Britain | Bagehot

What Bohemia built

Cuts to Britain’s arts funding are both regrettable and inevitable

THE view from the BALTIC Centre for Contemporary Art in Gateshead is even more magnificent than the gallery itself. From the fifth floor of the converted grain store, the river Tyne wends away under steel bridges. On the far bank, the Victorian skyline of Newcastle rises to the cultural heart of England’s north-eastern capital, the football stadium. On the near side, the landscape of Gateshead is more diffuse, lower rise and pitted with areas of wasteland. The BALTIC, which opened in 2002 and cost £50m (then $75m), towers over it.

In a region otherwise known for closed shipyards, fog, drunkenness and high unemployment, this makes a powerful statement. Part of a big splurge on the arts on Tyneside, which was instigated by a self-described “philistine” local Labour councillor, the gallery is also a symbol of Britain’s bygone days of plenty. The splurge began with the unveiling of the Angel of the North, a giant public sculpture by Antony Gormley, in 1998. Over the next decade more than £350m was sunk into new and established arts venues, such as the BALTIC and the neighbouring Sage Gateshead concert hall, which resembles a giant silver slug.

Most of the cash came from the lottery, Westminster and the European Union: for Gateshead council, it was effectively free money. “We decided to enter the world of bidding,” recalls its current leader, Mick Henry. The second, more elegant, reason for the spending was a fashionable belief in the power of art to fuel urban regeneration, as seen in another depressed former dockland, Bilbao, following the opening of its Guggenheim gallery in 1997. The result is that Tyneside, one of Britain’s smallest, poorest and most isolated conurbations, has some of the finest arts infrastructure in the country.

This makes it a good lens through which to view the issue of arts funding, which is proving to be one of the thorniest in the government’s spending review, due to be announced on June 26th. The Treasury has asked the Department for Media, Culture and Sport, along with other unprotected ministries, to suggest draft plans for a 10% cut to its budget. Its minister, Maria Miller, is resisting. Her budget, one of the smallest in Whitehall, has already been slashed by a quarter since 2010; albeit that the shortfall has been mitigated by increased lottery funding. Further cuts, says Ms Miller, could lead to closures of galleries or theatres, which would be counterproductive, not least economically.

She rightly points out that the arts are unusually excellent, popular and profitable in Britain. Whereas the government has historically spent close to the European average on them—and at least a third less than its French counterpart—Britons make and participate in art more than most Europeans. More attend the theatre than sporting events. As a result, the arts contribute far more to economic growth than they receive in subsidy. To underline this, Ms Miller describes them as a “commodity” and “a compelling product”. Such claims are bolstered by a more nebulous argument, propounded by one of the government’s favourite economists, Richard Florida, that supporting theatres and museums is a good way to nurture and attract the sort of talent that powers the creative industries in which Britain also excels.

This is a decent argument. But it risks trading one sort of special pleading—art for art’s sake—for another. Tyneside offers a clue to that. The area is certainly much improved by its spanking new arts venues. Worn down by all the Westminster talk of hardship and cuts, Bagehot felt exhilarated by the sight of them. A much-needed counterweight to the gravitational tug of London, they ooze the confidence and excellence that Britain needs more of. They are also popular. The BALTIC recently welcomed its five-millionth visitor and is evidently a source of pride even for Geordies with little interest in its weird, plasticky exhibits. A post-it-note board in the fifth-floor viewing gallery, signposted “I love Baltic because…”, provides a snapshot of local opinion. “It is a nice romantic day out with my beautiful fiancée,” reads one sticky pink note. “It shows me lots of pitchers,” reads another.

And yet, on the basis of economics, which is where Ms Miller has chosen her ground, much arts spending is hard to justify, including in Tyneside. Members of the local arts lobby claim the annual £20m subsidy they receive delivers a fourfold return for local businesses. But that calculation owes a lot to Newcastle’s large student population and Bacchanalian nightlife. There is also little sign that creative industries have been drawn to Tyneside. The return on investment in other cities, such as West Bromwich, where over £60m was squandered on an unloved modern art gallery, and Sheffield, where £15m went on a short-lived pop music museum, has been worse. The truth is that the economic value of art is often as hard to quantify as its social or aesthetic benefits. That makes it vulnerable to cuts in tough times.

The art of the matter

The best solution is to secure private funding. And here the Tyneside scene is also rather impressive. Undeterred by the frailty of the local private sector, arts administrators have pooled expertise on selling services, developing restaurants, and other money-spinners. Jim Beirne, boss of the Live Theatre in Newcastle, is negotiating to buy and develop a neighbouring office block and car park, using a low-interest loan arranged through Newcastle council. A lute player by training, he shows almost as much relish for this enterprise as for his wonderful theatre.

A step away, in the centre of the city, is another example of the creativity that austerity can spark. An empty five-storey office block has been taken over by a pair of enterprising fine arts graduates and converted into 70 artists’ studios. The ground floor, once occupied by the Abbey building society, makes a fine exhibition space. From banking to art: it is delightfully Bohemian. Though whether the transformation represents progress or regression, according to Mr Florida’s theory, is not obvious.

Economist.com/blogs/bagehot

This article appeared in the Britain section of the print edition under the headline "What Bohemia built"

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