December Director's Journal

When grownups asked five-year-old Alison, “What do you want to be when you grow up?” she answered, matter-of-factly: “a mermaid who lives in a lighthouse.”

I still feel close to her — to the magical realism of her imagination and her desire to tangibly help others through foggy conditions and dark times. I also feel close to the indignance she felt at the assumptions tucked inside that question, as if her vision for herself and her creative capacity at five were supposed to fit neatly inside a nameable career.

This morning, arriving at Sitka before sunrise, heading up to the library to write to you and switching on the first light of the day, I smile at her accuracy. Many of you have reached out this year to share that these journals and Sitka’s broader work and impact, reported through our newsletters, have become a creative beacon for you, a monthly lighthouse signal in a time when art, nature and other values you hold dear feel threatened.

Outside, the ocean is audible in the dark — a steady, unseen presence beyond the trees.
Across the courtyard, a single studio lamp clicks on. The Sitka day begins in small circles of brightness.

Sitka’s newsletter now reaches more than 10,000 members of our community and each month about 5,000 of you read these journals closely — the same number of rural students now served through our K–8 Create program. I think a lot about that symmetry: a community of adults who care deeply about this place and a community of children who live here on the coast at or below the poverty line, attending rural schools where budgets can’t stretch far enough to offer art.

While Sitka has been more resilient than many arts and environmental nonprofits during this cycle of federal cuts, we have not been untouched. Many foundations and individuals support K–8 Create, but our largest single source of funding came from a state grant program supported by federal pass-through dollars. When federal funding was withdrawn this summer, our grant — eligible for two-year renewal at $150,000 per year and serving more than twice as many kids as any other funded program — was not renewed by the state because the federal dollars no longer existed.

It costs just $100 for Sitka to provide one full school year of K–8 Create for a single student: a trained art teacher in their own community, high-quality art supplies and an original monthly curriculum that never repeats, delivered to their classroom — English language learner and special education classrooms included.

Since the day K–8 Create began, I’ve been thinking about how to more deeply connect you — the adults who read our newsletter and who come to Sitka to learn, to teach, to exhibit, to volunteer, to find creative refuge — with Sitka’s next generation, the children across our coastal region experiencing the joys of self-expression and self-discovery made possible through Sitka for the first time.

What if the path to bridging this federal funding gap is already here within our own Sitka community?

What if, together, we already have everything we need to keep Sitka’s light bright for every student we currently serve and for the new rural schools waiting to join?

Giving is powerful. Last month, Sitka saw a moment, saw a way to help and chose to live our values in public. When Oregon Contemporary’s funding for the 2026 Oregon Artists’ Biennial was unexpectedly withdrawn, we stepped forward with a pledge from our own emergency reserves to help ensure the exhibition and the artistic voices behind it would not be silenced. This newsletter includes an article with links to recent journalism about Sitka’s deepening partnership with Oregon Contemporary in response to federal arts funding cutbacks and how you can help.

Why did Sitka choose to do this when our own funding has been cut? We did it because when we underfund the arts, we undermine freedom of speech and creative self-expression. We did it because supporting public arts access is supporting the kind of society we want our students and all of us to enjoy and inherit.

Tests tell us what we know. Art and nature help us understand where we are and who we’re becoming. I believe this fiercely, and I know many of you do too.

For those who already support Sitka’s annual fund, thank you. And for those who can, this is the moment to help keep Sitka’s light bright — for the inner artists and scientists in all of us, for the creative lives of children and for everyone who turns to Sitka to renew their sense of what matters.

This year, your annual gift goes further than ever: the first $30,000 in donations will be tripled, and the next $30,000 will be doubled. Every contribution widens the circle of light, making it possible for thousands of children to receive a year of creative access and for Sitka to continue fostering natural wonder and free expression when we need them most.

As I finish writing, the sky over the estuary lifts from deep blue to pearled grey. Another studio lamp flicks on. There’s an email from Youth Program Director Leeauna Perry in my inbox, updating me on a pilot project she’s pursuing in another rural Oregon community.

Thank you for keeping this light with us. Thank you for believing in the work and the world we brighten together, one fearless five-year-old lighthouse-tending mermaid at a time.

With gratitude,

Alison