Last month, I was invited to speak to a gathering of ”emerging leaders” (a term I still dislike…I’m leaning toward ”emergent leaders” instead) in Wisconsin, hosted by Arts Wisconsin, the Wisconsin Arts Board, and Overture Center for the Arts. My morning speech gave me the opportunity to sit down with the participants during their roundtable discussions, which were engaging and informative.
At our table, the topic was ”business models” or ”organizational structures” in arts and cultural organizations, and where they were proving frustrating or counterproductive. And a common theme was one of disconnection.
The young leaders in the group were longing for more direct and frequent connections to the arts and artists they were working to support. But the structure and nature of their organizations tended to keep them apart. One development associate mentioned that she loved the performances of her organization, but that during her daily work she might as well be raising money for a hospital — no music, no musicians, no contact with artistic personnel. Another individual working on the artistic side also mourned the disconnect from those on the administrative staff — her fellow dancers had no idea how the organization sustained itself, or what challenges or innovations their administrative peers were exploring.
I’ve noticed a similar challenge in almost every governing board I’ve served on or consulted with — a chasm between the passion and purpose that brought them to the table and the generic and mundane topics they tend to discuss. On my public library board, we tend to (and need to) discuss maintenance contracts, building repair, salary schedules, budget allocations, and even landscaping. But rarely do we discuss the power and passion that comes from books and the written word.
I tend to talk a lot in this blog about BIG systemic issues in arts and culture. But my conversations with the emergent leader group reminded me of how many tiny interventions are available to cultural managers to make their organizations better and brighter. In almost every organizational process — staff meetings, board meetings, coffee breaks, social events, and so on — there are opportunities to build little bridges between the business of the organization and the purpose of the organization.
Five minutes at a board meeting hearing about how a ballet shoe is constructed. A monthly brownbag between staff and artistic staff to share and celebrate their work. Inside information about how a season was selected, how a set was constructed, how an exhibit informs the art that hangs within it. These are all little bridges that reconnect staff to the reasons they work there, and connect the artistic team to the pillars that support their expression.
At my library board, we began asking each board member to bring in a book that was meaningful to them — that had some impact on their life for any reason. The resulting conversations took all of five to 10 minutes out of each board meeting. But they animated the room, they reminded us of our passion for books, and they allowed us to learn more about each other beyond the formality of Robert’s Rules of Order.
As we hammer at the BIG changes required for future arts organizations and the arts ecosystem, let’s be sure we’re making all the LITTLE changes we can to align what we do with what we say we value.
Excellent. So true. How is it that such “estrangement” has grown between the product side and the business side? The passion and the business structure? The current nonprofit governance model is so outdated. Shouldn’t we all be “lobbying” for changes????
I appreciate what you’re saying about these small changes, but I think that the veil between passion and business can be useful. We’re in the workplace together regardless of personal passions. If we lift that veil, we should be careful since we do not know how personal passions will mix. A modicum of dispassionate behavior is required.
We’ve done this same thing for our board members. At every meeting, we invite a member of the orchestra to talk about their instrument and their lives as musicians (we’re per service). It’s usually the most memorable part and it makes the part about asking them to raise more money much easier. Veil, schmeil, it’s about the mission, silly.
AMEN! We arts administrators got into this field for a reason, right?
Once when I was consulting with a small art museum, the Board was having a fairly difficult discussion about costs. Someone got particularly exercised by the huge (to the Board member) amount of money spent on shipping cases. I suggested that we take a break in the meeting and go down to the shipping area to look at shipping cases. Once the Board members saw the complex construction of a case that would be used for shipping a painting — and realized, for the first time, that this was not simply four pieces of wood nailed together — the worry about that particular cost was gone.
The difference between the product side and the business side isn’t necessarily about “estrangement”; it can also be en erroneous assumption that we all know what goes into the work and — perhaps most important — we share a common understanding of the language we use.
I’m all for removing those kinds of veils.
I think “arts passion” is very much understood and already romaticized enough. For the members on my symphony Board, the orchestra they worked to support was essentially and fundamentally a low-level business activity with a high-level budget which sold tickets to events and looked for supportive grants. We musicians ourselves were nearly completely invisible except as an Expenses line on the budget We were thought of as replaceable parts, emotional innocents who blew, bowed or hit things with passion, activities unrelated to the orchestra as institution, and accordingly to the practical values and activities of the Market. The value we musicians work at and which concerns us -making and perfecting the language of live music- wasn’t on the stock exchange and didn’t appear on the bottom line of the budget. Few Board members actually attend our concerts or were amateur musicians. Almost no Board member knew the qualifications or histories of the musicians playing or the many reasons for their fees. They didn’t include our names on the orchestra website. They were there because volunteerism, in our medium sized university city, is a kind of moral duty. The need I perceived while serving on this Board was to show Board members that musicians’ passion -like the passion they might have for horses or golf- is just the start of a musicians’ life work, and a private part of our own daily work. For us to cultivate and shape this passion is our undending job 8am to 10pm, within a miniscule income. I think administrators really need to gain respect for the work-related side of the artform rather than to get involved with trying to experience artists passion. That after all, is what we offer when we actually perform. We musicians need to be seen as WORKERS. The arts need to be known and revealed as a real complex working world which lives alongside and within a working market economy. At the centre of the world’s Market is the $dollar. At the centre of culture is “Art”. I think “arts passion” is understood and already romaticized enough.