There is much to sigh about when one looks at the landscape of classical music presenters, museums, and non-profits tasked with preserving and creating culture. Although these organizations have always faced a struggle not unlike that of Tantalus—ever reaching for fruit as branches lift away; ever bending to drink as the waters recede; ever seeking satiation to no avail—it somehow feels like this condition is more dramatic every day. Programs are contracting, ticket sales are declining, and costs are rising. The culprits for this situation are varied. Common narratives blame programming that does not reflect the moment and artists lacking basic financial literacy. Others blame the increasing costs associated with keeping these organizations afloat or the seemingly elevated salaries of executives. Some blame the diminishing generosity of donors and the advent of a monied elite with severely poor cultural education. I have maintained for some time that this disastrous cocktail is made of a combination of all these ingredients and many more. Today we will deal with trends in leadership hires that can prove risky to well-established organizations.
Given the difficult landscape for cultural presenters around the world it is natural that as funders, audiences, and artists question the sustainability of arts institutions, they are also asking what kind of leadership is needed to navigate these troubled waters. A growing chorus insists that entrepreneurial leaders are the answer. What established organizations need, the thinking goes, are founders—individuals who will reshape the organization, the way one might build something from scratch. This theory holds much sway, but it may be part of the problem.
The main issue with selecting leaders who seem intent on reshaping these organizations to align with their own visions or agendas is that they often disregard the institution's existing history and traditions. Without much thinking, we can all come up with several organizations that have become unrecognizable in the last few years and have embarked on missions that vastly differ from their original ethos. While any arts organization must balance innovation with tradition, one wonders if long-standing organizations should be behaving like start-ups.
Why are cultural organizations attracted to this type of leadership? It is only natural that boards are particularly susceptible to candidates who present themselves as having easy and innovative solutions to long-standing problems. Leaders who display founder-like qualities resonate with a Romantic and Nietzschean ideal: they present themselves as "men of action" who will fight against all odds and disrupt an entire industry to save the organization. We’re drawn to their tenacity, the passion in their speech, and their conviction that seemingly intractable issues can be solved through sheer strength of personality. In short, charismatic leaders are sexy. Whether driven by self-interest or a genuine desire to contribute, the reality is that most of us aspire to be associated with remarkable achievements, and charismatic leaders tap into this widespread desire among organizational leadership to be part of historic moments in an organization’s evolution.
The Romantic ideal has proven particularly attractive to performing artists and their patrons since audiences attend performances to be inspired rather than to witness the process that leads to the apparent grace and effortlessness of a great presentation. Despite the centuries that separate us from the Romantic period, our present-day often mirrors it in our admiration of eccentricity and iconoclasm. The current generation of arts leaders grew up admiring disruptors like Steve Jobs, who symbolizes the pinnacle of creativity and financial success. Who wouldn’t love to disrupt an entire industry and change how the world interacts with a whole market? But many leaders cannot see past the sleek turtleneck and the cultish product announcements that made Jobs a public figure to understand the tenacity behind the man himself. Even Steve Jobs is often misunderstood by those who aspire to emulate him. As a friend recently pointed out, Jobs was not primarily a visionary but a marketer who championed the innovations created by Steve Wozniak and the engineering team. This dynamic—a public face paired with a capable team—is a common thread in successful companies and institutions. The leader may set the vision, but the team working tirelessly behind the scenes turns that vision into reality. Both roles are equally crucial: the leader inspires, and the team executes with competence and relentless drive.
Our tendency to find labor unsexy and dull makes us susceptible to over-valuing charisma as the most important quality in innovative artists and arts leaders. But true innovation involves more than just charisma, and cultural organizations need to ask themselves if they are truly recognizing the qualities that drive effective leadership and lasting innovation. Labor has a way of demystifying genius, and unlike charisma, it is fundamentally unsexy. The tendency to imagine that great innovation is the result of a kind of divine inspiration has been a staple of our civilization for some time. In his seminal biography on Beethoven, Jan Swafford notes that before the Romantic period, people used to say a person had genius—it was a quality one possessed or could develop. However, during and after the Romantic era, genius evolved from being an attribute into an all-encompassing descriptor: people no longer had genius; they were geniuses. The era was defined by the belief that innovators were willing entire worlds into existence through some mysterious process, often portrayed as deep introspection carried out in solitude by candlelight. The heroes of the Romantic period did much to cultivate this impression. For instance, Oscar Wilde would never publicly admit that his seemingly innate ability to turn a phrase on the spot was the result of meticulous planning and rehearsal.
