ANXIETY IN THE ARTS WORLD
Will New York’s vibrant cultural scene be able to recover from the COVID-19 pandemic?
NEW YORK Every weekday at 3 p.m., leaders from across one of the world’s great cities for the arts join a conference call to talk about an ever-expanding catastrophe. Made up of organizations as grand as Carnegie Hall and as small as Queens Theatre, the Cultural Institutions Group discusses everything from staff furloughs to now-vacant spaces that could be lent to hospitals overburdened by the novel coronavirus.
As the COVID-19 disease has escalated, turning New York into a crisis epicentre, the resolve of a multibillion-dollar arts community has intensified to try to temper panic and pool advice. And what once was a routine monthly call among 34 arts and cultural organizations that receive significant money from the city has ballooned into a daily emergency call-in with as many as 170 anxious arts administrators and advocates.
It’s just one measure of the warroom response to the most serious threat to music, theatre and art in New York since — well, no one seems to know what in history compares to this shutdown and its open-ended timeline. Barely a month into the closing of every major arts venue in this city of 8.6 million, not to mention across the nation and around the world, the arts world is looking at a likely months-long shutdown with no clear sense of when it will end.
“I spend my days basically on the phone and on my computer, having video conferences and talking to the board and keeping them informed and raising money and talking to artists,” says Peter Gelb, general manager of the now-shuttered Metropolitan Opera. “We’re dealing with the past, present and future all at once.”
One can almost feel the city reeling from the blow of great institutions gone dark. Home to storied names in every field — Lincoln Center, the Metropolitan Museum of Art, Radio City Music Hall, the Museum of Modern Art — as well as countless artists of every stripe, New York lives on, and for, the arts.
Its citizens take a fierce pride in its reputation as the cosmopolitan standard-bearer for culture. To have that endangered is to put a target on the very identity of the city — a city in which Broadway attendance, surprisingly to many, surpasses all of its professional sports teams combined.
It’s impossible at this juncture to quantify the damage to an industry that generates tens of billions of dollars in revenue.
The short- and medium-term prognosis for public gatherings — the veritable circulatory system of live performance — is so uncertain that arts organizations are scrambling to figure out what to salvage and what to abandon.
They are compelled to game out multiple survival strategies that change with each update from the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. New York state and city officials, scrambling for hospital beds and supplies, are only now beginning to consider the fate of the arts industry.
So far there have been modest first attempts at a rescue: A group of private philanthropies, for instance, has collaborated on a US$75-million COVID-19 Response and Impact Fund for New York arts groups.
“The grief on the national level hasn’t even started yet,” says Erik Jensen — who, with his wife Jessica Blank, created the documentary play Coal Country, about 29 workers killed in a 2010 West Virginia coal mine explosion. Its Public Theater run was cut short by the outbreak. “What we experienced sharing those stories, and the fact that it matches up with the grief I see coming, breaks my heart.”
The prospect of protracted physical distancing only deepens anxieties in the arts sector. In a widely shared hour-long video recently, for instance, David Price, a pulmonary specialist at Manhattan’s Weill Cornell Medical Center, posited that “social distancing will be for months to potentially a year.”
As Glenn D. Lowry, director of the Museum of Modern Art, put it in a statement: “You have to assume it will be a long time, years not months, before we return to levels of operation approximating where we were just a couple of weeks ago.”
Few cities in the world have as intense a concern as New York when admission revenue for cultural events drops to zero.
Broadway, for example, is both a local and international draw for the city, as tourists flock to long-running hits such as The Phantom of the Opera and phenomena like Hamilton.
Now, Broadway’s 41 theatres are closed, their annual June awards ceremony, the Tonys, postponed indefinitely, and the satellite orbits of hundreds of off-Broadway and off-off-Broadway companies have stopped, too.
Broadway sells US$2 billion in tickets annually, and its total economic impact on the city is close to US$14 billion a year, according to Charlotte St. Martin, president of the Broadway League, a trade group for producers and theatre owners. It also accounts for 87,000 jobs, the league says, and generates upward of US$575 million in tax revenue.
That’s all in limbo now. In the vast non-profit sector, too, devastation is everywhere. New York City Ballet, venerable keeper of the flame of George Balanchine and Jerome Robbins, has cancelled its spring season and spring gala, and projects a US$8-million hit. Gelb estimates losses for the Met Opera at US$60 million; New York Philharmonic’s president and chief executive, Deborah Borda, puts the acclaimed orchestra’s losses at US$10 million.
Small and medium-size companies are hard hit as well. The Brooklyn-based Mark Morris Dance Group, with a US$9 million budget, of which US$7 million is payroll, has had to cancel performances and community classes.
“We have no income streams now,” executive director Nancy Umanoff says. “If this situation goes to the end of July, we’re looking at a US$1.8-million hit to the organization.”
Like Umanoff, off-Broadway’s New York Theatre Workshop managing director Jeremy Blocker is trying to keep staff paid: In recent days, the company that birthed Rent has received no-strings donations to help pay salaries.
Artists may be more mentally equipped for the rocky times than, say, the average office worker, as employment in the arts is permanently temporary. But the self-isolating aspect of combating the virus carries special hardships for them, as well. Kate Shindle, president of Actors’ Equity Association, the union representing 51,000 performers and stage managers, says the confining of “driven, competitive, creative people” to their homes may be “even more difficult than for people who work more 9-to-5 jobs.”
Add to this the stress of projects cut down, suddenly, in their prime and you sense an entire field being shaken to its core.
“Most people will have a hiatus and know that they have a job to go back to,” Shindle says. “For folks who work in the theatre, to say nothing of people who make their living in (special) event work, the light at the end of the tunnel is dimmer.”
One bright spot has been the circling of intellectual wagons in the interest of mutual support. New York-based foundations and charities, including the Actors Fund, are building campaigns, and connection-forging entities such as the Cultural Institutions Group are rallying the sector with ideas and a collective sense of mission.
“It’s incredible to feel like you’re part of a community and to have that we’re-in-this-together spirit,” says Taryn Sacramone, executive director of the Queens Theatre and acting chairwoman of the Cultural Institutions Group.