Laurie Cumbo, the Founder and Executive Director of Brooklyn’s Museum of Contemporary African Diasporan Arts (MoCADA) speaks to creative.reconstruction about the virtues of uncertainty, the risks of idealism, and why there are likely few atheists in the ranks of entrepreneurs.
CREATIVE.RECONSTRUCTION: Let’s assume that the readership is unfamiliar with MoCADA and its mission. Can you briefly describe it for us?
LAURIE CUMBO: MoCADA is an acronym for the Museum of Contemporary African Diasporan Arts. Simply stated, its mission is to archive, celebrate and popularize the work of contemporary black artists the world over.
How did you come up with the name “MoCADA”?
You know, I don’t exactly remember that process. I know that I was inspired when I went abroad as an NYU student and visited a museum in Spain called something like MoCBA — something to the effect of the Museum of Contemporary Barcelonan Art. And I thought that approaching the branding in that manner would be a good idea.
Can you talk a bit about what happened on the first day MoCADA opened?
We actually had two openings: After we finished securing and customizing the original space, we had a meeting with community artists to gauge their thoughts and level of interest. And we only had about 2-3 months worth of operational funds. In fact, when we moved to this new space, I only enough in the way of resources to stay afloat for about 2-3 months. Interestingly enough, one of the things I regret is that we don’t host those types of meetings more often.
How much did you have in the way of start-up capital?
I got my initial money from the sale of a painting that my aunt had stored in her attic for many years. The artist was named Bob Thompson; he was from Louisville, KY and died rather tragically at age 28, in Rome. Over time the value of his work began to appreciate. Interestingly enough, my aunt’s husband was a doctor that had treated Bob when he was a struggling unknown, and had accepted the painting as payment for services rendered. Now, I majored in Art History [at Spelman College in Atlanta, GA] and had some connection to the art world. They wanted me to see if I could sell the painting for them, and they offered me a $2500 commission in the event of a sale. I sold it and got the commission and used that money to start the museum. I rented the space, essentially an apartment in a Bedford-Stuyvesant [Brooklyn] brownstone, called a meeting of the fine artists in the community, told them what I intended to do and enlisted their help. We held a sale of donated works — each piece, whether by a famous or unknown artist, was sold for $300 — and managed to raise another $20,000.
We tried hosting a party soon thereafter at a venue in Fort Greene [Brooklyn], but it didn’t go particularly well….
Why do you think that was the case?
At the time I didn’t know enough about event planning and execution. But I learned from that one experience that I didn’t like the feeling of not meeting my own expectations. So from that point on I adopted a phrase that I may have heard on a TV program or a rock-music video: “Anything that’s worth doing is worth overdoing.” That’s been one of my guiding principles ever since.
Part of the reason I started the museum was because my goal was to actually attend Stern [NYU’s School of Business]. But when I didn’t get in, I decided to launch the museum. I’ve had a lot of instances in my life that played out similarly. In my junior year [at Spelman College in Atlanta, GA] I applied to a program at the Atlanta Historical Society that was geared towards people with an ambition to work in museums and learn the ways in which museums were organized, structured and managed. While I didn’t get in there, I did get into a program at Syracuse University that enabled me to study abroad in Florence, Italy. And so while there was some disappointment at not getting my first choice, there was the benefit of getting to live in Europe for a year.
I think that for entrepreneurs, because of the type of field it is, after achieving a level of maturity you recognize that if you’re truly an entrepreneur there really is no good or bad news. Every situation is a new opportunity for something else, and in essence you’re living only for opportunities. So if you don’t get into one thing, it means that you have to do something else — and where is that something else going to take you? I mean on some level it’s devastating, but on another level you gradually begin moving on to the next thing.
Founding and sustaining a museum of this size and scale is a tremendous amount of work, particularly with regards to securing funding. You have to complete forms, submit mission statements, write grant proposals, meet and greet committee members, do follow-ups, etc. And after all that, there’s still the possibility that you’ll be turned down.
The museum is a registered non-profit, do you think it could survive as a for-profit enterprise?
No — not at all. For-profit typically means that you’re not receiving money from the government, or corporations, or individuals that are enticed to donate by promise of access to the arts. To survive purely on what museum visitors give? Not possible. Museums provide an offering or service to the public at a price that’s far below what it actually costs the museum to provide.
Let’s go back to the actual founding of the museum: Had you already conceptualized the museum — what you’d require to launch it; what you would call it; what it would look like — before you approached your Aunt for the seed money?
I think I probably gave her the impression that I had a better idea of what it was going to be than I actually did [laughs]. I had such a grandiose vision! What that vision was initially, and what the museum is now, still don’t align. And it took a lot to get used to the fact that it wasn’t and isn’t what I originally envisioned. I mean, it was originally housed above a day-care center — that was hardly a part of the fantasy.
How did you resolve those tensions? There are some that might say, Well, if it can’t be what I envision it being, then I won’t do it at all.
