If you couldn’t tell, I’ve spent some time thinking about the Nohl. I won the fellowship in 2012 and spent the years after working as a freelance grant writer for this and other art prizes. Obviously, I’m a fan of the program, but over the years have accumulated some criticisms too. Though really, all of my conflicted love for the Nohl boils down to a single question, the question I met with Polly to ask. This is it: Why, if the point of the Nohl Fund is to support artists, do we treat them like game show contestants? Why are applicants pitted against one another to compete for merit-based prizes? Why not just give the money away?

Maybe a little naive, sure, but less so than you’d think. The concept of a universal basic income for artists is not an entirely new idea. Programs have been implemented overseas, and even in San Francisco during the pandemic. Of course, none of them are quite broad enough in scope to have earned the right to call themselves universal, but the idea is there, and gaining traction.

So I marched into the coffee shop feeling determined, maybe even a little self-righteous. Okay, very self-righteous. The problem was, such ideas look less shiny when you’re expected to speak them out loud, to the woman who’s poured decades of her life into the target of your criticism. I may have lost my nerve and left my question unasked, at least for a while, having found myself knocked off a soapbox before I’d even climbed on. In short order I was made aware of some surprising, but in hindsight, obvious facts about the Nohl and Polly’s role in it.

The first is that I’m not the first, second, or hundredth person to come to Polly with complaints. In fact, a non-negligible part of her job as the fellowship’s coordinator (a job she’s not paid for, if you didn’t know) is to hear such gripes. They range from justifiable criticisms, to enranged rants, to threats on her job and livelihood. I don’t know exactly how she responds to each of these, but can say from experience that she’s generous with her time if you’re not a jerk about it.

The other big takeaway is that Polly is not Scrooge McDuck, swimming in a pool of Nohl Fund gold. She has to get special permission to use the pool, and even then has to share it. If you’re imagining any kind of privileged access, smoke-filled rooms, wink-and-nudge agreements, you’ll be disappointed to learn that Polly has to apply for the money. She goes hat-in-hand to the Greater Milwaukee Foundation to ask for the money that we, in turn, apply to win.

It’s natural for you to imagine Polly as the person with her hand on the lever, the big one with the dollar signs on it. The reality is she’s just the most important person whose name you know. She’s not an arbiter of money, validation, or really much of anything. She’s a go-between, the person with a foot in each world. The reason you know Polly and not Greg Wesley is because Polly wants to be known. Really, she wants to know you. She likes artists and, I suspect, weirdos in general. She likes to see people try things nobody’s ever seen before. She’s an idealist, a real one, but one who knows how things are run.

Artists tend to like her. I know several who admire her. But to the people with their hands on the lever, she’s an outsider. While we see her dual role as empowering, they see it as a liability. These are my words, by the way, not hers. As I see it, Polly is left playing to two audiences. On the one hand, she has a genuine desire to help artists build bigger, better, weirder birdhouses. On the other, she understands that her ability to help relies on her standing in front of suit-wearing men and women and convincing them to give her some money.

Lately, Polly’s dual role has been stretched more taut than usual. After a three-year grant from Joy Engine (I’ll never not make fun of the name) has run its course, the Nohl’s pool of prize money has shrunk from $115,000 last year to $70,000 today. Yes, still a nice chunk of cash, but the change is scary in its implications. As a person who has no control and very little understanding of these things, the thought of these tens of thousands of dollars disappearing scares me.

In short, the Nohl, which most of us have learned to take for granted as a permanent fixture of our local art culture, could one day shrink to nothing.

It’s the tough thing about Polly’s position. She lacks the power to build the program’s momentum, while remaining essential to holding it together. You’d think, given the Nohl’ls apparent precarity, she’d be conservative in her thinking. Maybe she is in some ways, but you might be surprised by how hungry she is to experiment.

Because, after spending our forty-minute conversation struggling to understand this tangle of money and power (believe me, I’ve only scratched the surface), I did eventually work up the courage to ask my question. That is, the question about giving money away to artists. I asked Polly what she’d do with the money, if it was up to her.

And guess what she said. Three words: universal basic income.

To be absolutely clear, it’s not up to her. But still, heartening to know that she and I are on the same page. I’m guess you’re all on that page too.

Really, her situation isn’t much different from any Milwaukee artist applying to the Nohl Fellowship. It’s a situation so common it’s sometimes hard to see. She spends her days, just like us all, asking/earning/winning money from the people who have it.

It’s not the most optimistic note to end this story on, so it’s lucky we’re not at the end.

I’ve written a bunch this week, and to be honest, I’m tired. So rather than tell you, can I show you? Take a look at the link below and think it over. More next week.

Nohl Prizeshare Collective

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