generic. […] At the new Barnes, you’ll have more and better access to its ironwork, furniture, African sculpture, and canvases by Cézanne, Picasso, Matisse, Modigliani, Renoir, and Soutine. But is there something less easily quantified that has accounted for the Barnes’ allure all these years? Will an antique experience translate into the modern vernacular?

In his piece Dobrin also comments on the Philadelphia Orchestra’s move to a new home (Verizon Hall) in 2001–a move that was expected to increase attendance and improve the concert experience. Dobrin suggests that “the move did nothing to arrest attendance” and that, while the new hall may be acoustically superior, many Philadelphians seem to have a penchant for hearing the orchestra in its old home, the Academy. Ironically, the orchestra is now exploring ways to play more frequently in its old space.

To my mind this is a critical issue—and one that is too often given short shrift by boards, staffs, donors, city officials, and consultants pushing for growth and leading facility expansion projects. While we spend months discussing the fundraising strategies for these efforts, relatively little time is spent discussing the fact that the building is part of the experience, that it provides critical context for the work, and that when you change the building you change the artistic idea.

The Barnes controversy is one of a few high profile examples of this tension being exploded and examined. It would be healthy, I think, if every nonprofit arts organization planning a facility expansion or major renovation would encourage an extended public discussion (involving artists, community members, scholars, architects, etc.) on how the move could alter the ‘artistic idea’ at the heart of the institution, or the relationship between spectator and space, or the context surrounding the art, or the experience of the art itself, or the programming (fewer emerging artists or workshop productions, for instance).

Of course some buildings seem to dramatically improve the experience, but the opposite is also true. Not only does the experience become more generic in some cases, as Dobrin suggests, but my own experience is that it sometimes becomes less dynamic or engaging. In the case of live performance, in particular, sometimes something sublime happens in the effort (by performer and audience) to straddle the imperfect fit between a space and the work. I’m not suggesting that artists should not have safe environments and I recognize that if a performer is actively battling a space that it detracts from the experience for performer and spectator. I’m simply drawing attention to the fact that some of my best cultural experiences have not been in the best facilities. (And bare bones, to my mind, is still the best way to experience Shakespeare.)

In my post last week I questioned whether logic models were necessarily a good thing in the hands of some arts funders. One of the articles I thought about including in my post but didn’t was on the move of the Barnes collection which, the article suggests, was urged by foundations. Why did Pew support the decision? According to Philanthropy News Digest: [Read more…]

This is a post about my struggles to learn Dutch and assimilate to my new country (which I’ve endeavored to wrap back around to the arts). The past few weeks I’ve been studying rather intensely, preparing for my NT2 Staatsexamen I—the Dutch language exam that I must pass in order to be granted permanent residency status and the ability to stay in the Netherlands with my Dutch husband and his two daughters once my PhD position at the university ends in a couple years. It’s a two-day exam that tests reading, writing, speaking, and listening proficiency.

It seems highly likely that I’m not going to pass all four sections. I may squeak by on writing and reading but my listening and speaking skills are laughable. In fact it’s all I can do not to crack myself up when I’m trying to do these parts of the test they are so hard. I’m not being hyperbolic or fatalistic. I’m terrible. My tutor basically said the same thing. Fortunately I have a couple years and a few more chances to retake the sections I fail.

They say you need to know around 5,000 words to pass the exam. I’ve drilled vocabulary and completed all three levels of Rosetta Stone and done 15-20 hours of self study for most of the past year using the system that the government supports (until next year when the subsidized programs ends). I am weary of trying to learn this language. I was weary six months ago.

I mentioned that my husband, Jaap, has two daughters. Flora and Sarah are their names. They are amazing and the picture above is of the four of us the day after Jaap and I were married last year. They are the reason that I moved to the Netherlands and Jaap did not move to NYC. It’s worth noting that for the past 18 months I have been unable to really converse with the girls beyond a few niceties: “What do you want for lunch?” “That dress is pretty.” “Have a good day at school.”  For the most part, we’ve relied heavily on gesturing and Jaap’s translation services to communicate with one another.

