Arts Intranet

I am an artist by training, art historian by education, (former/on-hiatus) arts administrator by chance, creative placemaker by practice, and lifelong supporter of the arts by choice. And while most of my career has been in the arts, I’ve never been employed by an arts organization. Most of my life has also involved the arts. Aside from a failed attempt to be a ballerina when I was five, my childhood was defined by art classes and encouraging teachers. Despite having continuous opportunities to pursue artistic and creative interests, I never thought my hometown of Columbia, South Carolina, was a place to experience a diverse or growing arts and culture sector. I wanted to see more people in the arts who looked like me or had a story similar to mine. I also wanted to see the arts outside of purely arts spaces, to be less confined, and to be more accessible to the greater public. However, I had no idea what my career path in the arts would look like, only that I did not want to be a professional artist, nor work in a traditional museum or gallery after college.

I lived in a blanket of fear and anxiety as an artist for the first decade of my career. I remember when my dance teacher told me I wasn’t good enough to get into a prestigious dance school in South Florida. I auditioned for theater instead to ensure my acceptance. I remember booking a national commercial in college for a rhythmic dance routine. My sound and precision were perfect. They used my sound and one of my castmate’s “looks” for the actual principal. She was ethnically ambiguous, which sells more product. Both of these moments seeded doubt in my abilities to succeed in the industry. I always knew it was important to write a vision. Write it down, make it plain. One day, I looked up at a journal full of ideas—planned out with extravagance—and realized that I had not acted on a single one of them. I was only putting pen to paper while in complete awe at the people around me who were actually making things happen.

I was born and raised in West Philadelphia. Yes … like the song. On the day I was born, my Nigerian pharmacist turned American accountant father, my US-born IRS specialist sometimes saleswoman mother, and my then-teenage and new to the US sister gave me names—a hospital-room nod to traditional Yoruba naming ceremonies. One of my many names, Abiola, roughly indicates a child that brings wealth and honor, and my parents always treated me as though I could. Growing up, I was in and out of braces and the hospital, stood out physically, and was top of the class. Elementary school was rough. Still, I saw every new encounter as a potential friendship and had an insatiable desire to learn and create—which my parents fostered. When I’d say as a child that I wanted to be a writer, dancer, artist, and veterinarian, they’d say “ok.” At school, I was whatever label peers landed on for the day, but in our home, I was a writer, sculptor, dancer, singer, researcher, and more.

According to a December 2018 report from the World Economic Forum, by 2020—next year!—half of the global workforce will be made up of millennials. Despite the growing number of upwardly mobile millennials, young people are often overlooked as candidates for board seats in arts (and other) organizations. Most organizations are hyper aware of creating a well-balanced board, representing increasingly diverse communities. While we continue to actively address (and we must) race and gender diversity, age diversity is rarely considered. Leaving potential young board members out can be detrimental to an arts organization. A young board member brings energy, creativity and a fresh perspective. They often have a greater sense of inclusion. They can act as a peer to a young staff or to young visitors and attendees. Young board members also have a very deep social influence and can use it to promote programming, ideas, and giving. In a small community, like Lynchburg, social chatter can quickly increase attendance and helps to keep our organization top of mind.

I vividly recall my first meeting with Isela Sotelo and Manuel (“Manny”) Prieto, the outgoing and current Executive Directors of LAMusArt. They introduced me to the issues that LAMusArt and other arts organizations face, such as the need for better engagement of Millennials and younger generations, as well as the need to build a more diverse pipeline of board leadership. Traditional board member duties have often been limited to raising large donations; however, the dynamic and evolving nonprofit arts and cultural landscape demands that arts leadership look to their boards for deeper engagement, creative thinking and problem-solving, and fresh ideas in order to grow and thrive into the future. I shared with them the desire and passion that I and other young professionals have to make a more sustained impact on nonprofit organizations, contributing new and innovative ideas and building new leadership skills—goals that many existing one-off volunteering opportunities fail to meet. From that conversation, the idea for our Young Professionals Advisory Board (YPAB) was born. 

The post-graduation years are considered a rite of passage, where emerging artists navigate crushing poverty, unpaid internships, uninformed financial decisions, and rejection in order to emerge as bona fide artists. People use words like sacrifice and bootstraps. You’re expected to work for free in order to demonstrate your work ethic and “make connections” with important people. These connections, we’re told over and over, lead to paid jobs. Just not yet. Let’s look closely at these expectations through the lens of equity, diversity, and inclusion. In a field that is still white and male-dominated despite encouraging signs of change, those who hold privilege (economic, racial, gender, social, etc.) are better positioned to take the unpaid internships, get that one-on-one meeting with the artistic director, or convince the seasoned leader to take them on as an assistant. How can we better prepare aspiring artists from all backgrounds to enter this field?