In Ely, the Arts Shouldn’t Belong Only to People Who Can Easily Afford Them.

I grew up in a family of six here in Ely.

My mom was a stay-at-home mom when I was younger, and my dad was a teacher. Later, both of my parents were teachers. They did everything they could to give us the best education, the best experiences, the fullest life they could manage. They cared deeply about the arts. They cared deeply about us. But we were still a family of six, and that meant there were things we simply could not do.

I always wanted to take dance classes growing up. I wanted more theater. I wanted more music. I wanted to travel and see the things I loved somewhere bigger than home. Sometimes we got lucky. I still remember opportunities like the Ely Area Concert Association, where family deals made it possible for us to experience something we never would have otherwise. But a lot of the time, the truth was much simpler than that.

It was not possible.

Not because my parents did not try. Not because they did not value it. Just because money is real, and in a household of six, every dollar matters.

I think that feeling stays with you.

The feeling of loving something and not always being able to reach it.

I became a full-fledged teenager in Ely in the years after the housing crisis, and if you were here then, you know exactly what I mean when I say the town felt different. People say Ely is dying now, and I do not think that is true, but back then there were years when it felt very, very quiet. We watched YouTube videos. We hung out at Dairy Queen. That was about it. I had this huge appetite for art and performance and beauty and expression, and so much of it felt like it lived somewhere else.

I think that is part of why I care so much about this now.

Because I know what it feels like to grow up in a place you love while still feeling like the things that make you feel most alive are just slightly out of reach.

That is why Pay What You Can matters to me.

Not as a gimmick. Not as a nice little add-on. Not as one of those things organizations do so they can pat themselves on the back and say they care about access.

I mean really care about access.

I mean building it into the bones of how you work.

We started doing Pay What You Can performances when I stepped into this role in 2022, and it was immediate for me. I did not need to be convinced. I did not need a long philosophical debate about whether it was worth trying. I had lived the reason.

And since then, the community has told us very clearly that it matters.

Our Pay What You Can performances are consistently some of our highest attended performances.

That is not an accident.

That is not people looking for a deal.

That is a community showing us there is a real need.

I think sometimes people forget how often the arts are still treated like a luxury. Like they are something refined, expensive, optional, for other people, for another tax bracket, for another kind of life. And I just do not believe that. I never have.

The arts are not elite. They are human.

To sing, to dance, to tell stories, to sit in a dark room with your neighbors and watch something unfold that reminds you what it means to be alive, that is not a luxury. That is one of the oldest things we do. That is how we make meaning. That is how we grieve. That is how we celebrate. That is how we imagine something better.

And if I am being honest, in a place like Ely, that matters even more.

Because in a bigger city, if you miss a show, there is another one. Another theater. Another company. Another concert next weekend. Another chance next month.

That is not how it works here.

In a rural community, access works differently. If you miss something here, you may be waiting a long time for the next opportunity. If ticket price is a barrier, if timing is a barrier, if transportation is a barrier, if you did not hear about it in time, if you are balancing groceries and gas and kids and work and just trying to get through the week, then what should have been a joyful night out becomes one more thing that quietly slips away.

And those quiet losses add up.

That is part of why I am so proud that this year, because of support from the Arrowhead Regional Arts Council and the Vermilion Campus Foundation, we are able to expand what this looks like . For Annie, we are not offering one Pay What You Can performance. We are offering two.

Saturday, March 21 at 2:00 PM. Friday, March 27 at 7:00 PM.

In fact, all of our major productions will have two of these offerings.

That matters to me because access is not just about cost.

It is also about time.

Some people can do a matinee and not an evening. Some people can do an evening and not a matinee. Some people are bringing kids. Some people work odd hours. Some people are coming in from outside of Ely. Some people want to come, but life is complicated.

If we are serious about wanting people in the room, then we have to think bigger than just the ticket price.

And the data actually supports what we are seeing in real time.

