Thanksgiving’s coming (here in the US, that is. It already happened in Canada because they’re way ahead of us on so many things, like universal healthcare, eh?). It’s on the 24th of the month.
As a typical American, you will spend the week cooking up a storm. Well, not so much a storm as a typhoon. Generally, you’ll roast a turkey, make an accompanying gravy, and fix your famous stuffing (called “dressing” by some). You’ll candy 42 yams, mash 87 potatoes, and make at least a dozen green bean casseroles framed by fried onions (because green beans are healthy). On top of that will be three-bean salads, ambrosia, and appetizers. For dessert, you’ll bake at least 137 pies, no less than 50 of them pumpkin. There will be enough food to serve an army of people.
But what if you forgot to invite anyone?
What will happen to all that food?
And will your friends and family think you’ve completely lost your mind?
Valid questions. Cooking for a large number of people takes time, effort, and a lot of money. But if no one eats the food, the entire enterprise is a waste of time, isn’t it? You exhaust yourself in the kitchen for no good reason, didn’t you?
Okay, let’s make a slight change. You invited everyone to come, and by “everyone,” we mean a blanket, identical invitation to people you’ve known for years, people you’ve known for days, and people you just met. You even invited complete strangers. Some of them know you’re a great cook. That subgroup may want to come. However, because they know that you issued invitations to “everyone,” they might be reticent to show up at your house and crowd around strangers just to eat your food. Good food can be found in many places, including takeout, so they stay home.
Metaphor over. Let’s talk about the art you produce.
The arts do not solve your community’s issues…unless you specifically want them to.
Let’s say now that you’re planning a season/year of art performances or exhibits. You’ve hired all the artists, chosen the work, and proceeded to build everything. You’ve advertised, press released, and social media-ed your play/concert/exhibit/event to “everyone,” and by “everyone,” we mean a blanket, identical invitation to people you’ve known for years, people you’ve known for days, and people you just met. You even invited complete strangers. Some of them know you’ve got a good artistic reputation. That subgroup may want to come. However, because they know that you issued invitations to “everyone,” they might be reticent to show up at your venue and crowd around strangers just to watch your work. Good art can be found in many places, including streaming services, so they stay home.
Do you get it now?
And yet, here you are, going forward just as though there were no COVID-19 global pandemic. You’re probably presenting or producing your art in a closed space with unimproved ventilation systems. You insist on producing work that either a) you want to do (vanity programming), or b) what you presume that audiences want to see, based on past productions (unctuous programming).
Still, you can’t figure out why no one is coming? Maybe you don’t get it already. Or maybe you don’t know how to move forward.
Psst. Here’s an idea. I know. It’s going to sound kooky, but go with it.
Cook meals for those who benefit from it. Present art for those who benefit from it.
If you took your Thanksgiving spread to people suffering from food insecurity, then at least for a day, they would not be hungry. If you took it several days a year, that would reduce their pain for all those days and more. If you got everyone who cooks to do it, you might not even have a food insecurity issue in your community.
If you take your art to people who have no access to great art (like, presumably, yours), then they might be inspired for at least one day. If you took several events or exhibitions to those people in a year, that would reduce their pain for all those days and more. If you got everyone who produces art in your community to do it, you might even grow your community’s culture, its intellect, and its creative spark.
In this Pre-Post-Pandemic Era, the idea of going into a crowded, closed-in hall is repellent to a lot of your old customers. A baseball game outside, sure. Football, even in sub-freezing temperatures, absolutely. But inside a small space (even a 3,000-seat auditorium is a small space in comparison to a sports venue), cheek-to-jowl with others? Only if it’s Hamilton! or Lady Gaga.
So when I read columns like this one from Crosscut, entitled “Seattle arts events are back, but audiences are hesitant,” all I can do is, well, this:
If your organization is a producing organization, then produce it where it can do the most good (in other words, not in a box). If your organization is a venue, museum, gallery, or other presenting organization, find ways to set up shop in neighborhoods that need you, not just the building in which you sit.
Be creative. Stop cooking when no one’s coming over to your house. Take it to those who might most enjoy it. A great cook doesn’t do it for any reason but to have people enjoy the meal.
Based in Kirkland, Washington, Alan Harrison is a writer and speaker specializing in nonprofit organizations, strategy, the arts, and life politics. His columns appear regularly in major publications. Contact him directly at alan@501c3.guru.
If you’re feeling generous or inspired, just click on the coffee cup above. You don’t have to, of course, but if you can afford it and find some value here, please provide the desperate need for caffeine.
Alan is always looking for good opportunities to write and consult for nonprofits that need a hand. And, of course, that elusive Perfect Opportunity™.
BIG NEWS: Alan’s new book, “Scene Change: Why Nonprofit Arts Organization Must Stop Producing Art and Start Producing Impact” will be published within the next eleven months by Changemakers Books. Stay tuned for information on how you can buy a copy.
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