Although the Romantic period cemented the idea of the mystic genius and trailblazer, whenever we delve into the ways some of the Romantic period's most celebrated figures achieved their feats, we typically find workaholics obsessed with their craft, continuously refining their processes while carefully balancing innovation with the expectations of their audiences or constituents. Beethoven and Mahler famously revised their compositions for years after their premieres, meticulously refining each note. Goethe, with his deep scholarly approach to literature, exemplified a lifetime of rigorous intellectual dedication. Napoleon's disciplined and relentless schedule would easily put modern-day productivity influencers to shame. Bolívar’s constitutional knowledge was astonishing considering he had barely read a word on the subject before the age of 18. Yet, the sheer labor behind these towering figures of Romanticism rarely finds its way into the program notes or blurbs that accompany their names. Their works, often highlighted as strokes of genius, overlook the tireless efforts, revisions, and constant self-critique that were instrumental in shaping their legacies. Picasso is credited with saying, "Inspiration exists, but it has to find you working."
It is undeniable that there is an element to talent that is indeed intrinsic and that labor alone can never produce. I once heard Håkan Hardenberger say that talent is like a diamond. We are all born with an unpolished diamond of a certain size, and this size cannot change. However, as he pointed out, a small diamond cut and polished by a master jeweler is often worth more than a larger, unpolished one.
The Romantic ideal looms large in our era when it comes to hiring leaders and it seems to me that many institutions have largely lost sight of the hard work required to make innovation possible. If an institution takes the risk of hiring a leader who presents themselves as a trendsetter, their claims must be continuously checked by institutional structures to ensure that they can not only talk the talk but also walk the walk. To paraphrase Picasso once more, institutions must constantly ask themselves: does inspiration find our leaders working?
Charisma and a strong personality can be very appealing, but I always remind myself that no cult is ever led by a middling bureaucrat—its leaders attract followers by promising easy solutions to intractable problems. In reality, successful innovation is rare and there is a reason we can count on two hands the few trailblazers in each industry who have truly disrupted and transformed their fields. This reality notwithstanding, many still believe that innovation is simply a matter of mindset.
Despite sharing similar charismatic traits, the role of an innovative custodian differs greatly from that of an institutional founder. Founders play a crucial role in establishing institutions; these organizations cannot come into existence without the founders striking the initial match to ignite their creation. A start-up requires constant invention and guidance as it finds its footing and defines its purpose and culture.
In contrast, long-standing institutions have developed their own identities and organic processes over time. An effective institutional custodian—innovative or otherwise—entering these established institutions must have a fundamentally different approach from the founders, as they had no role in the organization's creation. While founders ignite the first spark to bring something new into being, institutional leaders must resist the urge to act like arsonists, whose fires risk consuming the very foundation they are meant to preserve. Bringing a founder’s mindset to leading pre-existing organizations often harms the institution rather than providing it with a renewed identity. Founders start things because they cannot see their projects coming to fruition within the scope of the organizations they have belonged to, or because they have fundamental philosophical disagreements with industry leaders. The reason why they typically make bad custodians to existing organizations is because their instinct is to create something new rather than steward something that already exists.
Since founders and custodians play such different roles, when seeking leaders for established institutions the concern shouldn't be about innovation itself, but whether a would-be leader aims to act as a caretaker for the existing entity or sees their role as a disruptor intent on reinventing it. As I mentioned earlier, institutions must constantly balance innovation with tradition to stay relevant and thrive, but being cavalier while leading an organization that has stood the test of time is risky. While institutions can be destroyed quickly, it takes a long time to build them in a way that ensures their resilience.
Whether boards, administrators, or artists realize it, nonprofits face significant challenges in achieving long-term sustainability, with survival rates decreasing as the years progress. Data from the National Center for Charitable Statistics (NCCS) shows that approximately 60% to 70% of nonprofits make it past the 10-year mark, but only 30% to 40% endure for over 20 years. The numbers dwindle further, with about 20% to 30% surviving beyond 30 years and only 10% to 20% reaching the 40-year milestone. The few nonprofits surviving for over 50 years, at around 5% to 10%, and the exceptional nature of those reaching 100 years, fewer than 1%, highlight the immense challenges these organizations face in maintaining relevance and stability. When one comes to terms with such statistics, it becomes a priority to at least understand and respect the trajectory that has sustained an existing organization for a few decades before deciding to redirect it through disruptive leadership.
