Yesterday, I wrote about the birth of the star system prior to 1870, when notable actors would travel from resident stock company to resident stock company throughout the country, performing with the company actors for a few days and then moving on. Today, I need to double back to talk about real estate for a moment, because it is crucial to the story of what happened in 1896. To do so, I am reliant on the invaluable work, once again, of Alfred L Bernheim’s 1932 classic (reissued in 1964) The Business of the Theatre: An Economic History of the American Theatre, 1750-1932.

Zelda Fichandler, the co-founder of Arena Stage in DC, and one of the Founding Mothers (along with Eva La Gallienne, Margo, Jones, and Nina Vance): “There is no real way of likening us to other culture carriers such as the British National or the Royal Shakespeare Company or the present Moscow Art Theatre, since we are all of us broke and have small companies instead of very big ones. We spend half of our life at fundraising dinners and defending play choices to citizen boards of directors, since with the impulse that we should have theaters in our land came also the impulse that the community should be part of them, should put up some of the money, should even have a voice in them, and—now hear this!

As I wrote in The Rooted Stage: Beginnings, part 1 of this series, the first century of the American theater was dominated by the resident stock company which had the following characteristics: rooted in a single place in a single theater using a consistent group of actors performed a variety of plays independent (i.e., the capital invested in the company came from those within the company itself) organized as a cooperative But all of that changed around 1870, and again in 1896.

I was at a wonderful, new local restaurant today. It opened several months ago, and it was our first visit. The food was excellent, the atmosphere understated and comfortably classy. There was a nice bar with about eight chairs and fewer than ten tables, each of which sat four people. The restaurant is open five days a week for lunch and dinner. The staff seemed to be the two owners–maybe there was another staff person during another shift, I don’t know.

I’m fascinated by the Scottish theater company A Play, a Pie, and a Pint. They’ve just announced their 2025 season, which involves (this year) 18 new plays. Any theater that does work by Dario Fo has my endorsement, and I wish I could see Mistero Buffo.

“Meanwhile, back in the Year One…” – Jethro Tull, Skating Away on the Thin Ice of a New Day So how did the theater get where it is today? And how could it be different? These are the two questions that form the foundation for this series. The importance of the first question is described by Alfred L. Bernheim, whose book The Business of the Theatre, published in 1932, is considered definitive by many.

Pretend with me for a moment. I bring you into a room where you find a Red Box, a Blue Box, and a Yellow Box. In front of them is a pile of poker chips also colored red, yellow, and blue. I ask you to sort the chips into the box with the matching color. Easy peasy, right? There’s no value judgment about which color is “better” than the others– there’s no hierarchy.

Back in 2011, I wrote a lot about Holly Sidford’s study for Grantmakers in the Arts called “FUSING ARTS, CULTURE AND SOCIAL CHANGE High Impact Strategies for Philanthropy.” Sidford showed that the tichest 2% of cultural organizations in the US received 55% of charitable contributions and grants, a ratio that was worse than the income inequity in the US as a whole. Well, I just discovered that, in 2017, Sidford did a followup study to see if anything had changed in the ensuing years.

I’ve been reading Michael H. Shuman’s books for 20 years. This one really has me thinking about how to get my money out of Wall Street. Put Your Money Where Your Life Is: How to Invest Locally Using Self-Directed IRAs and Solo 401(k)s a.co/d/7QdzzEC

social.ayjay.org/2025/01/0… Lately, @ayjay has been the source of a lot of new thoughts and new reading for me. One thing about social media is that the changes that happen incrementally sometimes aren’t noticed until someone like Nick Carr adds them up for you. Add in Musk and Zuck eliminating fact checking and social media is a quagmire.

