The recent San Francisco Ballet gala, as covered by the Chronicle, wasn't just a night of exquisite *pirouettes* and tulle—it was a masterclass in what some are calling "anticipatory obedience." The term, borrowed from political theory, feels startlingly apt when applied to the rarefied world of ballet philanthropy.
Think about it: the gala is a ritual perfected over decades. The uniform of black tie and gowns. The predictable sequence of champagne, curated performance snippets, the auction paddle raise. Donors arrive already knowing their roles, pre-emptively conforming to the unspoken script of cultural patronage. They obey the expectations of wealth display before a single request is made.
But here’s the provocative twist—is this obedience a necessary evil or a silent killer of artistic risk?
On one hand, this anticipatory system funds the art. It pays for the dancers' salaries, the live orchestra, the breathtaking productions that defy gravity. The ballet, in turn, obeys the gala's need for glitter and accessible, crowd-pleasing excerpts. It’s a symbiotic, if transactional, dance.
Yet, one has to wonder: what artistic visions are *not* commissioned because they might not translate into a gala-friendly three-minute teaser? What uncomfortable, challenging, or avant-garde work is sidelined in a model that so heavily relies on pre-emptively pleasing a specific donor class? The gala, in its anticipatory obedience, may subtly enforce a conservative aesthetic, a fear of truly startling the very hand that feeds it.
The most interesting tension lies in the performers themselves. For one night, the company’s artists become part of this machinery. Their extraordinary labor is framed within a social pageant. Is their participation a form of professional obedience, or a strategic act within a system they must navigate to do their real work under the stage lights on another night?
Perhaps the question isn't whether "anticipatory obedience" exists—it clearly does in this and every major institutional gala worldwide. The question is about awareness and balance. Can the institution harness this powerful, predictable engine of philanthropy while fiercely protecting a creative sphere that is allowed to *disobey*? To challenge, to confuse, to innovate beyond the gala’s gilded frame?
The true test for the San Francisco Ballet, and companies like it, is to ensure the obedience of the fundraising night fuels the artistic disobedience the art form needs to stay vital. The moment the gala’s anticipatory taste begins to dictate the main stage repertoire, the art loses its soul, becoming a mere echo of a wealthy crowd’s expectations.
The curtain should fall on the gala, not on artistic courage.
