Most performing arts organizations treat programming as an artistic exercise.
It is, but it’s only part of a larger strategic decision.
A season shapes how audiences behave: how often they return, how much they spend, how donors engage, and how the organization is perceived. It is one of the clearest signals of whether an institution understands its audience or is simply hoping it does.
It is also a system of interconnected decisions. Each piece carries weight. Some anchor revenue. Some build audience trust. Some expand artistic identity. Others attract specific donor interest. The strength of a season isn’t in any single title. It’s in how those roles work together. Too much of one thing, and the system breaks down. Balance isn’t aesthetic. It’s structural.
That balance matters even more as audience behavior changes. Audiences are more selective. They attend less frequently. They decide later. But when they do attend, they are willing to spend if the experience feels worth it.
That changes the job of a season.
It’s no longer enough to rely on a few tried-and-true titles to carry the year. A season has to create a reason to return. That requires contrast, momentum, and a sense that the organization is guiding the experience, not just presenting it. A single sold-out performance doesn’t build an audience. A well-constructed season does.
Most organizations already have the data they need. The challenge is bringing those data points together (ticket sales, pricing, attendance patterns, donor behavior) and evaluating them against the outcomes the organization is trying to achieve.
If a work has been produced before, there is a clear record of how it performed in terms of audience and donor engagement: how it sold across performances, how much of the house was paid versus comped or discounted, where pricing settled, how quickly demand developed, and how donors responded. Sales volume, pricing behavior, timing of demand, and patterns of support each tell a different part of the story. Read in isolation, they can mislead. Read together, they show how audiences behaved, and what conditions influenced that behavior.
The question isn’t just what happened. It’s what kind of success it was and whether that success is repeatable.
Selection, however, is only part of the work. Placement matters just as much.
The same piece can perform differently depending on where it appears in the season. Early programming can build confidence and momentum; it can also weaken demand for what follows if the experience disappoints. Later programming is shaped by everything that came before it. Word of mouth builds across a season, helping or hurting sales as audiences decide whether the organization is delivering on its promise.
That makes placement strategic. Contrast creates engagement. Too much similarity flattens it. A challenging work placed with intention can succeed because the season has earned trust around it. The same work placed poorly can struggle. Programming and sales strategy are inseparable because the order of the season shapes demand.
This level of coordination doesn’t happen in isolation. When I was on the Leadership Team at The Santa Fe Opera, programming was a fully integrated leadership exercise. Marketing modeled ticket demand and pricing scenarios. Development evaluated donor support and fundraising potential. Production and artistic leadership projected costs based on casting, creative teams, and logistical requirements. Community engagement built enhancement programming around the work itself. Those perspectives were tested repeatedly, often across multiple iterations, before any season was finalized.
In some cases, that process led to difficult decisions. There were moments when a work we believed in artistically was no longer the right strategic choice because of timing, market conditions, or external competition. the organization adjusted accordingly. That discipline is part of the work.
Planning further ahead makes that kind of decision-making possible.
Short planning cycles limit options. Top artists are already committed. Budgets become reactive. Flexibility disappears. Marketing is left to describe what exists rather than shape demand around it. Development is asked to support a plan it did not help build.
Planning multiple years in advance changes that dynamic. It allows organizations to secure stronger talent, shape budgets over time, build campaigns intentionally, and adjust without compromising quality. It also forces clarity.
Programming doesn’t just drive ticket sales. It drives the entire revenue model.
It shapes how donors engage, how sponsorship aligns, and how the organization is positioned in the market. Some repertoire builds broad-based support. Some requires targeted funding. Some strengthens long-term credibility in ways that don’t show up immediately in ticket revenue.
Strong seasons start with a wide range of possibilities. Options are tested. Combinations are explored. Different versions are evaluated artistically, financially, and structurally before being refined into a final plan. By the end, the season should feel clear and inevitable. But that clarity is the result of discipline, not instinct.
Programming is where strategy becomes visible.
It tells audiences what the organization values. It shows donors what they are investing in. It signals to artists the level at which the institution intends to operate. And it reveals whether the organization understands the balance between artistic ambition and audience engagement.
Programming is not just an artistic decision.
It is the strategy.