Funders Anonymous
Philip Patston compares the decision making process of funders and business investors and asks some candid questions...
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Working in the arts and non-profit (or social profit) sectors, as well as running a business for over ten years, I constantly find myself torn about applying for funding. It's not so much the actual idea of identifying an element of value and matching someone else's spending power to it, as it is the anonymity around the process of decision-making funders use.
In business, when I am party to a sale as the seller, I expect to have a one-on-one relationship with the person to whom I'm selling. I want to know the person, because I want them to trust me. Even if I'm selling online, there's a website, Twitter or Facebook interaction that acts as a proxy between me and my customer.
Preferably, particularly if there's a lot of money involved, I want to sit down with them. I want to make sure they are completely sure about what they are buying and I am clear about what they expect me to deliver in return. This is often agreed to through discussion and negotiation, where the outcome of the final transaction may be somewhat – even completely – different from the initial offer/ask as a result.
That's business – eye-to-eye, face-to-face, person-to-person. That's not how it is with funding, however.
Applying for funding is like sitting an exam. It's a guessing game. It's a lottery. You may talk to someone – an advisor, a manager, even a director – but they're not the one making the decision. They can answer your questions, but only vaguely and cagily, because they can't be seen to be giving you an advantage over other applicants.
You must spend hours filling out application forms, hoping you've understood the question properly, hoping you're giving the right answers to the person or people reading the application, whom you'll never meet. You are aware that, even if your mysterious, unknown reader(s) has questions about your answers, they won't ask, so you need to make sure that what ever you say is understandable without explanation.
Then, when your finished, you must hand in your paper and wait – at which time the exam turns into a lottery. Because there are no right answers, only "fit" with the organization's current direction, other applicants and current budget.
It's really a matter of whether your number comes up.
If you're a funding decision-maker reading this, and you feel offended or think me naive, know that my intention is neither to be disingenuous nor unworldly. Yours is not a simple task. But please, before you dismiss me and put me on you funding blacklist, tell me, what's it like to give your money to words on paper? What's it like to only imagine the conversation we might have?
Isn't it hard, taking the risk of investing in someone into whose eyes you have never looked? Isn't it strange seeing your brand associated with someone's project, never having laughed with them or passionately debated an idea or concept? And isn't it weird, seeing me on the street, knowing that I don't know that you made a difference in my future?
One day, I'd love to meet you and hear your answers.
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Read more of my thoughts about improving funding relationships over at Diversity New Zealand.
Humphrey's subtle politics come into play when he has lunch with the head of the National Theatre. From the BBC political comedy Yes, Prime Minister.
Until 2008 Philip Patston identified as gay, disabled and vegetarian. These days he prefers to think of himself as having a unique experience. A creative entrepreneur and change consultant, with fifteen years’ experience as an award-winning professional comedian, he aims to promote a new, more useful understanding of diversity. He runs Diversity New Zealand in his spare time.
Comments
Love the Yes Minister clip. Yes, it's a fraught beast, funding. Mostly, I can't be bothered going through the hoops and just look for sponsorship and the usual do-it-on-a-shoestring approach. In 1997, Taki Rua Theatre (which then had a venue in Wellington) wanted to stage my play, "The Reluctant Messiah", but it required a large cast, 10 actors with doubling. Mere Boynton, an amazing woman and amazing artist, was Programme Manager at the time and she was of enormous help to me in putting together a Funding Application to Creative New Zealand. Mere and I squeezed everything hard so that our budget would be modest and, hopefully, successful. We applied for $26,000, not a vast sum by theatre production standards. We got turned down. I thought if they wouldn't take a punt on a play backed by a theatre with a solid reputation like Taki Rua, who would they take a punt on? It seemed like a big investment of time and effort for a very deflating result. You're right, Philip, it's a crap-shoot, a lottery, but that's what we've got in the absence of a rich patron a la the Medicis of Florence.