jason pettus | But what about the artists, Jason? WHAT ABOUT THE ARTISTS?

Yesterday I got to talking here about one very specific business topic, as it relates to the new arts center here in Chicago that I'm trying to open these days - basically, how to deliver authentic underground experiences to our paying customers, and how I'm planning on offering free admission to working artists as a way of delivering on that promise. It goes without saying, of course, that I immediately heard from several actual working artists after posting that entry, accusing me of doing the same exact thing that those infuriating fucks down at Nextfest did to me last week when I tried to volunteer; basically, of treating my artists like faceless cattle, and assuming that I'll be able to manipulate them in any way I like for the financial benefit of the center.

Well, let me assure you worried artists out there that nothing can be further from the truth; there is just as complicated a plan in place to please artists as much as paying customers, simply that I ran out of room yesterday to actually discuss it. This is probably the biggest irony of arts administration, in fact, regarding the dual challenge of keeping both artists and art patrons simultaneously happy: when it comes to determining what will make either group happy, it's easy for artists (who primarily want money, drugs, respect, and the prospect of easy sex) and difficult for patrons (who primarily want "an authentic artistic experience," a much more ephemeral thing to define); but when it comes to actually delivering these things, it's easy for patrons (just give them their money's worth, and don't treat them like idiots) and extremely difficult for artists.

Just how do you keep artists happy, anyway, when you're the owner of an arts center? More specifically, how do you keep an unemployed 27-year-old bisexual atheist artist with a substance-abuse problem and anger-management issues happy? In other words, how do you keep me happy? You know, not the current me, but the 1996 me - the young, inexperienced, driven yet completely out-of-control artist who will make up the majority of our talent pool when the center finally opens? As I go through this process of conceptualizing my center, I ask myself this question over and over. Would the 1996 me be happy with this situation? Would the 1996 me feel like he's getting fucked over by the center for that particular policy?

My plan, then, for keeping the center's working artists happy, starts with the idea of a "Fellowship" program; a special level of membership, in other words, that is completely free for working artists to join, but which gives all the same benefits as the basic paid membership. Artists can then become a center "Fellow" for a year simply by donating the publishing rights for three of their stories or poems to us; in return they get free admission to all regular events for twelve months, a free t-shirt, and of course invitations to all member-exclusive events. And if you're a visual artist instead of a writer, you can instead donate the publishing rights to three of your visual pieces to become a Fellow; or, graphic designers can design three posters or t-shirts for us; or, copywriters can write three press releases for us; etc. Basically, if someone wants to become a member of the center for free, and is willing to do a little work for it, no one will be turned away.

Just this unto itself is what I consider a pretty good deal (for example, those planning on attending nothing but the weekly poetry slam and weekly open mic will save $500 a year), especially considering that most literary events actually charge an admission fee to the performers themselves, effectively forcing the producers of that night's show to pay for the privilege of providing that night's show. (I mean, seriously, how fucked up is that exactly? It'd be like charging actors $75 every time they got on stage and performed a play.) But this is just the tip of the iceberg as far as keeping my artists happy; as you'll see below, there are all kinds of other plans in place for rewarding all our faithful content producers, hopefully no matter where in their career they are or what in particular they need in order to stay happy.

In truth, I'm seeing the Fellowship program as not only a way to simply reward working artists, but almost like a minor-league baseball team - a place to test out one's chops, a place to get better at what one does, and a place where we can choose people for bigger and more rewarding opportunities. Once a month, for example, I plan on booking a fairly famous artist for a press-friendly "Evening With..." event (think Cory Doctorow, JJ Abrams, Kevin Smith, etc); each of these one-hour headliners will be teamed with a half-hour local opening act, and where do you think we're going to find our openers? It'll be to the Fellows, in fact, that we will turn every time we choose to publish another book or produce another spoken-word CD; every time we pay for a couple of artists to go on tour; every time some outside organization approaches us, looking for talented local artists we can recommend. So that's a second benefit to becoming a Fellow; not just the immediate rewards of free admission and t-shirts, but also the professional opportunity to publish more, to perform for bigger and more impressive audiences, to go on tour, with all the expenses paid for by the center itself.

But then there's a third benefit to becoming a Fellow as well - much like traditional non-profit arts centers, my center will also provide as many free resources as we can afford for local artists too. We'll have free WiFi down at the center, for example, that any artist with a laptop can access while hanging out down there; if you don't have a laptop, we'll also have two or three Mac Minis down at the center as well, that you can simply jump on if no one's using them. Artists will get a free MovableType-powered blog at the center's website if they want, as well as a free email address and a free online portfolio (if they're a visual artist, that is). Spoken-word artists will get free MP3 copies of all pieces they perform at the center, recorded on the most expensive sound system they will ever have access to - as well as the right to republish them if they want, sell them collectively as a CD, etc. Once a month the center will sponsor a free performance workshop, run by past slam winners, where locals can simply get together and critically discuss their performance style, and learn to become better (which is something I think the Chicago poetry community has needed for years). Four times a year the center will sponsor a free workshop on grantwriting, and staff members will actually sit down with Fellows and help them apply for various local opportunities. And the list just goes on and on.

Collectively, all these benefits will hopefully convey the following message to local artists: We appreciate you being a local artist, even if no one else does, and we're more than happy to reward you for it. And man, just ask me how many times over ten years as an underground artist myself that I waited for an arts venue to say something like this to me (thousands, it sometimes seems), and how many times an arts venue actually did say something like this to me, either through their words or actions (yep, exactly zero). Ask me how many times as a working artist I had to pay a fucking cover charge for the "privilege" of performing my work on a stage. How many times I would receive introductions from the host that went, "Jason just wrote a flattering introduction for himself and asked me to read it for him from the stage, so it'd look like I was saying flattering things about him." (Morons!) How many times a local "community resource center for artists" provided not a single damn resource that was of actual benefit to me as an artist. Just ask me how many times I had to deal with these issues as a working artist myself, and see if my business plan doesn't make a little more sense afterwards.