In recent audience survey responses, 41% of respondents said they had already attended a Pay What You Can performance with us. Another 55% said they knew about them, even if they had not attended yet. That means 95% of the people responding either already know this access model exists or have used it themselves. That is not fringe. That is not a side program. That is part of how our community experiences Northern Lakes Arts Association now.

The same survey also showed exactly what you would expect in a rural region. People named ticket cost as a barrier. They named event timing as a barrier. They named transportation and distance. They named accessibility needs. They named simply not hearing about events in time.

That is why I resist the urge to reduce this conversation to “cheap tickets.”

That is not what this is.

This is about removing friction where we can.

This is about saying yes where we can.

This is about understanding that if we really believe the arts matter, then we have to stop building systems that accidentally communicate, “only if you can afford it easily.”

And I want to be honest about something else too: theater is expensive.

People do not always realize that even a community-based musical can cost somewhere in the range of $17,000 to $25,000 to produce, and that is still a relatively lean budget. So I am not pretending there is no math involved here. There is. There always is.

But to me, that is exactly why Pay What You Can is not charity. It is strategy. It is mission. It is a values-based choice inside a real financial model.

Our Pay What You Can tickets begin at $5, which helps us cover transaction fees. If that is what works for you, then that is what works for you. If you are able to pay our regular ticket price, or more than that, then thank you. Truly. That generosity helps us keep the door open wider for someone else.

That is the ecosystem I want.

Not an arts organization that performs access.

An arts organization that practices it.

And yes, I do think this matters beyond the theater.

Because when people come downtown for a show, they often make a night of it. They grab dinner. They stop somewhere after. They shop. They linger. They bring visiting family. They experience Ely not just as a place to pass through, but as a place where something is happening. Our own audience surveys reflect that. People report spending money in the community around our events. That is not surprising to me. The arts do not just fill seats. They create movement.

But even bigger than the economics, I think about what happens to a town when the arts start to disappear.

I think about what gets cut first when budgets tighten.

I think about the whispers that start, the way arts education is always treated as negotiable, the way creative opportunities are expected to justify themselves in ways other things rarely are.

And I think about the years when Ely felt quieter, thinner, flatter.

I do not want that for this community.

I do not want a young person growing up here to feel the way I felt, loving something they cannot quite touch.

I do not want adults to feel like live performance is for other people.

I do not want families to look at a ticket price and decide joy is the thing that has to wait.

That is part of why Annie feels like the right show for this moment.

It is easy to call Annie nostalgic, and of course it is. It is iconic for a reason. But it is also a story about resilience. About optimism in hard times. About holding onto some stubborn, ridiculous, necessary belief that tomorrow can still be better.

Frankly, I think we need that right now.

And I think there is something beautiful about the fact that this production is not just a polished performance dropped into town. It is our people. It is 40+ members of this community onstage. It is neighbors, young performers, first-time performers, returning performers, families, artists, volunteers, all making something together.

That matters.

It matters who gets to see that.

If you have never been to one of our shows before, I want this to be your invitation.

If you have been meaning to come back, I want this to be your invitation.

If money is tight, I want this to be your invitation.

If musicals are not usually your thing, but there is even a tiny part of you that is curious, I want this to be your invitation.

Come to Annie.

Come on March 21 at 2:00 PM for our Pay What You Can matinee.Come on March 27 at 7:00 PM for our Pay What You Can evening performance.Come to any performance in the run if that works better for you.

The full run is:

• March 20 at 7 PM

• March 21 at 2 PM (Pay What You Can) sponsored by the Vermilion Campus Foundation

• March 21 at 7 PM

• March 22 at 2 PM

• March 26 at 7 PM

• March 27 at 7 (Pay What You Can) sponsored by the Vermilion Campus Foundation

• March 28 at 2 PM

• March 28 at 7 PM

• March 29 at 2 PM

All performances are at the Vermilion Fine Arts Theater in Ely, and the show runs about 2 hours and 30 minutes with one intermission.

If $5 is what works, come.

If you can pay more, please do.

If you have been waiting for a sign, this is one.

I mean that.

Because I grew up here.

And I know exactly how much it matters when someone makes sure the door stays open.