Being a woman over fifty who doesn’t own her own home, who is still paying off her student loans and who 20 years ago realized that upward mobility was no longer the modus operandi if she chose to stay in the arts --I do have to ask, what is all the fuss about.

What is so different for the younger generation now than when I entered the work force? (Before you shout heresy, hear me out). Armed with my BFA and a kick-ass resume I worked two and three jobs, my friends and I produced our own shows to get our equity cards. We grew as artists by starting our own performance spaces to do the work we wrote ourselves. We formed our own acting troupes, got noticed in the Village Voice--a big thing back then, slept little, barely bought food and shopped at the Goodwill. Later when I graduated from Harvard with Brustein’s patriarchal blessings ushering me into the world fortified with more mega names on my resume I thought I was especially equipped because of the ultra-rarified knowledge that is the legacy of an “extraordinary” university education--wow, I knew a lot.

And I did know a lot and so do the younger artists around me that I’ve hired and who have just graduated from those extraordinary programs.  And like you I too thought I’d never pay back my student loans. I also desperately wanted a seat at the table. I went to conferences thinking the “leaders” where obsolete and needed the discerning innovations that swam around my, I must admit now, inflated ego. The arts were economically anemic then too. Then we had Mapplethorpe, Bible-thumping Republicans chasing artists with hellfire and rescinding funding, oh, and then dismantling the NEA and state arts councils, all the while, homeless turned up in vacant cars or lived in cardboard shanties in Thompson Square Park.

On the night Reagan was elected we created a play performed at the Life Café which was located on the corner of 10th and B in NYC. The “dying spirit of America” played by my best friend Danny, had a line I still remember, like a harbinger of things to come, he said “You used to be able to make a living off a “shit job.”  And I admit it’s true you could work small jobs and do your art. And we are in far worse economic times today than we were when. Those of you born in the 70’s must look back at us and think we had it easy.  And you know we thought that of those that came before us as well. We didn’t have health insurance either and AIDS was staring at us through the faces of the neighborhood acquaintances we passed on the street and often that face was never seen again. We lived two and three to a studio apartment and we sat looking at each other wondering who was going to be the next to “sell out” and get an MBA or go to law school.

We thought we were going to change the artistic climate and---we did.  But it did not happen because we pounded our fists on the table demanding to sit at the adult table at Thanksgiving. We had to reinvent the vision on our own. It’s a baby boomer belief, but a true one—it’s the quality of your work that buys you a seat at the table--a place on the ship, not the five or six figure education. And it’s a process of work that I feel is necessary--somehow functional visions don’t just hatch, they must be crafted and molded and that often happens in your own studios, performance spaces, and arts education storefronts—away from the generation you will eventually replace. I think that is healthy.

Unless you’re a genius that the world happens to recognize—artists have to create their own history and legacy.  We make it work through grit and vision and belief that being an artist suits us spiritually. So, knock on doors, perfect ideas and present them to the power brokers and …sometimes a door will open and most times not.  But eating is good, so experiment, keep moving, develop practical life skills, step outside your comfort zone.  If some small-minded-stuck-in-their-ways-old-time arts leader doesn’t listen go to another door, for heavens sake! Go write your own grants, and give us a run for our money? Leave those who don’t know their back from their front and get on with reinventing the universe to make room for you.

And please remember that you are entering a bedraggled and anemic arts landscape but you are also living in extraordinary times. Our extreme difficulties and alarming changes are affecting us all, not just you.

As I have grown as an artist, educator and more importantly conscious human being, I have coped with the shaky fluctuations in our cultural panorama seesawing between complete hopelessness and plucky grit and belief that what I do matters.  But looking out from my years of experience I must admit we are dealing with an increasing illness that has invaded the American culture--the illness that Morris Berman describes in The Twilight of the American Culture. Despite the gains I have seen and the flourishing arts education department I’ve created I see we are all headed towards rough waters. And we must hold tight to the sacred artistic tools and texts, keep them afloat, alive.

This is of far larger concern for me than a generational boxing match in a lifeboat that is going down. I feel we are all in a faulty container holding on, but it’s the container that needs fixing, not the people doing their best to bail the water from the bottom of the broken boat, that threatens us all.

So, I challenge the younger leaders who might be reading this to stop whining about what you don’t have or who isn’t listening and delve into what you do have--which are new innovative visions and the strength of spirit to figure out how to reinvent the wheel. If one door closes go to another, it’s wasn’t any different for us than it will be for you. Start your own organizations and if you don’t have the grit or stomach for life in the trenches head off to the state capitols or Washington armed with your valuable knowledge and advocate for real change.

True love is not for the faint hearted and the weak, and if you truly love the children you serve and the art that feeds you, no amount of resistance should be able to stop you, not even some old fogies who have forgotten that at one point they where in the same place you are now.

Meanwhile I’ll keep bringing the art I love to my community, paying off my student loan, employing the young leaders who do approach me as best as I can, and keep committing to changing one young artist or student at a time. If you’ve a proposal that has solid legs, is valid in a real life context, is doable in a “boots on the ground” fashion and is of course fundable—go to the first open door or create your own and bring it on.