Page 44 - 08_Oct-2025

and fundraising. All emphasized the
importance of keeping the arts affordable
and accessible, but each acknowledged
that a shifting fiscal landscape has
forced them to be creative in achieving
and sustaining these goals. Sometimes
“creative” means experimenting with
new productions, fundraising streams or
ticketing models; other times, it simply
means scaling back their offerings.
Take, for instance, the Freewill
Shakespeare Festival. For most of its 36-
year history, the festival has produced
two distinct works of Shakespeare each
summer, typically in Hawrelak Park.
However, in 2024 and 2025, organizers
reduced the season to a single play.
COVID-19 and a major rehabilitation
project in Hawrelak Park, which forced a
relocation to Louise McKinney Park, are
contributing factors, but the main cause
is declining attendance. Artistic
Director David Horak notes that
they began to notice softening
ticket sales years before the
pandemic.
Earlier this year, the festival
launched a fundraising campaign
alarmingly titled “Save the Freewill
Shakespeare Festival.” The goal is
to raise $150,000 to sustain the
festival for at least 10 years,
according to Horak. A review of
public donations on the festival’s
crowdsourcing page reveals who
wants to keep it going: private
citizens willing to donate $50, $100
and sometimes even $1,000.
Notably absent are large corporate
donors for whom such contri-
butions would be an easy lift.
Freewill Shakespeare is not
alone in turning to crowdfunding.
The Grindstone Comedy Theatre, a local
venue known for improv, standup comedy,
burlesque and musical theatre, is running
a similar initiative called “Save the
Grindstone.” Their goal: a modest $40,000.
This year, the Edmonton Fringe Festival
also launched a crowdsourcing campaign,
cleverly inviting guests to “adopt a porta-
potty” for $250, which allowed donors to
name their adopted toilets. The campaign,
featuring taglines like “Show you give a
sh*t about Fringe!,” inspired many pun-
filled porta-potty names.
While crowdfunding effectively creates
community awareness and emotional and
financial investment in the arts, it raises
questions about long-term sustainability.
Can citizens afford to keep our arts
44 EDify. OCTOBER.25
institutions afloat at $100 a pop, year after
year? I suspect not. If governments and
corporate donors further retreat from arts
funding, it’s unlikely that crowdfunding
initiatives alone could fill the gap. Such
campaigns are intended as bandages, not
solutions for the underlying problem.
In 2024, Workshop West, a local
theatre dedicated to producing and
presenting Canadian stories, often by
emerging playwrights, implemented pay-
what-you-will pricing. Initially envisioned
to make attendance more accessible, the
pilot project has proven to be a financial
boon for the 47-year-old company. Season
subscribers have more than doubled,
and shows are running at around 70
per cent capacity, up from very low
numbers, according to Artistic Producer
Heather Inglis.
WHILE CROWDFUNDING
EFFECTIVELY CREATES
COMMUNITY AWARENESS
AND EMOTIONAL AND
FINANCIAL INVESTMENT
IN THE ARTS, IT RAISES
QUESTIONS ABOUT LONG-
TERM SUSTAINABILITY.
Ticket sales constitute only a small
portion of Workshop West’s budget, which
relies heavily on public funding from
three levels of government. However,
the increased revenue has given the
organization room to breathe and the
opportunity to reinvest in the business.
Moreover, says Inglis, the company is
finally attracting younger audiences,
something virtually all theatres struggle
to achieve.
An initiative from the Edmonton Opera,
offering free admission to any of their
productions for anyone under 21, has also
yielded positive results. In the first year,
3,000 children and young adults attended
its shows. It has attracted the attention of
students exploring opera on their own and
parents who no longer have to weigh the
cost of childcare and purchasing additional
tickets when deciding to attend the opera.
Similarly, the Edmonton Chamber Music
Society now offers anyone under 30 tickets
at nearly half the price of a regular adult
ticket, and still significantly less than
senior pricing.
All of these programs aim to build new
audiences, expand access as arts education
disappears and ultimately help people
connect with the arts. There is some
indication that it is working. However, for
most arts institutions, attendance fees
comprise a small portion of their annual
budgets. If public funding continues to
stagnate and corporate funding fades,
it’s unclear whether existing arts
organizations could make up the difference
without downsizing.
It would be one thing if the
arts sector faced challenges in
isolation. However, funding is
declining at a time when other
public sectors, like education and
health care, are also strained. In
moments like these, when resources
feel scarce, solutions are often
framed in zero-sum terms, with the
thinking being: if we spend in one
area, we must cut in another.
In a local news article from
2007, then-mayor Stephen Mandel
addressed the backlash he faced for
increasing arts funding while city
roads were in disrepair. He pointed
out how little we support artists,
adding, “I’ve never once gone out to
admire a sidewalk or road.” While
I understand his intent, Mandel’s
response highlights how easy it is
to adopt the zero-sum mentality
between “core” and “noncore” services,
pitting one against the other. It also
reflects how quickly we take longstanding
public goods — like sidewalks, public
education and arts and culture — for
granted. These things often fade into
the background until they’re broken or
gone. But sidewalks, when thoughtfully
designed and well-maintained, are a
thing of beauty. Our arts community is
no different: it may not feel novel, but its
enduring presence is vital to the city.
Infrastructure, education and the arts
are separate sectors on paper. In practice,
they’re vital organs, all part of one body.
If we ignore the health of the arts sector,
the entire city will suffer, and the negative
effects will not be easily reversed. ED.