For quite a while now, I’ve been trying to find a through line for the thinkers I’ve admired, and I think I may have discovered it. The umbrella term is (true) anarchism (not the incarnation with violence). Here is how it seems to connect (in chronological order): Peter Maurin –> Dorothy Day –> Ivan Illich –> John McKnight –> David Graeber –> Murray Bookchin –> Chris Hedges (maybe - I have a certain ambivalence to his self-righteous humorlessness)

It seems to me that what micro.blog is helping me to do is avoid what Ed Zitron describes here.

As tech moguls each “contribute” money to Trump’s “inauguration fund,” I am reminded of Russia’s “mafia capitalism." It seems as if this is what has drawn Trump’s admiration for Putin.

Michael Rushton asks “what is public funding for the arts for?” He offers a starting point for reflection. My rejection of public funding for sustainable theater (not of public funding in general) is a desire for independence from artistic meddling. I want artists to pursue a unified vision that is their own in relationto their audience, unsullied by funders' priorities. Basically, artistic cussedness.

Here are the basics for the article I tried to write yesterday, but couldn’t get off the ground: Inspiration for the post:_Philanthropy by the Numbers: Measurable Impact and Its Civic Discontents_ by Aaron Horvath in the Hedgehog Review: Critical Reflections on Contemporary Culture Additional Source: The Most Good You Can Do by Peter Singer Thesis: The basic concepts of Effective Altruism are bad for the arts. Definition of Effective Altruism:

“Along with Joseph Addison, Shaftesbury paved the way for a new approach to English writing, pioneering a kind of polite and entertaining essay aimed at the educated classes.” – A Philosophy of Beauty by Michael B. Gill Have we ever had anything approaching such a tradition in America?

I like Austin Kleon’s idea of keeping track the books he __didn’t__read (h/t Alan Jacobs). I just DNF’d after about 120 pages The Book of Doors by Gareth Brown. An extended episode of Scooby Doo.

Wow. I just spent 3 hours writing something that could have been created by 3 monkeys pounding on a typewriter for 30 minutes.

In many ways, I think this quotation is what higher education in the arts ought to be: recognizing talent, and patiently helping it to emerge. I used to tell my students that I would consider myself a failure if any of them became little versions of me. I was here, I said, to help them fully become themselves. The task isn’t “to teach them how to do it,” it’s “to teach them how THEY do it.

A fine line, but the best playwrights and artists understand.

“…things do seem to have changed in literary fiction, and you don’t have to go back far to see it. The year? 2006. The people? Those the novelist Garth Risk Hallberg called the “Conversazioni group” for their joint attendance of a 2006 literary festival in Italy (called Le Conversazioni), interesting fragments of which have ended up on YouTube. The members of the group were Zadie Smith, Jonathan Franzen, David Foster Wallace, and Jeffrey Eugenides.

“The common strain that binds together the attitudes and ideas which I call anti-intellectual is a resentment and suspicion of the life of the mind and of those who are considered to represent it; and a disposition constantly to minimize the value of that life.” Richard Hofstadter, Anti-Intellectualism in American Life

“The theater’s rich intellectual inheritance serves as a buffer to society’s recrudescent stupidity.” Charles McNulty, LA Times I’m thinking about having a t-shirt made emblazoned with “A Buffer to Society’s Recrudescent Stupidity.” Perhaps with, in parenthesis: “look it up”

It seems to be an Alan Jacobs day! His post called “The Work Itself,” about the difference between being an influencer and doing a job, is excellent. For me, it is coinciding with my current reading of Matthew B Crawford’s Shop Class as Soulcraft and The World Beyond Your Head, _as well as Richard Sennett’s The Craftsman. For the artist, the work as an end in itself ought to be your entire focus.

[T]he desire of doing what is honourable and noble, of rendering ourselves the proper objects of esteem and approbation, cannot, with any propriety, be called vanity. Even the love of well grounded fame and reputation, the desire of acquiring esteem by what is really estimable, does not deserve that name. The first is the love of virtue, the noblest and the best passion of human nature. The second is the love of true glory, a passion inferior, no doubt, to the former, but which in dignity appears to come immediately after it.