In the wake of a global pandemic, it is almost universally understood that there are innumerable factors from the past year that have made it difficult to indulge in our favorite art forms. These challenges also have highlighted inequities in the arts sector that can no longer be ignored. In the face of these inequities, artists have begun prioritizing their platform to combat these barriers and to help change the arts sector for the better. The Color of Music Collective, or COMC, is an example of a group of artists/arts patrons who are aware of these inequities and, in turn, seek to use their online platform to engage and dismantle inequitable systems in the music industry. When asked about the origins of the Color of Music Collective, Mia Van Allen, the founder of COMC, recalled her experience as an intern working in the music industry: “As a woman of color working in the (field) it was difficult to find representation.” This experience laid the groundwork for the birth of the collective. COMC is a new organization that developed last year during the pandemic—thus their experience as a collective is unique in that their programs have always been virtual with the intent of remaining as accessible as possible.

Unleashed by anxiety over the pandemic, the nationwide rise in anti-Asian hate has served as a call to action for many Asian American artists to take a stand: To actively challenge the historic negative stereotype of the vice- and disease-ridden Yellow Peril; to dismantle the pernicious and divisive myth of the model minority that pits achievements by Asian Americas as judgements against other communities of color; and to advocate for social justice, equity, and inclusion for all. Located on opposite coasts, the work of photographer Mike Keo and multimedia artist Monyee Chau exemplify this new generation of Asian American activist-artists who are working within their respective communities to effect change. Both skillfully employ social media to raise awareness. Keo and Chau follow a long line of Asian American activist-artists and curators who deserve wider recognition. Most notably, in 1990 artists Ken Chu and Bing Lee and curator Margo Machida founded Godzilla: Asian American Art Network, an influential collective of artists and curators in New York City.

The multi-media Atlanta-based artist Luzene Hill, a member of the Eastern Band of Cherokee Indians, was one of five Fellowship artists chosen by the Eiteljorg Museum in Indianapolis in 2015 and featured in their exhibition Conversations (the other artists honored in 2015 were Brenda Mallory, Da-ka-xeen Mehner, Holly Wilson, and Mario Martinez). Certainly, the work of these artists reaches a high formal and aesthetic level, as well as being informed by complex contemporary cultural, social and political realities. Luzene Hill’s work draws deeply personal and difficult experiences related to violence against women and Indigenous cultures. In creating museum and site-specific installations, she helps her audiences understand complex issues on a deeper level. In communicating about tough issues, she also manages to create visually stunning work. During our current period of tremendous social, cultural, and political upheaval, artists like Luzene Hill bring needed attention to key issues while engaging our hearts and minds to consider more effective ways to respond to the serious work that remains to be done.

Civic leaders are recognizing more and more that the impact of the arts goes beyond cultural and aesthetic enhancements. The hope is that civic engagement—artists working on location in studios, museums, galleries, music, and dance performances—will attract people, and their economic infusion will foster the development of neglected downtown areas. Public art is now trending as reparations for African Americans and women. In this watershed moment—spurred by the massive uprisings and protests in response to the killings of George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, Ahmaud Arbery, Tony McDade, and too many others—we understand that bridging the deep racial and ideological chasms for environmental justice will require creative solutions and funding. I want to be counted as a catalyst to meet this moment as I continue to advocate for my public art practice by creating awareness to deepen the knowledge of the people of color’s struggle for equity. “How do we get more women and people of color into the public-art arena?” Time magazine asked me, last year. I retorted, “It’s not going to be easy!” It’s not. Of the 5,000-some-odd representational-figurative public artworks in the United States, less than five percent have been created by women; and fewer than that have been created by Black people. 

Philanthropists around the country are trying to make an outsize difference during the COVID-19 crisis with an initiative called #HalfMyDAF. The group, founded by Jennifer and David Risher, has banded together to offer matching challenge grants when others join them in committing to distribute at least half of the money in their Donor Advised Fund accounts to charities. The initiative spurred the distribution of $8.6 million in DAF distributions that were matched by $1.8 million in matching grants in 2020. So far $3.1 million is available in matching grants for 2021, but those funds will support the arts only if arts philanthropists step up to participate. Below is the story of one arts organization that benefitted from the initiative in 2020, Ashland New Plays Festival, which received a matching grant that provided a significant additional financial boost in a difficult year. Could this growing movement do even more for the arts in 2021?

As a Korean adoptee facilitating anti-racism workshops within the arts field, I have experienced many artists who view race and racism as a black and white binary. I have noticed terms such as BIPOC (Black, Indigenous, People of Color) being weaponized against People of the Global Majority by organizations when they are only referring to the Black community. Now, don’t get me wrong. We do need to center the most harmed and impacted communities which are the Black, Brown, and Indigenous communities. However, that does not mean communities such as the AAPI (Asian American Pacific Islander), Middle Eastern North African, Latinx, and Mixed should be forgotten. If your anti-racism work is not intersectional, you are still upholding white supremacy. This has shown up in the arts community even when artists are practicing and actively becoming anti-racist. I have had conversations with individuals who question if we should call the hate crimes the AAPI community is experiencing because of COVID-19 “racist events.” I have also had to explain that AAPI individuals who are light skinned do hold power but not enough to define, protect, and pass laws to protect our own community. When conversations and topics like these come up, my proximity to whiteness is questioned. This is white supremacy showing up. Not all Asians look like me. Not all Asians have a similar experience.

