Manifesto

We believe the arts change humanity for the better. Those of us who are writing this have, for one reason or another, found ourselves committing our lives to the exploration of all that “players’ stage” has to offer. And yet we find ourselves stuck. The music, theater, and stories of our dreams are rarely reflected in the insidious industry of today that professes to cultivate great art while simultaneously pandering to a limited and powerful class of privilege. The artists of today frequently come from wealth or are supported, directly or indirectly, by wealthy patrons, subscribers, producers, and ticket-buyers. Thus, the concert halls, galleries, movie screens, and stages of today provide a gentle playground for the wealthy--one in which they can comfortably live out heroic lives, place their feet into the shoes of the downtrodden, and cry at the beautiful absurdities of what it means to be human. Opera, theater, and symphonic music have become luxury items, accessible only to those with wealth and power—and other art forms exclude valuable perspectives by the sheer expense of participating. And everyone, including the wealthy, suffers for it. 

We who believe in the power of the arts believe that the arts have the power to challenge, question, and change the world. And yet, the creative process is too often enfeebled by the need to appeal to the tastes of those who can afford it to see it and the imaginations of those who can afford to create it. In seasons that mount hundreds of new works, we feel lucky if even a handful are truly stirring--and even then, we know that only a fraction of the population will even have heard of them. The mechanisms that are currently used to produce and share the arts are failing.

Therefore, in order to create great art that is capable of reaching and engaging all audiences, we believe that arts production must be radically reconstructed.

Current “Producers” of New Work and their Audiences

We make no claims about the intentions of wealthy arts producers and consumers, nor do we intend to critique wealth from a moral standpoint, as we see as an ineffective use of our time. We do not deny that contributions from the wealthy have made many of the pieces that we treasure possible, and we do not mean to exclude those with means from the arts. We are simply galvanized to make live performance accessible to and inclusive of those without wealth. We believe that accessibility and inclusion make both the art and the experience of art significantly more powerful. However, currently, the two production models available for developing and producing art--commercial and nonprofit--make this goal very difficult to achieve.

Both production models rely heavily on monetary investments from individuals with means. Consider the commercial sector. The costs of mounting a new production on Broadway often runs in the tens of millions. To keep the show running long enough to regain its initia.

investments, investors must spend even more to keep actors employed and operations going. Unions are necessary but drive the budget up even higher. It is rare for shows to recoup the initial cost of mounting a production and then turn a profit. Roughly 80% of shows on Broadway lose money and close without ever recouping the initial investment.

To make enough money to be profitable, shows have to fill up large theaters, run for years, and charge high prices for tickets. All of these factors impact the type of show that can be produced. The highest funded theater that is produced in New York City generally appeals to the interests of those with the means to support it: wealthy, white, New Englanders and tourists. Producers are often hesitant to mount a production that could challenge the privilege of the wealthy, offend the sensibilities of tourists, or fail to attract big audiences by being difficult to market or coming across as too experimental. Instead, producers might rely on adaptations of popular books or movies or the names of widely-known creators and performers to draw an audience. In other words, the pressure to make money significantly limits the capacity of what is possible on the commercial theatrical stage and that means that the resulting theater often feels stale.

Nonprofit organizations, though, have not proven to be the answer for creating great new work of performance art. Nonprofit theater and performing arts organizations are not exempt from the expenses of mounting live performances simply because they are not trying to turn a profit on their productions. In order to sustain, nonprofit organizations rely on donations from patrons, investments from board members and an ever-fading subscriber base. Because nonprofits must continually court wealth, the programming, again, is tailored to the interests of those who have means, donors instead of investors, but rich nonetheless. Most nonprofit theaters and performance spaces don’t premiere new work--as that is already too big a risk.