I find that people who wait for the ideal situation will always wait. You really just have to go with what you have at the moment, because something else happens once you go ahead and start it. I started MoCADA in a four-story walk-up eight blocks away from the nearest train station. I could have waited until an ideal situation emerged, but if I’d done that, I wouldn’t really have had anything in place — no money, no backers, no artists, no publicity, no recognition — to properly take advantage of that opportunity. As soon as we opened up, we got a lot of publicity. Had we held out for that perfect moment, few would have known that we had the idea, or to send funding our way, or that we were looking for a marquee location. Take the leap and put it out there into the universe that “this is who I am, and this is what I’m doing.” Opportunity will come your way when you essentially wear a banner that says “this is who I am and this is what I do.” I felt and still feel that there’s tremendous benefit to just starting it and seeing what happens.
You’ve made a few statements during this interview that suggest that you have a fairly strong sense of spirituality. Has that always been the case? Do you feel that spirituality and entrepreneurship need to co-exist?
Where I’m concerned, I’d say that whether you are or aren’t spiritual, as an entrepreneur — and I hope this doesn’t offend anyone — you almost have to be closer to “God.” You’re responsible for the people that work for you, you’re responsible for securing funding and you’re responsible for the risks that you take. I guess it’s comparable to being a gambler, and what gambler doesn’t on some level make an appeal to a higher power before rolling the dice? That’s essentially the condition of the entrepreneur. Frankly speaking, nothing that’s happened with the museum should have happened. I’ve always been behind the eight ball where MoCADA is concerned: I didn’t prepare enough for it; I didn’t invest enough time. There’s never enough staff here, never enough people helping out, never enough money. But somehow, it always seems to happen. Even if you were an atheist and became an entrepreneur, in time, I think, you’d probably become a believer [laughs].
Talk about what initially inspired the idea to create a museum devoted to contemporary African art.
I guess because, as superficial as this may sound, I really wanted to go to Stern. I was coming out of the visual arts administration program at [NYU’s Steinhardt School] and they had us take classes at Stern, which I really liked. But I recognized that I didn’t have any professional experience at the time, and that’s critical to getting into business school. I think one of the admissions essays asked why I wanted to go to business school, so it occurred to me to say that I wanted to start a museum and believed that I needed business-management training to do it. But after I didn’t get in, I still had the essay, so I figured, Why not try to put this essay statement in motion and see what happens?
Often when people ask about inspiration, I think they’re expecting something really deep — some childhood experience or magical moment. And sometimes that is the case. But it’s also the case that sometimes things happen in the moment, and once you take the initial steps, things take on a deeper seriousness. Once I saw what was happening after MoCADA launched, I really couldn’t be semi-interested anymore.
But you clearly believed that there was a need that a museum with this mission could serve, yes?
Yes. In addition to writing the essay, I also wrote my thesis on the concept — which was, in many ways, like a business plan. But what I initially said the museum would do and be in that thesis is not really anything like what it became.
One of the major rationales was that this borough of Brooklyn, with all its diversity, hipness and multiculturalism, didn’t have a single museum devoted to the work of black artists. It was very frustrating, very unfair and, I think, very wrong. I thought that if there’s a certain number of black people living somewhere and paying taxes, them some portion of those tax dollars should be invested in the celebration of their history and culture. And that’s been one of my prime motivations in leading this institution. Even moreso than the importance of the art, and the importance of the culture, it’s me reclaiming a larger share of the money that should be coming back into the community.
How was the idea to launch a museum devoted to diasporan arts initially received by the state funding institutions, by the public at large, and by other museums for that matter?
Everyone thought it was a good idea; what they were going to do to help realize that idea was something else. The governments — federal, state, local — feel that, you know, it’s not a brothel, so they don’t really have a problem with it. But for institutions like this to develop, they have to be perceived as more than just a good idea on a government level, because it involves a very high level of political involvement to make these projects happen. And that’s the case in pretty much any instance across this country where you find a black museum. In fact, the research I did prior to opening MoCADA revealed that black museums in the US tended to exist in cities were there was a black mayor. Now, Brooklyn doesn’t have a black mayor, but the black religious leaders in this city and their congregations, tend to exert some political influence. To what extent that influence improves predominately black communities, however, is another question.
You mentioned that you were aware of the risks associated with launching an entrepreneurial venture. Where did you draw the confidence to believe that you could endure those risks? Was it the formal educational training you received?
I don’t think you ever really know whether you can endure them. I guess it’s sort of like 50 Cent [the hip-hop artist]: take risks or die trying [laughs]. Or like being in a trapeze act: there’s the little safety net underneath you and you just hope that if you fall it doesn’t happen when you’ve swung out beyond the edge of the net. You can’t really do anything else. In fact, in choosing to move the museum to this space [The James E. Davis Building in Fort Greene, Brooklyn], I was on that trapeze with no net. But I was 31. In that 40, 50 and 60-yr-old age bracket, taking those kinds of risks is much harder. Maybe at 70 and 80 you figure you’re almost outta here, so you take those kinds of risks again. I just figured that I was going to jump, and if I didn’t make it, I could still start over and do something else. And I was confident enough in my own skill set that I knew I’d be OK.
You mentioned that under-patronage was among the challenges in sustaining a fledgling museum. What are some of the other challenges that come to mind?