What kind of innovative leaders should long-standing institutions be seeking then? Although there are many answers to this question, Edmund Burke’s social contract can provide a guiding principle. Unlike other Enlightenment thinkers who viewed the social contract as an agreement solely among the living members of society, Burke saw it as an enduring partnership that connected past, present, and future generations.
Burke advocated for gradual, organic change over sudden, radical revolutions, arguing that such disruptions could lead to chaos and societal instability. In Burke's perspective, society resembles a living organism more than a mechanical construct, evolving naturally over time. Unlike mechanical objects, such as clocks, which can be easily segmented and fixed, living organisms are delicate and can collapse when external forces disrupt their naturally occurring and cryptic balance. What makes his social contract so useful when considering decisions in institutions tasked with cultural stewardship is that it forces us to remember that we are institutional guardians, and in this role, we must not be guided by personal ambition but rather by our commitment to honor the past while guaranteeing the passing of what was preserved for us to future generations.
Burke’s social contract is most evident in leaders who advocate for future generations by preserving the core values and objectives that make the things we love possible. His vision of the social contract doesn’t aim to stop progress but rather encourages thoughtful change that ensures the preservation of an institution's fundamental ethos for those who come after us. It is sometimes hard to understand what this looks like in practice.
In his book A Time to Build, Yuval Levin posits that good institutional health largely depends on hiring leaders who can balance their desire to leave a mark on the institution with their eagerness to let the institution leave a mark on them. This concept brings Burke’s social contract into a practical realm, and it seems like a sound principle to follow.
I have witnessed discussions about leadership hires or board recruitment at organizations where, more often than not, the candidates were eager to discuss how they could fundamentally change the institution's role, rather than how they would steward and honor an institution they already respected. On one occasion, a senior leader at an institution I worked for was tasked with recruiting new board members. Part of his role was to propose potential candidates. After meeting with several prospects, the CEO asked him which candidate seemed most promising. He proceeded to describe a person who—by his own admission—did not care much for the organization’s core mission and showed little interest in joining the board. Instead of removing this candidate from consideration, he insisted that we intensify our efforts to recruit them, believing that reshaping the institution's core values was more important than finding board members interested in protecting and advocating for the company’s core values and mission. This revealed that this senior leader was not a good custodian of the institution, but rather a potential threat from within. He was more interested in using the organization as a vehicle for his own projects and agenda rather than contributing to the continuation of its legacy and accomplishments. In the context of Yuval Levin’s suggestion, this person cared a great deal about shaping the institution but had no interest in letting the institution shape him.
I firmly believe that institutions aren't just platforms for individuals to showcase their ambitions. The Met Museum, for example, isn't designed to operate in the service of individual influencers. Its purpose is to "collect, preserve, study, exhibit, and encourage appreciation for works of art that collectively represent the broadest spectrum of human achievement…" While the Met can and should seek innovative leaders and collaborators, they must be aligned with the institution's core values. If, in the process of finding a new leader, the Met were to hire someone who says, “I’m not really interested in promoting or preserving art; I think the institution should move beyond this, and I’m the person to do it,” they would be shifting from the core values and role of a time-honored institution to that of a start-up, despite having a history of over 150 years. Boards and hiring committees that promote this type of hiring are putting their organizations at tremendous risk and ultimately violating their mandates as institutional custodians. In the context of the Met, innovative leadership is only possible when it aligns with and promotes the institution's core values and purpose. While this might seem limiting to some, anyone who has been part of successful innovative endeavors will likely attest that creativity often thrives on limitation as its natural manure. In other words, creativity is the result of seeking new solutions to restrictive problems and rarely the result of free play within boundless parameters.
My suggestion that institutions should rethink their preference for hiring leaders with founder-like qualities may lead some to believe that I oppose institutional renewal or creativity. That is not my intent. I am merely highlighting that institutional renewal is a fundamentally different process from institutional creation. The same revolutionary spirit that creates worlds often lacks the patience and temperament required for their careful preservation. The most iconic orchestra administrator of my lifetime is undoubtedly Deborah Borda. During her time at the Los Angeles Philharmonic, she was instrumental in the hiring of two transformative music directors—Esa-Pekka Salonen and Gustavo Dudamel. She also oversaw the construction of Walt Disney Concert Hall, launched the Phil’s YOLA education program, and solidified a robust partnership with the Hollywood Bowl. This partnership has enabled the orchestra to rely less on contributed revenue than any other orchestra in the world. As if that weren’t enough, she then took the helm at the New York Philharmonic, where she completed the long-delayed renovation of Geffen Hall—a project that had been stalled for years and was fast becoming an international punchline. Deborah Borda is, so far, the most successful and innovative steward of American orchestral music in the 21st century. Yet, at her core, she remains an institutional custodian in the traditional “Burkean” sense, rather than a pioneering founder-like leader. Our long-standing cultural institutions need more leaders who embody Borda’s qualities at the helm.