Those that do may desire, in their core, to liberate creators of new work from the need to placate the wealthy, but they have found themselves caught between their good intentions and the realities of donor culture. Unless they significantly cut costs, which frequently prohibits artists from realizing their complete vision--or at the very least limits the types of visions that are produced--the primary source of that funding is still the wealthy. Well-intentioned as they may be, the wealthy have blindspots, expectations, and their own agendas. As a result, nonprofits, guided by their boards, frequently take fewer risks, or are too hands-on in the production, or are focused more on agenda than quality--which can lead to safe, bland, and tokenizing productions.

To create great art that is capable of reaching and engaging all audiences, we must find a way to divest from individual wealth. 

The Creators

The impact of wealth in the arts is not limited to the producers and the audiences. The realities of developing performing arts in today’s society typically weed out artists without financial means, so that those who remain in the industry are generally, if not wealthy themselves, at least heavily supported by wealthy parents, patrons, or partners.

The weeding out process begins in primary and secondary schools. When schools are struggling financially, the arts are often the first program cut. Nonprofits may try to step in to provide access, but they reach only a small fraction of impacted students. Without this exposure to the performing arts, students never consider a career in them. Another group of potential artists gets lost at the college level, and then the graduate level, as they deal with the impact of often astronomical student loans and the necessity of supporting themselves in a career that does not provide emerging artists with a living wage. Without attending an academic program, there are few pathways for making connections or building credibility. But by taking out loans, artists take on a huge additional burden to their early careers. The artists who emerge from schools, then, are often those who could afford to pay for it without taking on loans--generally the wealthy alongside a few students who received financial aid elsewhere.

And still, the journey is not over. Typically, the development of a new work takes years. Theater pieces, perhaps more than any other form of art, rely on collaborations between a team of writers, composers, directors, performers and designers. Truly great shows tend to utilize all aspects of theatrical storytelling to the fullest extent. But involving creators who have the ability to create at this level takes time and money. Wealthy and connected creators can use their own money to hire teams, front costs of readings and workshops, and create the materials and demo recordings necessary to communicate their ideas to producers in both the nonprofit and commercial worlds. Those who do not have wealth and/or connections are at a major, often insurmountable disadvantage. New York, arguably the place to go to make the necessary industry connections, is an incredibly expensive place to live. Creators without wealth have to spend the majority of their hours working “survival” jobs, which stretches out the development process even longer--a cycle that leads to burnout or demands unworkable sacrifices (living in poverty for years, neglecting families or sacrificing the opportunity to have one, living without healthcare or savings, etc.). More often than not, then, it is the creations of the wealthy that make it to the desks of both commercial and nonprofit producers. 

Thus, our current theater model caters to wealthy creators telling stories to wealthy audiences. Given the relationship between wealth and race and gender, it is unsurprising that the vast majority of creators are white men. This does not mean that their stories are bad. But it is unsurprising that the performing arts and new music frequently feel stale or repetitive or unrepresentative, and that it often fails to live up to its full potential as a collaborative art. This model makes it difficult to take advantage of one of the key components that could lead to original stories and transformative experiences--diverse collaborations 1. 

To create a field capable of engaging all artists and audiences, we must divest from individual wealth and foster diverse collaborations.

Current Solutions

The idea that the arts would benefit from “diversity” is not new. But the solutions to diversify the field that have been put forward so far have been ineffective. Often solutions appeal to the morals of the wealthy, assuming that they want to do what is “right.” And it is true that there are many initiatives sponsored by the wealthy to be more inclusive of artists. These initiatives tend to target specific aspects of a person’s identity (race, sexual orientation, gender), but fail to create systemic change in any meaningful way. Any of these initiatives might make for a nice, colorful photo, but often lead to issues like tokenization and marginalization, which has the potential to strip creators further of their creative autonomy. Creators get pigeon-holed or relegated to side-stages. The initiatives themselves have an agenda, so the artists are often limited in topic2. And the initiatives often do little to prevent the widespread weeding out of creators as students or the earliest stages of their professional careers. In other words, the path is still narrow and full of tolls, and the gatekeepers are still rich.

