funding the arts

In preparation for a concert in mid-July, I have been playing at an amateur orchestra for the past weeks. This is not my first time with them, for I had played in their concert at the Esplanade last year. Despite its ostensibly amateur set-up, the group has been around for a few decades.

It was through my music teacher, who plays with them, that I first got to know about the group. There are no auditions, but most players in the orchestra can play rather decently and have no problems with their scores. In fact a few of the younger one are even accomplished enough to play in concertos. There is, however, no formal attendance requirement. Membership (I’ll explain this concept later) is not even obligatory. It is common for players to skip the weekly practices if they aren’t free. A good number of them are students who got roped in by their friends to help out. It’s completely voluntary in that sense. And then there are the more senior ones, generally in their 40s, who have been around for quite a while.

So how does this orchestra survive? This has been the question I was contemplating since a few weeks back. Rental of the practice venue and concert hall, air-conditioning, photocopying, fees for the conductor, etc… these can add up to a hefty amount. Who pays? I don’t think the student players are prepared to make monetary contributions. Seeing that tickets are not usually all sold out at their regular concerts, that was a natural question.

So I asked my teacher. The group gets some sponsorship from the arts council. Ticket sales also add to the revenue, but sometimes they run into a deficit. I later also found out that they have a membership scheme, very much like the “subscribers” for more professional musical groups. These members pay a monthly subscription fee (it doesn’t even add up to SGD$200 a year) and get frequent updates about the orchestra’s events. The benefits are more nominal and much less sophisticated than those of professional groups. There are a good number of members who are not currently playing in the orchestra, but consistently provide monetary support to the group. This must be where the bulk of their support comes from. Perhaps coming from a Chinese taboo to not want to allude to money directly, my teacher was pretty dodgy about that last part when I asked about their funding sources.

Not long after this was made known to me, I was asked if I wanted to sign up. The subscription fee wasn’t very much. It would have looked really miserly if I, as a working professional, refused to there and then. So I agreed to. It must also have come from my not wanting to be inflicted by “play for free” stigma, even though it probably won’t cost more for one more person to play in there, for it every practice should “cost” a constant amount.

Actually, I found myself hesitating for a few seconds to ponder over the natural “what’s in it for me?” question. Honestly, not much. It’s like contributing to a charity. It’s out of goodwill, with minimal or no personal returns, except that for the case of charity, there are more tangible consequences. Some time during my college days, I did decide that I would like to support the arts when I have a job, so why that hesitation?

Then I saw where this was leading to. It is the perennial problem of surviving in the arts world. Those thoughts I had are understandably instinctive for anyone. It won’t affect the price of pork (as my former boss would say) if I attended a chamber concert this evening, or visited the local art gallery. It wouldn’t have mattered if I bought a ticket to the independent film screening, or the theater performance. Most of us, I’m sure, can easily do without them. Unlike for charitable causes, no needy person really benefits. If I asked my friends for voluntary contributions to any art groups, the response would not be much different from mine if a well-dressed stranger approached me and asked for spare change. The cost-benefit equation doesn’t balance.

The problem is more pronounced here, where arts patronage is not part of our culture. In the name of cold pragmatism, we have developed a habit of rationalising in terms of tangibles and measurables. When I asked my colleague if he was interested to attend the concert I was going to perform in, he asked for the cost of the tickets and how long the concert was going to last. Thinking that he was probably concerned that the performance might stretch too late into the evening, I gave an honest estimate of 2 hours for the concert duration. Then he said:

“Hmm… it’s quite worth it! For concerts by X X Orchestra, the ticket prices are so high, and the concert lasts for a few hours. This one’s so much cheaper… and the duration is about the same…”

It’s a good thing that I’m not a professional musician, because I would have been very offended by that remark! Are musical performances nothing more than pay-by-the-hour jukeboxes?

Through other ticket sale experiences, I began to appreciate how difficult it was to make a living in my country if one was involved in the arts. Of course, there are various means to put bread on the table, such as teaching and freelancing, but these endeavors still depend on trading a service, or a tangible entity, for money. It is still difficult here to ask for unconditional private support for one’s artistic pursuits. Most of the support artists get are therefore state-provided.

So what’s in it for me when I pay for an art performance or event? How can I convince someone that these events are worthy causes? I have yet to come up with my own answer, even though I feel a genuine need to show my support.

Meanwhile, I will continue to fiddle on while the music still flows.