Fund guy: Alan Davey, chief executive of Arts Council England, in 2008. (Photo: Getty)
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Our arts organisations are in a dance of death

The deadline for Arts Council applications has just passed, and the funding outlook is looking bleaker than ever.

Arts organisations and museums all over the country will have been scrambling to get their grant applications in to the Arts Council by 12pm Tuesday. And they should be worried. The news in all of the culture pages in newspapers is bleak. Stories abound about local authority cuts and Arts Council cuts, and rightly so, because without investment the arts and cultural industries are at risk.

I could spend my time arguing about the numerous benefits these industries bring to the economy: how this is an industry that generates up to £8m an hour; the innumerable benefits engaging in the arts has on a person’s outlook on life; or for the way that tourists flock to the UK, not for the rain, but for visits to our museums, galleries, and theatres. But instead, I think it’s time for us to face the music and dance.

Government funding of the arts is being cut. Despite the Arts Council doing a stellar job of advocating and arguing the case for sustained investment in the arts, they are facing even more cuts to their grant in aid. And we may see what is further in store when the budget is announced on Wednesday.

And local authority cuts are also hitting home this year. Yes, some councils recognise the vital work that the arts and culture do, but the facts are that cumulative local government funding for the arts fell by more than 20% between 2009/10 and 2011/12. This is hugely disproportionate to the cuts that local government have even had to make during this period, and shows that arts and culture is being singled out. So what dances can we do to this terrible track?

Some members of the public have called for the Arts Council to back-fill the local authority cuts that are placing specific arts organisations under threat. Just look at the Brewhouse Theatre, where local MPs and those in the community all looked to the Arts Council, with hands held out, hoping for some emergency funds to save them.

But should the Arts Council shuffle vital (and limited) funding to these organisations to keep them standing? I would argue not. Surely the little money that we have should go to the strongest organisations, those that are sure to put on outstanding work and engage people with the arts in new and exciting ways? The strongest certainly does not mean the largest; there are, by percentage, many more small cultural organisations that are really delivering both artistically and sustainably.

The UK government suggests marching to the beat of the philanthropic drum. But there is no way that philanthropy can generate the kind of money that arts organisations are losing from local authority and Arts Council cuts.

One of the most dangerous pieces of rhetoric flying around Westminster at the moment is that philanthropy could replace state funding. It cannot, because state funding is risk money. Organisations use this money to make the work that other sectors would not fund. Look at Manchester International Festival. It is so exciting because the work you see there is completely unique – you wouldn’t see chances and risks like this being made anywhere else, especially not when business funding is involved.

Perhaps for some arts organisations, then, this is a dance to the death. Arts organisations are businesses, and businesses need to be sustainable. Those that aren’t will inevitably fold. It’s a Darwinian economy that we buy into, and inevitably only the strongest business plans will survive.

One of the things we are teaching at Goldsmiths is to have the contingency of folding in your organisation’s business plan.

If an arts organisation does have to fold, one of the outcomes should be that the artistic excellence goes on to nourish and support other organisations in the sector. For instance, artistic directors should be able to take the skills they have honed and refined elsewhere, perhaps shaking things up in another organisation. And for those in administration or in governance, they should be able to learn from the mistakes that they perhaps may have made in the past, and take that elsewhere, strengthening business plans in other organisations.

It is in this sense that collaboration is key, in the life of an arts organisation of course, but also in its death. The system has been set up to make organisations compete for funds, audiences and essentially survival. Maybe we can change the paradigm to one of collaboration and mutual support, or even symbiosis. The recent Plan B statement suggests a much more collaborative relationship with organisational supporters and audiences. This is clearly going in the right direction.

The more we work together, the more we can help each other out, driving towards a common goal in this sector – that of having a thriving arts and cultural scene, enjoyed and appreciated by all. To survive, we need to stop dancing solo, and grab a partner.

Gerald Lidstone is director of the Institute for Creative and Cultural Entrepreneurship at Goldsmiths, University of London. HeThe Conversation receives funding from AHRC, Ford Foundation

This article was originally published on The Conversation. Read the original article.

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The top children’s TV show conspiracy theories

From randy Postman Pat to white supremacist Smurfs, we present to you your childhood in tatters.