Another pathway forward might be to advocate for the abolishment of capitalism. And certainly some socialist initiatives would significantly reduce the burden on aspiring creators and on potential audience members. However, these measures would have to go beyond government grants, which often replace a wealthy private investor with a governmental one--and come with even more stipulations and conditions. Universal healthcare, tuition-free education (as much as desired), and universal daycare would undoubtedly free more people to both create and consume art. Universal basic income would take it even further. However, the arts cannot wait for these massive systemic changes. In fact, the arts, particularly those created by voices who have suffered in our current system rather than benefited from it, might be necessary to create these types of systemic changes. Therefore it is imperative that we find a sustainable and structured way for all artists to succeed within the current system of capitalism. We conclude once again by stating: 

To create a field capable of engaging all artists, we must divest from individual wealth within our current capitalistic system--in which capital and profits are distributed extremely unequally-- and invest in our own free, diverse collaborations.

Restructuring Arts Production

The question, of course, is how do we invest in ourselves and our artistic community?

The first important point to note is that the creations of many artists do make money. Sometimes lots of it. The most successful musicals, for instance, generate billions of dollars. However, the majority of the profits of these shows tend to go to people who had no hand in creating the work--that is, to outside producers, whose involvement was simply to write a check to the people who poured their passion and talent into the shows.

Another important aspect to note is that art is never created in a vacuum. Creators collaborate with and/or are highly influenced by the work of other artists. Creators rely on a community to respond to their work. To that end, being part of a robust and collaborative artistic community can be enormously beneficial to an artist. Collaborating with creators, rather than competing against them, provides an optimal environment for more interesting work.

So what would happen if, instead of distributing the profits of commercially successful art to outside investors, the profits of artwork were instead controlled by the artistic community itself? What if this surplus were used to provide the seed money to future projects and to support working artists as they researched and collaborated? What if we gave agency and democratic control to the true experts--the creators themselves--rather than the outside investors and donors? What if, instead of operating competitively and individualistically as freelancers, we operated collaboratively and cooperatively?

We can create all of those conditions. We merely require a small leap of faith.

It’s time for us to ask ourselves: Do we truly believe that stories created by a more diverse group of collaborators can really lead to better, more interesting, transformative artistic experience?

Do we truly believe that organic collaborations work better than forced ones? That artistic freedom leads to something more interesting than art that caters to interest groups? That a board made up of working artists might make more compelling choices than one made of wealthy donors? That we can be our own source of financial liberation?

We at Midnight Oil Collective believe all of this whole-heartedly. We believe that dedicated, industrious artists who are in diverse collaborations, freed from the constraints of the current industry, can create work capable of changing the world.

To make these conditions happen in our capitalistic society, we will initially draw on another form of capital--one that artists have an endless supply of: creative capital. Our company will create online content, dealing with compelling ideas and stories on platforms that can be monetized at no financial expense to the audience, and at limited expense to the creators. We will start conversations and explore the ideas of members of our company. We will democratize the process of selecting new work and diversify our advisory board so it reflects our intended (diverse) audience (rather than reflecting our need for financing from interest groups). We will engage new audiences both in our content and in our endeavor--asking only that they watch and share. We will then use the proceeds of the online content and a variety of content-related revenue streams to fund live productions--and will ultimately reinvest the profits of those works back into our community.

In conclusion, to create a field capable of engaging all artists, we must divest from individual wealth and foster diverse collaborations by leveraging our creative capital and distributing the fruits of our labor back to our artistic community. By doing this we believe we can democratize the arts for artists and audiences alike, therefore changing the world.

Written by Frances Pollock and Emily Roller

New Haven, Connecticut

July 19, 2020

1 We do not use “diverse” as a code-word for non-white. Rather, we use it to mean people with a variety of socio-economic, racial, and cultural backgrounds and with different life experiences.

2 Gay creators feel pressure to write about being gay; black creators feel pressure to write about being black, etc.