The past two weeks have been spring break for the girls. The first week of their spring break (which the girls spent with their mum) coincided with the first week of my intensive studies. It was at the end of that first week of studies that I took my practice tests and realized I was doomed to fail the speaking and writing sections of the exam. I was angry and frustrated and depressed. As much as I love my husband and the girls, and have no regrets about moving here to be with them, the past two years have been quite challenging. I changed just about every aspect of my life and left my friends and family and a city and job that I loved very much. I have been here nearly two years and everything, everyday still feels rather foreign to me. I have had my heart set on passing this exam and feeling like the universe was giving me a thumbs up that things were going to be OK for me in the Netherlands. I have really wanted—really needed—to pass this test.

On Tuesday of this week the girls came to stay with Jaap and me for a week. And something small yet rather amazing happened when they arrived. I was able to speak whole sentences to them and, for the most part, understand what they were saying to me. I may not be ready for the NT2 Staatsexamen 1, but evidently a couple weeks of intensive study has dramatically improved my ability to communicate with my stepdaughters.

A few days ago I came to a realization.

I decided, “Screw the Staatsexamen.”

Yes, of course, I must pass this exam eventually to get a residency permit—but passing the exam is so not the point.

I want to be able to talk with the girls. I want to be able to chit chat with family and friends at the rather incredible number of birthday parties that I attend each year. I want to watch Dutch news and understand what’s going on. I no longer want a group of Dutch people to have to speak English for my benefit when I’m in a meeting or at a dinner party. I want to feel like I belong here. I want to understand my new tribe. I want to be able to make people laugh in Dutch the way I can in English, at least on a good day.

It’s probably going to take many more years before I achieve these milestones. But for the moment, I can talk a bit more with my stepdaughters. And I’m holding onto that as I prepare to fail my exam tomorrow.

So what does any of this have to do with the arts?

First, It’s amazing to me how much easier it is for me to appear fluent on paper when I still have a hard time speaking three sentences in a row without stammering and having to stop and start again. I’m both grateful and frustrated by multilingual Netherlanders who immediately switch to English at my slightest hesitation with their language. It’s generous of them to speak English (which they all do amazingly well); but it isn’t helping me to master their language.  My Dutch is never really necessary or tested. I can always default back to what’s comfortable—to speaking English. Similarly, I think it’s relatively easy to fake change, innovation, and transformation on paper and I note that we often stammer about as we try to talk thoughtfully and without a bunch of jargon about what we’re really trying to do these days in the arts vis-à-vis the changing world. Moreover, it’s tempting to default back to business-as-usual when initial attempts to change our processes are frustrating to us and to our stakeholders.

Secondly, and not unrelated to point one, I was wondering last week whether (like passing the Staatsexmen) securing a high profile grant to support innovation, or change, or sustainability, or the future (or what have you) has somehow become the goal rather than a means to a higher goal. There’s so much fanfare about grant programs as they are announced and their winners celebrated. It’s as though we are living in a narrative in which the organization’s hero journey is a multi-year conversation with a major funder and grueling application process that finally leads to a five- or six- or seven-figure grant, rather than a ten-year conversation between an organization and a community that finally leads to a stronger and more vital relationship between the two.

I knew I was starting to get somewhere when I both stopped caring about the Staatsexamen and also stopped telling myself that I could probably get by without having to learn Dutch.

Finally, going through this process has given me tremendous compassion for all the leaders and staffers of arts organizations that have been turning the flywheel (to use a metaphor from Jim Collins) for several years now, trying to transform their organizations. I imagine that some must be incredibly weary of the process. This is hard, sometimes grueling, work and the returns are often small at the start. My new life is very different from my old life. That difference feels uncomfortable most days. I believe that if I continue to persevere at the university and with my Dutch lessons and with every other aspect of my new and challenging life that I will eventually find my place in this foreign land. Likewise, I believe that if the arts sector keeps turning the flywheel that it will find its purpose in this new world. The worst thing we could do at this point is stop pushing forward.

I’m looking forward to writing posts on a weekly basis starting again next week. Thanks for your patience and apologies for the hiatus while I was immersing myself in Dutch the past few weeks, for the greater good of my relationship with Flora and Sarah, even if not for the reward of a passing grade tomorrow.

The beach photo was taken by the terrific Leiden-based photographer, Martin Ken.