We can probably all agree that, these days, nothing is sacred. If you can (as a few very insistent YouTube videos have told me) pay to watch live snuff films on the dark web, there’s probably someone out there – in the thronging nest of perversions that is the internet – ready to take something special from your childhood (say, a favourite TV programme) and make it unclean.

Which is exactly what happened when an internet-spawned theory found history’s least sexual fictional character, Postman Pat, to be a stop motion sex monster. The theory goes that he has fathered a lot of children in the village school, many of whom have ginger hair; Pat is the only red head in Greendale.


Because humans are incapable of not picking at every innocent thing until it goes gangrenous, here are some other childhood-ruining fan theories.

Babar is a colonial stooge


Babar lording it over the colonies. Photo: Flickr/Vanessa

Could everyone’s favourite anthropomorphic French elephant be an apologist for centuries of Western brutality and conquest? Well, yes, obviously. According to the “Holy Hell Is Babar Problematic” theory, the fact that the titular character was born in Africa, raised and “civilised” in Paris, then sent back to Elephant Land to be king and teach all the other elephants how to be French, makes Babar about as suitable for children as a Ladybird introduction to eugenics and a Playmobil King Leopold.

For further proof that this theory isn’t “political correctness gone mad”, but actually political correctness gone quite sensible, just look at some of the (deeply un-OK) illustrations from the 1949 book Babar’s Picnic.

The Smurfs are white supremacists


A horrifying vision of ethnic uniformity. Photo: Getty

Or maybe “blue supremacists” would be more accurate. Either way, they’re racist. Possibly. It’s been pointed out that the Smurfs all wear pointy white hats. Apart from their leader, Papa Smurf (the ultimate patriarch..?), who wears a red one. Meaning these tiny munchkin thingies are (maybe, just maybe) sartorially influenced by none other than the Ku Klux Klan.

This seems tenuous at best, until you look at a few other factors in this theory brought to light by French political scientist Antoine Buéno. Buéno suggests that the dictatorial political structure of Smurf Village paired with some actually quite convincing racism (when Smurfs turn black, for example, they become barbaric and lose the power of speech), equals Nazism.

What’s more, the Smurfs’ main antagonist – a wizard called Gargamel – is not unlike an antisemitic caricature from Nazi propaganda magazine Der Stürmer. He’s dark haired, hook-nosed and obsessed with gold. Oh, and he has a cat called Azrael, which is the Hebrew name for the Angel of Death.


 

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And, in case you’re not already far enough down the “Smurfs are racist” rabbit hole, just look at Smurfette and her long, blonde hair. Aryan much?

SpongeBob SquarePants is a post-nuclear mutant


Forever running from haunting memories of radioactive atrocity. Photo: Flickr/Kooroshication

According to one fan theory, this Nickelodeon classic may have more in common with The Hills Have Eyes than we think. SpongeBob, a talking sponge who lives in an underwater pineapple with a meowing snail, may well be the product of nuclear testing.

In the Forties, the US detonated two nukes in an area of the Pacific called Bikini Atoll. SpongeBob lives somewhere called Bikini Bottom. Coincidence, or an especially dark analogy for the dangers of radiation and man’s lust for destruction? Hm.

Tom and Jerry is Nazi propaganda


Skipping merrily through the Third Reich. Photo: Flickr/momokacma

Either we’re so obsessed with Nazism that we look for it (and find it…) in literally everything, or the antics of a classic cat and mouse duo really do contain coded messages about the futility of the Allies’ war with the Third Reich.

If we’re going for the latter, let’s start with the characters’ names. Tom (Tommies were British soldiers) and Jerry (Jerries were German ones). Now remember, Tom is the bad guy. In every episode, he tries to kill Jerry by any means possible, but is foiled every single time, getting blown up by sticks of dynamite and flattened by falling anvils along the way.

Tom and Jerry first aired in 1940 – the same year as the Battle of Britain. So, if the reference to slang for Brits and Germans was unintentional, it was more than a little bit unfortunate. And, according to some albeit sketchy-looking corners of the internet, this was no accident at all but a message (in that Jerry constantly outwits Tom) about superior German intelligence.

Although this may seem like the least compelling of all of these dark fan theories, it would explain why I always had a gut feeling the painfully smug Jerry was the actual baddie.

Eleanor Margolis is a freelance journalist, whose "Lez Miserable" column appears weekly on the New Statesman website.