As a nerdy, art-obsessed ‘90s teen in Broken Arrow, discovering James Watts’ writing in the Tulsa World was like finally having someone (who wasn’t my mom) to talk to about the thing I loved most. Much of what I learned about the arts in Tulsa during those years, I learned from reading his stories in the paper: who the local painters were, where the galleries were, what the theater companies were performing, what big names the opera and ballet and orchestra were bringing to town. I’d read about the national AIDS crisis in Sassy Magazine, but it was Watts who told me that the Tulsa arts community was responding.
It made me feel like I was living in a real city. The world of art was literally at my doorstep; he helped open the door.
When I went to TU and started seeing more of the arts scene for myself, I was well-primed with the cultural education Watts’ stories had given me. By then, I’d started to read other arts writers in national magazines, but they only wrote about what was going on in big cities. Watts gave me the chance to know about my own. More than that, he helped me understand—as the big-city critics were doing, too—how to think critically about everything he covered (which was everything). When I’d seen the same thing he’d seen, and agreed or disagreed with his assessment, I had to consider why.
I moved away from Tulsa after college, and before long started publishing reviews of my own in New York. Would I have known “arts writer” was a real job that someone from Tulsa could do, if Watts hadn’t first planted that seed? Living in a city with dozens of arts writers was eye-opening: so many perspectives, so many good tough arguments about tastes and trends and triumphs and failures, so many emerging and marginalized artists lifted up for tens of thousands of readers to see.
When I came back to Tulsa and started writing about the arts for the city’s alt weeklies, Watts’ coverage in the World was both anchor and compass as I navigated the scene here. He was also personally and professionally gracious to me, when he could have treated me like the interloping upstart I was.
But what happened last week—when Watts’ employment at the Tulsa World was terminated after 33 years—is more than personal. What does a city of our size lose when an arts and culture writer of this stature is removed from its major newspaper? It loses two crucial pieces of infrastructure: a bridge between local creators and local audiences, and a bridge between those creators and the rest of the world.
The internal bridge is vital, not just to people’s awareness but to Tulsa’s economy. If you’re not an art-obsessed nerd, it’s really hard to find out about and keep up with everything on offer. Arts companies do what they can to spread the word themselves, but there are many Tulsans—not to mention tourists—who’ll never see that Instagram post about a show that might have given them a great night out or, you know, changed their life. Arts communication is like science communication: it ensures that everyone has an access point into this important storytelling, truth-telling, perspective-shifting world, which reflects us back to ourselves like nothing else.
On top of that, the arts and culture sector brings in hundreds of millions of dollars in revenue each year. Serious arts coverage has a real impact on getting people to shows, which keeps the groups putting on those shows afloat, allowing them to create more shows and thus more cultural and economic impact. As three of Tulsa’s major arts organizations noted in their letter to World owner Lee Enterprises this week, “cutting previews and reviews lessens our impact, diminishes our audience size and relevance, and will have a dire effect on our ability to help the region, financially and culturally.”
Then there's the external bridge: Robust arts coverage means that Tulsa’s cultural life doesn’t terminate in Tulsa. It raises our national profile, drawing attention to the vibrancy the city purports to be so keen to lift up. Local artists and arts organizations use previews and reviews as supporting material for grants to further their work, book tours, and apply to festivals and residencies. People considering a move here might be more likely to do so with a better feel for the arts and culture offerings—not just event calendars, but contextualized discussions of what a show is, why it matters in Tulsa’s story, and why Tulsa stories matter.
At The Pickup we love getting new writers out to review shows and talk to artists; they’ve got perspectives and reference points that are vital to strong culture coverage. But just as valuable is the sort of institutional cultural memory that a veteran writer like Watts has at his fingertips. I guarantee you that no one in Tulsa has seen as many shows over as many years as he has, and he’s been here for the rise and fall and rise of many an arts organization. Continuity and depth like that are irreplaceable in journalism, and they hold special weight when it’s time to hold someone to account for a sloppy performance or a programming misfire.
Arts writing like Watts’ is a record of the times. Arts groups are already being silenced by the current administration; removing coverage from our major newspaper further hinders our access to their work, both now and in the future. Sure, we have the World’s archive of Watts’ stories, but a) they’re expensive and cumbersome to read, and b) how long until they disappear too?
Lee Enterprises’ decision to terminate Watts’ employment is a blow and an embarrassment for Tulsa. It damages Tulsa’s ability to position itself as an arts destination. It erodes our status as a city that takes culture seriously. It tears down a longstanding bridge between Tulsans and the creative work we’re so proud of as a city.
Real cities have real newspapers. Real newspapers employ thoughtful, deeply informed, dedicated writers to cover the arts. Watts is one of those writers, and he deserves better.
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