In the initial days of the pandemic, I—like many of you, I’m sure—imagined that I’d have so much more time to create. As a writer, I envisioned using what would have been my commute to crank out the draft of my next novel. However, my good intentions quickly faded as the reality of living through a pandemic set in. I find some comfort in knowing that I’m not alone. Our survey of artists and creative workers found that 64% experienced a decrease in their creative productivity during the pandemic. Much of this decrease is due to logistical reasons: in-person events have been cancelled, venues have been closed. Additionally, artists are finding that their time is being spent on other responsibilities: homeschooling kids, taking care of elderly parents, or sifting through grant or loan applications to supplement lost income. Plus, it’s hard to create when everything around you feels like a fire that needs to be put out. Perhaps not surprisingly, over half (53%) responded that their decline in productivity was due to stress, anxiety, and depression about the state of the world, and 19% said that their health or their family’s health had been impacted by COVID-19, preventing them from working. This last finding was true for 25% of BIPOC respondents, compared to 15% of white respondents. 

According to the artist Alan Michelson—a Mohawk member of the Six Nations of the Grand River who is currently based in New York—history is unfinished business demanding our attention. He believes that American history needs to address some hard truths if we are ever to progress beyond this tragic juncture. Alan also believes that the arts generally, and public art in particular, play significant roles both in addressing complex issues and making important social change. From his Indigenous world view, the violent and fraudulent dispossession of Native people is a significant issue that must be front and center in the national discourse. He has contributed considerably to this discourse, especially in the last couple of years. The Whitney Museum presented his solo exhibition Wolf Nation (Oct. 25, 2019 through Jan. 12, 2020) and College Art Association named him one of their two Distinguished Artists for their 2021 conference. He has made substantive contributions to the national cultural conversation for years. As Alan conveys, “My work is very much grounded in the local, in place, and place can be fraught when you’re Indigenous.” From his perspective, understanding the historical and cultural dynamics of place is at the heart of his work. 

About this time last year, Americans for the Arts staff put our heads together to create a “Trends in 2020” blog post. We didn’t anticipate an economy-grinding pandemic, which has devastatingly shaped everything this past year, but we did hit some of the other trends that occurred—demographic change, rising division and distrust, shifts towards equity, the fight over who would get to vote and political power, and the primacy of data. Across the arts field, most of us would agree that 2020 was a humbling, surprising, traumatic, and frustratingly unpredictable year. While trend forecasting in this moment is a tricky business, understanding what might be coming around the bend is crucial to our success as a field, particularly as we navigate such a volatile time. Who knows, honestly, what 2021 will bring—but the staff at Americans for the Arts got together (virtually, this time) and here’s what we’ve come up with—10 trends that we think will impact arts, culture, and the creative economy in 2021.

Community as a concept is understood universally; in function its possibilities are inherently dynamic. However, community becomes a necessity when it supersedes formation through common interests and is developed by way of shared experiences. For some queer individuals, and specifically ones of color, the ballroom scene is an example of a community formed through the need to have a space where everyone understands each other through shared experience. In interviewing Noelle Deleon, a Black trans woman from Texas, we are allowed insight into the ballroom community that she recently found herself a part of. When asked about the importance of ballroom she says, “It's where queer men and trans women can go to be free. There is an absence of the influence and presence of people who don’t understand us.” However, there is an elephant in the (ball)room, and that is COVID-19. What happens to trans women when it is no longer safe to host these grand balls with hundreds of other people in the room? 

Ten years ago, on March 11, 2011, Japan’s Fukushima Daiichi nuclear power plants suffered massive damage in the wake of an earthquake and tsunami. A dance artist, Eiko Otake, long familiar to audiences at the Flynn Center in Burlington, Vermont where I live, felt compelled to perform in the irradiated disrupted landscapes. “By placing my body in these places,” she says, “I thought of the generations of people who used to live there. I danced so as not to forget.” Joining her was a colleague from Wesleyan University, William Johnston, professor of Japanese history. The two co-teach a class on Japan’s nuclear disasters, with Fukushima now added into the curriculum along with Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Johnston, also an esteemed photographer, journeyed along to document Eiko’s performances as an artistic collaborator. Art performs life in this luminous project, reminding us that the role artists play in commemorating losses can never be underestimated. 

As we continue to report on the dire impact that COVID-19 has had on the arts and cultural sector, one question that frequently comes up at Americans for the Arts is: What can be done to prevent this from ever happening again? I won’t attempt to tackle that question in this blog post, but I will be discussing some of the lived experiences of artists and creative workers that emphasize the need for building an infrastructure where artists and creative workers can thrive. Our survey findings shed light on the hardships that artists and creative workers are facing. It’s important to note, however, that many of these conditions have existed long prior to the pandemic. We must work to dismantle the systems that have allowed these conditions to continue and rebuild anew to create a better future for artists and creative workers in this country.