I have met many leaders in artistic and administrative roles who might be better suited to starting their own projects rather than running long-standing institutions. The ability to start new organizations, launch initiatives, and be the master of one’s inventiveness is at the heart of the American ethos. Truly trailblazing artists and leaders should make the most of this reality instead of using institutions they do not align with as the vessels for their projects. The world needs more institutions and only people with a trailblazing spirit can make them come into existence. Ironically, the institutions that endure over time will eventually require the type of leadership I’ve been advocating for.
So, what have we learned in this time together? While the allure of charismatic, founder-like leaders is undeniable, long-standing cultural institutions must recognize the distinct qualities needed for their stewardship. The immediate appeal of a visionary promising sweeping change can overshadow the fundamental needs of institutions with rich histories and established identities. For these organizations, renewal lies not in radical upheaval but in a nuanced approach that respects their origins while guiding them gently into the future.
The challenges faced by classical music presenters, museums, and non-profits are significant, demanding more than just dynamic personalities or bold ideas. Institutions need leaders who understand the delicate balance between honoring their legacy and embracing necessary change. As we navigate modern cultural engagement, the value of leaders who embody thoughtful stewardship becomes ever clearer. Such leaders are not merely caretakers but active participants in their institutions’ ongoing evolution, ensuring innovation occurs within a framework of respect for an institution’s core values and purpose.
True progress in the arts stems from a deep understanding of both an institution's past and its potential future. Those focused solely on their own vision, without regard for the institution's established identity, risk undermining the very essence of what makes these organizations valuable. Institutions looking for leaders with founder qualities should remember that nearly 90% of start-ups fail.
As we consider the future of our cultural institutions, we should prioritize leaders committed to preserving and enhancing their foundational principles. The survival and flourishing of these organizations depend on a careful balance between innovation and tradition. By valuing and supporting leaders who approach their roles with this mindset, we can ensure that our cultural institutions remain resilient, relevant, and capable of serving future generations with the same dedication that has sustained them through the years.
In essence, while seeking innovative leadership is crucial, it must be balanced with a recognition of the unique role long-standing institutions play in our cultural landscape. The journey forward should be guided by a commitment to honoring our heritage while thoughtfully navigating necessary changes for continued growth. This balanced approach will help maintain the vitality and impact of our cultural institutions for years to come.
As I often do, I will close this interlude with an image that has stayed with me for some time. I am fortunate to live near the Huntington Library and Botanical Gardens, which houses one of the largest bonsai collections in the United States. This collection features approximately 150 bonsai specimens, some of which are hundreds of years old. I keep orchids and delight in watching them blossom, yet I cannot imagine that these delicate flowers will outlive me. This makes it all the more astonishing to consider the age and meticulous care involved in sustaining the bonsai collection at the Huntington. Ultimately my flower care is fundamentally different from the nature of bonsai care.
Caring for bonsai trees and growing flowers are compelling metaphors for artistic innovation and institutional stewardship. Bonsai care, akin to managing long-standing cultural institutions, is a long-term, patient process. It involves meticulous, ongoing attention, nurturing the tree’s growth over years or even decades, and adapting to ensure its well-being and aesthetic balance despite environmental changes. This mirrors the role of institutional caretakers who must preserve an organization’s core values and history while guiding it thoughtfully through change. In contrast, planting flowers represents a more immediate, creative endeavor. The process of cultivating flowers—selecting, planting, and nurturing them—embodies the excitement of innovation and the thrill of bringing new ideas to life. However, unlike bonsai, flowers are more ephemeral; they bloom beautifully but often for a short period before fading away. This ephemeral nature reflects the transient excitement of launching new projects or initiatives, which can be vivid and impactful but may not endure in the same way. Both forms of care are essential, addressing different aspects of artistic and institutional evolution: bonsai care emphasizes enduring, thoughtful cultivation, while flower planting celebrates dynamic, short-lived bursts of innovation. Should the Huntington ever decide to treat its bonsai collection like it does its rose garden, it could jeopardize the continuity of its century-long journey with these remarkable trees. Arts institutions under the wrong stewards are prone to suffering a similar fate.