I would say that one of the big challenges is that I need more money and more resources to reach out into those communities that need these kinds of institutions. Being in Fort Greene, I have a ready audience, thankfully. But in order to reach those communities for whom visiting a museum isn’t a standard cultural pastime, it requires more money and more resources. And further on that front, I’ve learned that to really penetrate new territory, it’s important to not come off as some kind of missionary, someone there to show the natives a better way; that’s going to be rejected.
We’re doing very well for a new and young organization. But I feel that the existence of a museum like this was so long overdue — the ethnic communities in this city are so starved for cultural institutions dedicated to their experience — that it should be growing faster.
Have you contemplated an expansion strategy for MoCADA? Outposts in other boroughs or perhaps even other cities in the US?
In my wildest imaginings — yes, but maybe not in my lifetime. I think I want to focus my energies on becoming a big institution here in Brooklyn before expanding to other places. And one of the biggest frustrations with a venture like this one — a cultural institution that’s dependent on community support and patronage — is knowing that explosive growth really isn’t likely to happen, regardless of what I do.
Are there any established governmental institutions that someone with a similar idea could appeal to for early-stage funding? A state Office of Cultural Affairs, for instance?
I don’t think so. It’s funny that you ask that. I teach a class on the founding and management of cultural institutions and that’s one of the first things I tell the students: this isn’t like business school; there aren’t going to be any recruiters coming here looking to cherry pick promising candidates. The job market in this space is almost like appointments to the federal bench or the US Supreme Court. If you’re fortunate enough to get a job in a museum, you hold it — for 10, 20, 30 years.
When I graduated, I somehow knew that the local elected officials were supposed to earmark money for these kinds of initiatives, so I went around to them, showed them my business plan, and asked them for money. Also, most funding agencies won’t support a non-profit that hasn’t been in existence for at least three years. So you really have to scramble during the early going. I hosted a gala fundraiser, charged $75 a ticket and tapped into my network of college friends, family friends, community leaders, etc. I also got local artists to donate pieces that we auctioned off.
Do you believe that the fine-arts sector is a growth sector?
Yes, definitely — probably moreso in the US than in other developed countries. And that’s because in European countries, the fine arts tradition tends to be well-established and centuries old. Here in the US, there tends to be a greater focus on contemporary art, something newly created and newly designed — both in the literal and comparative sense. There tends to be a tremendous amount of cultural turnover in the US fine-arts sector. Erecting museums in cities helps to create cultural spending dollars and stimulate the cultural-tourism industry. But all that being said, the arts world tends to be ignored by the business world. Many — most — business schools have programs devoted to the music industry and sports industry, but few, if any, have classes or programs devoted to arts administration. But those institutions need skilled managers, too.
You’ve alluded to some of the ambitions that you have for MoCADA, and your concerns that you may not be around to see those ambitions realized. What, specifically, are those ambitions?
I would want MoCADA to become a multi-purpose institution, one that supports and celebrates music, dance, film, theatre, digital arts, etc., towards the goal of creating an all-inclusive, almost multi-sensory experience — one that showcases international, national and local artists simultaneously, so that the unity of the diaspora can be witnessed firsthand.
I’d also like to establish and grow a permanent collection.
I’ve also envisioned an incubator of sorts for cultural initiatives that’s anchored by a library, and that would ultimately become the world’s largest collection of information and resources devoted to the art of the diaspora.
I really hope that I can pull something like that off. And that’s one of the key challenges of an entrepreneur: getting others to see, appreciate and buy-in to your vision. In the cultural space, without that profit incentive, it’s even more difficult. But in the end, you just have to be patient.
[Postscript: In 2013, Ms. Cumbo resigned her position at MoCADA to successfully run for a seat on the New York City Council, where she now represents Brooklyn’s 35th Council District.]
For more information on the Museum of Contemporary African Diasporan Arts visit: mocada.org
This article was originally published in the spring 2007 edition of “The Opportunity” — the newspaper of the NYU Stern School of Business.
Well, I grew up in a business-oriented family. So I have this little entrepreneurial…problem. Growing up, I always worked for my dad; he had several businesses. For several years I worked at his store in midtown Manhattan and, you know, that was my business education. So there’s something very innate in me about not working for anyone, having a certain kind of hustle going. And having done it a lot — having dealt with cash growing up — that was always inherent. I always found a way to maintain some autonomy. So when I started DJ-ing, it was a hobby that I always took seriously as a business. It took a while to get it down on paper and what have you, but the minute money was exchanged, it was a business to me. It started with my cousins and just grew from there. I have a real keen sense and interest in branding and remaining a viable entity. I came to it through Bhangra music and as a DJ, but I see it as a larger thing, a larger idea.
No, I didn’t mean to suggest that. I do have a large-scale vision for the company. What I meant to say is that a lot of music artists want get on MTV; they want a Grammy; they want platinum sales. I simply want people to like the music enough to buy it. I don’t need the validation of platinum sales, or Grammy awards or video-music play. That model seems to serves X segment of the population, and what we’re seeing in the music industry is the realization that to sell products to different demographics it’s important to realize that people want things in different ways. Starbucks sells a lot of CDs; Oprah sells a lot of books.
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