As the second choreographic center of its kind in the country, NCCAkron often asks what it means to be a “national” center that is neither in the physical center of the country nor the perceived center of the dance universe. Being based in Akron affords us (and by extension, the artists with whom we work) the emotional, mental, and physical space to create from a place of abundance inherent to our Northeast Ohio stomping grounds. Being national in our scope allows us to stretch—to engage artists from all over, to hold even more capacity for ideas larger than ourselves, and to be the connective thread between communities. We refer to this as operating in both the hyperlocal and the national spaces. I felt a spirit of possibility immediately upon arrival in Akron, and try to underline it in everything we do.

For the last two years, we at Americans for the Arts have spent significant time listening, learning, planning, and in consideration to engage in a multi-pronged, multi-year effort to support inclusive creative economies at the local level, encourage stronger unification between the for-profit and nonprofit arts sectors, and pursue federal-level policies that support creative workers. With encouragement from current and former members of the Private Sector Council, a broad cross-section of local, state, regional and national advisors, and through consistent commitment from the Board of Directors, we sought to identify our unique role and where we can effect change alongside the many organizations, coalitions, and individuals doing this work. COVID-19, and its irrefutable disproportionate effect on communities of color, has only increased the urgency of these efforts. We know that we must, with intention and alongside new alliances and relationships, design strategies for the aspiration of an inclusive creative economy—recognizing that our current economy does not equitably support all people to reach their creative and artistic potential. This is an exciting and critically important journey. I’m pleased to share our plan on behalf of my colleagues, and to invite participation and feedback in it. 

In addition to the elevation of Vice President Harris, a woman of both Black and South Asian descent, to the highest position in U.S. government history, the highlight of Inauguration Day for me was the recitation of the poem “The Hill We Climb” by Amanda Gorman. At the age of 22, the nation’s first Youth Poet Laureate called to us to “rebuild, reconcile and recover” as we, “diverse people,” work to emerge “battered and beautiful” from the weight of all the pandemics. I have tremendous and unlimited faith in young warriors like Amanda. One thing I know for sure is that it is imperative for all of us to listen to our youth; to give them the platforms to be heard, and allow them the opportunities to lead the way. Let’s support and encourage our young artists. Let’s make sure we make available the resources to mentor and foster their development. Let’s be bold enough to run side-by-side with them, and humble enough to stand behind them.

It’s been almost a year since the coronavirus put the U.S. arts and culture sector in lockdown. At Americans for the Arts, we spent the last year surveying artists and arts organizations across the country. There can be no doubt that artists are suffering financially due to the coronavirus pandemic. Disabled and BIPOC artists especially are feeling the strain. While weekly research updates are available on our website, this new blog series on the impact of COVID-19 on intentionally marginalized artists and creative workers does a deeper dive into the data that we’ve collected from April 2020 through now. The results are clear: artists in the United States are hurting, and those who are intentionally marginalized have been hit harder, likely because of inequities that have long existed prior to the pandemic. 

News about Beethoven’s unfinished Tenth Symphony being written by a computer; the debut of the robot-composer who writes in the style of Bach; and the computerized protégé of the Master of Light and Shadow “New Rembrandt.” The artificial intelligence revolution has entered the sphere of art and music, a creative domain. In 2018, when the AI-generated portrait Edmond de Belamy, from La Famille de Belamy (Belamy Portrait) sold for $432,500, it attracted significant attention from the art community. Developers of the Belamy Portrait have created AI-art generation algorithms using Generative Adversarial Network framework in machine learning. Critics have taken issue with the originality of the AI generated artwork on grounds that the computer codes written to produce the images are borrowed. In fact, the creators of the Belamy Portrait—a French art collective called “Obvious”—acknowledged that the algorithm was a modified version of a code first developed by Robbie Barrat (a 19-year-old artist and programmer) who had openly shared his “modified DCGAN algorithm” on github. These concerns have raised questions about how copyright protection would apply in the context of AI-generated art. 

On Inauguration Day, we witnessed an explosion of arts, culture, and creativity in Washington, DC. Arts and culture were the backbone of the entire day—they carried the symbols of a broken country knitting itself back together, they celebrated our history and articulated visions of our shared future, they consolidated in striking images and economical language the whole complex ethos of a new presidential administration dedicated to unity, hope, and an American Renaissance. It was an inspiring thing to see, and hopefully bodes well for the position, and support of, arts, culture and the creative economy in the Biden/Harris Administration. In the days and weeks to come, President Biden will step into complex negotiations to build and then pass first the American Rescue Plan, a $2 trillion relief package, and then a subsequent large-scale workforce and infrastructure recovery bill—and this is where the rubber meets the road when it comes to how much, and in what ways, the new administration thinks about the centrality of arts, culture, and the creative economy. There can be no national recovery, no American Rescue, without the creative economy, and the 5.1 million creative workers who make it up.