Budgeting is Such Sweet Sorrow

“Worst-case scenar- io， my last resort is selling my

house，” lamented Wang Xiang， founder and director of Beijing Nanluoguxiang （NLGX） Performing Arts Festival， on the balcony of his Beijingbased Penghao Theater.

The 5th NLGX Performing Arts Festival concluded this July， but by the time the curtain dropped， the independent arts festival was still in the red by 700，000 yuan after its 1.8-million-yuan cost.

Other times， experimental theater productions frequent Penghao Theater. During festivals， spectators are more likely to see productions from foreign lands and experience exchange activities such as workshops and seminars hosted by international theater practitioners.

Many embassies in China are willing to support the festival and cover plane tickets for their respective artists to visit China. But still， Wang and his Penghao Theater must raise 700，000 yuan to keep the event afloat.

Avant-garde Public Activity

Compared to the 4th NLGX Performing Arts Festival held in 2013， the cost of this year’s event increased by 300，000 yuan. Altogether 48 productions were staged during the latest festival， of which more than half came from abroad or were produced with the participation of international dramatists from Japan， France， and Britain. Ten workshops and 13 lectures were held during the festival， almost all hosted by international directors and artists.

In early January of 2014， Wang was still optimistic about the festival. “I believe this year’s festival will eclipse all the previous ones，” he exclaimed. “And the Dongcheng District will support us， as it always did.”

It is fair to say Wang and Beijing’s Dongcheng District have been friends for a long time.

In 2008， dentist Wang Xiang rented a quadrangle courtyard in Dongcheng District’s Dongmianhua Hutong， directly adjacent to the Central Academy of Drama， China’s most prestigious theater school， and transformed it into Penghao Theater. Simultaneously， the Cultural Committee of Dongcheng District was reconsidering investment in drama： Beijing accounts for 60 percent of theater resources in China， and Dongcheng District uses 60 percent of those in Beijing.

Dongcheng District administrators were inspired by non-profit Penghao Theater and arts festival. “At the time， I think Dongcheng spotted the benefits of developing drama ‘outside the system，’” explains Yang Qianwu， secretary-general of Beijing Theater Association. “They decided to support and help private， non-governmental theaters and dramatists. And I believe NLGX Performing Arts Festival was the only brand they could trust.”

With strong support of the district government， Wang felt unstoppable. The first year， Wang worked with a Dongcheng District neighborhood committee， a grassroots governmental group which handles day-today affairs in the community. Both Wang and the committee invested 50，000 yuan in the festival. The second year， Wang received an 800，000-yuan subsidy from Dongcheng District. Each of the next two years， he worked with a 1.5-million-yuan budget.

The festival became increasingly international. Several foreign ambassadors to China visited Penghao Theater to see productions by artists from their respective countries.

Profits or Public Welfare？

In late 2012， an eight-point code of conduct， which aimed to trim bureaucracy and foster closer ties with the people， was issued by the Communist Party of China. One requirement of the code was to better regulate celebrative and festive activities. Wang’s art festival got slashed.

January 27， 2014， was a very cold day， especially for Wang. Dongcheng District’s Cultural Committee met with Wang， but their tone was completely different.

First， they informed him that the Drama Promotion Committee of Dongcheng District， which had sponsored the festival for four consecutive years， would continue to “support”， but no longer “sponsor” the event. Second， every governmental agency of Dongcheng District involved in the festival had to keep a lower profile. Names could not appear on festival pamphlets. Third， they asked Wang to reduce the number of productions at the festival.

Luckily， they could still offer some financial support， but far from as generous as before. The budget was reduced to 500，000 yuan from 1.5 million yuan and would be paid to Wang only after the event concluded.

Beijing Municipal Office for Rectifying Malpractice is in charge of “straightening out festival activities.” They believe activities like NLGX Performing Arts Festival should be trimmed.

Some of Wang’s friends came to his rescue. Together， artists and critics donated 100，000 yuan. Wang also launched crowd funding on the internet. In just 13 days， he raised 232，836 yuan. However， after deducting the box office receipts he used to reimburse participants of the crowd funding， only 100，000 yuan was left.

“It is extremely difficult for nongovernmental theaters and drama festivals to secure subsidies if they can’t get funds directly from the government，” continues Yang Qianwu， expressing sympathy for Wang’s situation. “China has no regulations or laws about sponsoring cultural industries， and even lacks preferential tax policies.”

Still on the Fringe

Shui Jing， a mastermind behind Edinburgh Fringe Showcase’s tour of China， claims she has seldom asked for governmental money since becoming a drama curator in 2001. She cites two specific reasons： the slow governmental decisionmaking mechanism and major uncertainties about receiving subsidies. Many seemingly irrelevant factors could change the result at the last minute.

So， Shui uses the simplest of mechanisms to cover her costs. “We sell tickets to balance our sheet，” she declares. “Our tickets are inexpensive， but our attendance is high， so we usually take in decent revenue.” When the Edinburgh Fringe Showcase toured many Chinese cities， organiz- ers booked theaters with 400 to 500 seats and set tickets at 100-200 yuan， affordable for university students.

“I think we need to redefine what is‘non-profit，’” continues Shui. “You can’t call a project non-profit just because you’re not earning money from it. If earning money is never the goal， it is non-profit. Penghao Theater has done many things that the government should do but hasn’t done yet.” Shui Jing contributed to Wang during his crowd funding.

“In Britain and U.S.， you can see a clear line between commerce and public welfare，” Wang explains. But， he insists that his project remains “a public welfare program for art popularization.”

Wang once conversed with Lung Ying-tai， a renowned cultural critic and public intellectual based in Taiwan. A lecture about Taiwan’s cultural policies was presented during the festival， which illuminated three laws covering Taiwan’s cultural industry， cultural heritage protection， and theater art for public welfare， respectively.

“I think this kind of classification makes sense，” opines Wang. “The Chinese mainland basically only supports cultural industries right now. Small theaters and troupes engaging in public welfare projects are defined as for-profit organizations， which leaves them very limited options.”

Some private arts festivals in Taiwan still receive subsidies from governmental organizations. In the first half of 2014， four small non-governmental arts festivals received grants from the government， but all were less than 50，000 yuan.

“You can’t rely on government subsidies your whole life，” Lung Ying-tai opines. “Where do government funds come from？ They come from hard-working taxpayers. We support both small and big theaters， but understandably， not the same way. Different practices are employed for different situations.”