The Quest for the Fest Manifesto · 2024-2025
Rather than seeing retreat as an escape, what if we positioned it to recalibrate our approach to
creativity? Retreat doesn’t have to mean withdrawal—it can be an act of radical reimagining, a
space where artists step back to step forward with new ideas, processes, and relationships to the
environment. In a world consumed by mass production, hyper-connectivity, and relentless
movement, retreat could be a deliberate, creative strategy to slow down and rethink how we
engage with the world. What happens if we understand retreat as advancing in a different direction
altogether?
It’s undeniable—many galleries, theaters, music venues, and arts publications are struggling to
recover in the post-pandemic landscape. Audiences haven’t returned at the same levels, and
funding structures feel increasingly precarious. There exists unavoidable tradeoffs in arts and
culture. I’ve spoken with countless colleagues who feel like we’re on the edge of a cliff—where the
public’s engagement with the arts, has simply fallen off altogether. We are in some hard places
currently and artists have historically been the folks that can uphold communities with softness,
empathy, perspective and hope.
We could analyze the reasons endlessly. Was it systematic racism, or the widespread defunding of
arts education? The failure to adapt to digital engagement? An oversupply of creative work without
matching demand? Or is it that, in a time of economic volatility, environmental collapse, war, and
political unrest, people feel paralyzed—artists included?
For years, we’ve tried to educate the public on why the arts matter—to make art feel accessible
and essential. But appreciation for the arts still seems like an exclusive, coded experience. Too
often, creativity is seen as a privilege rather than an everyday necessity. We need to break the
illusion that art belongs only to those with wealth, education, or secret pass codes. How do we
make creativity feel like a human right, rather than a luxury?
Artists are often trapped in old structures—galleries, museums, grant cycles, collectors—models
that no longer serve most of us. Maybe it’s time to take a page from Rockefeller's playbook, who
created riches from the train tracks, instead of the cargo inside of the trains. Instead of focusing
only on selling “ART”maybe we need to rethink how creativity itself is delivered.
• What if we prioritized creative infrastructure—platforms, systems, and networks that embed art
into daily life?
• What new models could replace, say, the traditional gallery?
• How do we reshape distribution so that creativity is everywhere?
Art isn’t going anywhere, but the way it moves through the world has to evolve. Maybe the question
isn’t how do we get people back to art? but how do we bring art to people in ways that matter to
them now?
This is a profound question, and it gets to the heart of what it means to be a creative in an era of
uncertainty. What is the steady purpose for creatives today? It’s a call for reflection, but also for
action—because if we, as artists, can clarify our role in society, perhaps that purpose will take root
beyond our own circles and extend to “everyone.”
Right now, the creative ecosystem feels closed off, operating within outdated systems that serve
only a fraction of people. We talk about accessibility, but true openness—radical openness—is
rare. And with the current political climate where freezing and slashing funding for arts and
humanities is for-real, we’re at a pivotal moment: Will we fight for what’s left of the old systems, or
will we reimagine something entirely new?
This is why I dig the direction Quest for the Fest is taking—challenging outdated models and
pushing creativity into new spaces.
What if we reimagined creative spaces not as exclusive institutions but as public commons?
Instead of focusing on fixed venues (galleries, theaters, concert halls), what about fluid, modular,
and spontaneous art spaces—pop-ups in unexpected locations, art embedded in daily life? Could
Quest for the Fest experiment with site-specific creative interventions?
We often talk about art as something to be consumed, but what if it was viewed as a necessity like
public transportation or clean water? Could artists be seen as civic workers, weaving creativity into
schools, workplaces, and public spaces in ways that aren’t just decorative but transformative?
How could Quest for the Fest facilitate this shift?
If art is a bridge to citizens, could there be a series of interactive experiences that challenge
people’s assumptions about what creativity is? Maybe something like:
• The Art of the Ordinary – Finding poetry, design, and music in everyday life
• Creative Mistranslation – Exploring how miscommunication and cultural differences fuel artistic
breakthroughs
• The Art of Perspective – A collaborative project where people co-create together from opposing
viewpoints
What if each Quest built momentum (and Questers) from the last one, creating an evolving story of
creativity in real time? Could audience members and artists contribute their insights, questions, or
artistic expressions into a digital or physical “living archive” that keeps growing with each event?
Back to the train tracks vs. trains—what if Quest for the Fest experimented with new ways of
delivering creativity? Could it act as a distribution network for artistic expression, commissioning
work that move through communities instead of sitting in institutions? Maybe a subscription-based
art exchange, where people receive or contribute works in unexpected ways?
The energy at Quest meetings are giddy, risk-taking, and connective—and somehow it feels like the
perfect fuel for pushing creative boundaries in these uncertain times. As we brainstorm after
Wonder Quest #1: Roots of Creativity we create a collective awareness about what’s next, and
reimagine themes and concepts that bubble up. How do we lay new tracks?
--Liz Maugans, February 15, 2025