I started my career as a professional fundraiser like many recovering artists do: by complete and total accident.

After a decade of work as a performing artist, teacher, and producer, I was looking for something more stable, so I sought out an arts administration graduate program. My advisor asked if I had any fundraising experience, to which I –– ever the type-A, honor roll student –– insisted that yes, I had indeed sold loads of cookie dough for my high school choir program. She laughed and recommended me for a job in the development department at the College of Music anyway. Eventually, I came to understand why my response had made her chuckle. 

Fundraising is presented throughout our artistic lives in so many forms, often cloaked in mystery, stress, and panic. 

“We have to sell 200 more gala tickets or we won’t be able to pay the caterer!” 

“Our event space is going to cost three times our budget and we have no extra capital – quick, everybody, call all the rich people you know!” 

“The state of Florida is completely eliminating arts funding - someone, call Oprah and ask her to save the very soul of America as we know it!” 

I, too, had seen only these parts of fundraising (hence my comment about the cookie dough). The concept of asking someone to part with their hard-earned dollars made me want to break out in hives. Add to that the fact that I am a complete and total introvert, I never in a million years thought that this would be something that I would be successful at or even come to truly, deeply enjoy. I had to find my authentic self in it. And once I did, I came to see the practice of building philanthropic relationships as one of the most rewarding, fulfilling parts of my professional life. 

That is because, over time, I have come to see fundraising or philanthropy –– a term I much prefer –– as voluntary action for the common good. It’s not limited to financial donations. Rather it’s a holistic set of practices that encompasses volunteerism, advocacy, and championship. It’s each and every charitable act, from giving up your seat on the subway to making a billion-dollar gift to support a new arts center. It’s participatory, human-centered, and rooted in authentic relationship building. Your success as a fundraiser depends almost entirely on your ability to listen to others, understand their passions, and showcase the potential impact of their involvement with your project. In other words: building relationships and telling stories for the common good. 

I am willing to bet that’s what sits at the core of your artistic practice, too, dear reader. Fusing your why with how others can be involved is the first step toward finding your own authentic approach to philanthropic work. You already have the skills; it just takes a little practice and the right frame of mind. And if that still seems daunting, I offer the following: 

Fundraising is not asking people for money. Fundraising is a natural byproduct of strong, trust-based relationships with people who want to invest in you. These are your advocates, your champions, and they want to put their philanthropic muscle behind you because they believe in you. And the only wrong way to do it is the way that feels wrong to you. 

To connect with Kendra and keep up with her work, follow her on Linkedin.