The Arts University I Attended Closed, and a College Theatre Program I Taught For Was Cut, but Please Don’t Talk About the Arts as a Victim

Over the course of just two days, a college theatre program I previously worked for was cut, and my undergraduate alma mater, an arts school, closed with no warning. In response to these closures, I have had many conversations and observed online commentary. As I have digested the responses, I want to state that I don’t think the arts are in danger, but the way colleges across the country are financially structured certainly is. I also sincerely believe this is a time for us to examine what we model for students in the arts, our responses included. Generally, feeling sorry for the arts as a victim isn’t helpful. This doesn’t mean that people losing their jobs are not victims—they are—but I am speaking about the arts as a whole. The arts remain powerful and extremely valuable, if we make them so. 

Since the arts are alive and well, let’s talk about this moment differently. The arts manifest in many ways, both traditional and new. Humans need and want to express themselves through a wide range of mediums. Even with the advent of AI advancements, humans will create things, and other humans will engage with those creations. What is falling apart are the business models of small academic institutions and, as I have discussed in previous posts, some of the business models that deliver the arts.

Let’s start with the place I taught at 9 years ago, the University of Lynchburg. At the same time that the University of Lynchburg cut its theatre and music programs, the other liberal arts college in my town, Randolph College, has expanded its arts offerings to include graduate programs in the arts and humanities. Both actions are an effort to change the business models of the institutions. As an artist, you would obviously prefer to find yourself in an institution that is using the value of the arts to try to reinvent itself, but I also understand why the University of Lynchburg made the decisions they did. I don’t have to like the fact that arts programs were closed and that artists lost their jobs to see the clear rationale that the university chose to use for their eliminations; according to the goals of the university, these programs were not garnering the number of student majors to justify their continued existence.

Now, I might get into some hot water here, but I think those in the arts need to understand that whether we like it or not, we exist in a capitalist society, and so do our academic institutions. Artists are going to be impacted by their value proposition to any institution that exists in this system and that they may find themselves affiliated with. The claim that the arts are a victim and that they must be saved for their own sake is not helpful to the longevity of the arts, and this approach is certainly not something to model for students who are heading into a world, fair or not, where they will continually be accountable for their work. Bertolt Brecht referred to art as a hammer, something to actively wield, not something that should passively exist while being broadly revered.

Now, before I leave this possibly misunderstood set of statements, I want to share that I think the value of the arts is wide-ranging and can be hard to pin down. I am not simply talking about value in regards to dollars in and dollars out. The arts in a liberal arts setting can be widely valuable as retention tools, for holistic learning, and as a means of building community pride, much like sports programs. There is an important lesson for artists who find themselves affiliated with small academic institutions, particularly long-term tenured track professors, something that those of us in the nonprofit culture sector have known for a long time: your existence is dependent on not only the work you do but how you engage a wider community in its value.

Now, the University of Lynchburg saw the value of their theatre and music programs tied to enrollment. I could and can make an argument that maybe there is a bigger lens to look through in this value proposition. With that said, having taught at the school, I felt clearly the wider value the shows I directed and the courses I taught had to the institution a decade ago. This was displayed in the lack of admission and advancement marketing for the theatre program, campus-wide engagement in performances, and the college’s investment in the crumbling facilities we occupied. For three years, I tried to engage the wider campus community through cross-departmental projects, and I attempted to move the professional theatre company I was running at the time into a residency with the theatre department, adding to the curriculum and professional development opportunities for our students. The attempted residency failed due to interdepartment fear of change, and the work I created across departments was met with silence from the administration leading the institution at that time. The writing was on the wall for me and the gears of today’s program elimination were already in motion, even if the elimination wasn’t fully realized yet. I wasn’t going to be an important part of their future, and I needed to get out. I didn’t even blame the school. Organizations have to make choices about what they prioritize and what they don’t. It was clear to me, a decade ago, that my work was not a part of the strategic future of the school. With this, I needed to be affiliated with an institution that valued what I did, so I was proactive, and I left. I understood clearly that I had value, the arts had value, and I wasn’t going to sacrifice either for the institution. 

Now, the University of the Arts, my undergraduate program that just suddenly closed, speaks to something else. This was an institution built around the arts. When attending school there, my theatre program was central to the identity of the wider school and community. It had clear institutional value that was baked into the whole package. I know it was extremely rewarding to teach there, and my time as a student taught me to value myself and my role in the world. Their closure is a statement on the strength of a small liberal arts college nestled in the heart of downtown Philadelphia, where the value and cost of its Center City buildings was an added pressure point. As enrollment dropped, as it is all over the country, and expenses went up, the environment became a pressure cooker. We will find out more in the coming months about what specifically happened—nefarious real estate shenanigans or just mismanagement—but regardless, the business model of a downtown liberal arts college with a small endowment and a shrinking student body now has vultures flying overhead. The institution's value proposition was failing, not the arts themselves. 

I am deeply saddened that there is a probable world in which young dancers, painters, actors, and musicians aren’t populating the “Avenue of the Arts” (the portion of Broad Street that the university occupied), but rest assured, these artists will find homes. They will create art, and the world will be impacted by their gifts. It is just that the vessel they occupied at the University of the Arts was a failed institution that was unable to adapt to a changing world. 

All in all, what I am saying is that as a creative community, we must model to student artists that they must work to build environments where they are valued, that they work hard for that value, educate people on that value, and that adaptation and evolution are key to survival in any profession, even the arts. Culture is power. The arts are powerful if you choose to wield them. Institutions, buildings, administrations, and traditions fade, but the need to express and the opportunities to find value in human expression will never die. Make sure our students know this as we forge new paths for supporting, teaching, and delivering the arts.