Cultural attendance does not depend on communication but on the bond woven between people and cultural offerings. This prior relationship determines the meaning that each person finds in participating.
In cultural action, whether subsidized or private, the objective most often remains to reach an audience, meaning that people feel the desire to participate. I am convinced that every cultural offering, in its singularity, has somewhere its natural audience. When attendance is low, the cause does not lie in the inadequacy of the proposed work, but in the absence of a bond woven between this offering and the people it could reach. The challenge therefore consists in establishing this relationship, in building this bridge between the work and those it concerns.
The approach I advocate here goes beyond simple matching between supply and demand. As Antoine Hennion emphasizes in La Passion musicale (1993), cultural mediation is not limited to the transmission of content but involves the construction of attachments. It is about working from the outset on the nature of the bond, because cultural participation is above all an identity question: do I have within me a deep connection that makes me recognize this cultural activity as essential to my journey?
Let’s take an example: I have adored since my adolescence this music group that I listen to regularly. It symbolizes for me something very important, if not essential, in the construction of my identity. When I learn that this group is performing in a large venue, I rush to buy tickets. In a few minutes, thousands of seats can sell out. A superficial analysis might conclude that it was good communication that generated this turnout. In reality, it is precisely the opposite: communication was only the spark. The true reason for this mobilization lies in the prior importance of this music group for these people. Rare will be those in the audience who are discovering the artist. The neophytes present will have been convinced by close friends themselves deeply attached to this group, eager to share a common experience.
We dream that the same process could apply to emerging artists. There must be room for everyone, and renewal nourishes cultural diversity, essential to our creative and human ecosystem. As UNESCO affirms in its Convention on the Protection and Promotion of the Diversity of Cultural Expressions (2005), this diversity constitutes “a common heritage of humanity” that “should be celebrated and preserved for the benefit of all”.
The usual reasoning would have it that a lesser-known artist requires more communication to create opportunities for encounter. This logic is also false. Why? Because the bond having not been previously woven, even the most sophisticated, best-targeted communication will run up against this absence of pre-existing connection. This bond must therefore be cultivated by other means.
Professionals know certain proven techniques. An emerging, little-known industrial metal group will be programmed by relying on belonging to the musical genre to reach fans of this aesthetic. This is the principle of opening acts: established artists host emerging talents from the same musical universe. This practice, which has become almost a dogma in contemporary music programming, does indeed allow bonds to be gradually woven. Spectators, who came for the main artist, discover despite themselves new horizons that can, over time, become significant for them.
The bond is not built solely in the aesthetic continuity of offerings. We must understand all the motivations that lead people to participate in a cultural offering. Going to a show, visiting a museum or monument is above all a social and identity experience. Why rush to see the Mona Lisa at the Louvre in a crowded room, when exceptionally high-quality digital reproductions are accessible in two clicks on our high-definition screens?
We don’t go to the Louvre to contemplate the Mona Lisa, the imposed distance and limited time in front of the work hardly allow it. We go there to live the experience, personal and collective, of having approached the most famous painting in the world. This truth applies to all cultural offerings. I do not deny the possibility of an authentic discovery or aesthetic emotion in a museum. But what gives meaning to our visit is the symbolic importance of this visit and the identity transformation it operates within us.
“I went to the Louvre” does not construct the same identity as a person as “I have never been to the Louvre”. We become different through this practice. And “I went to the Louvre Abu Dhabi” constructs yet another identity facet. I am not speaking here of social benefits or cultural capital in Bourdieu’s sense (La Distinction, 1979), but of our own identity transformed by a cultural practice. Some people, nevertheless, find no resonance in the Louvre and would see no identity transformation there, even by visiting it, for lack of prior connection with their personal construction. Everyone possesses different identity criteria, which can be enriched, transformed, proposed, and cultivated.
Let’s observe how certain contemporary platforms work on this question of connection. Netflix represents much more than a simple distribution channel. The platform constitutes an identified label: one finds there content less conventional than on traditional television, but remarkably scripted and produced. Netflix cultivates the bond constantly through extremely fine analysis of its audiences.
The platform does not follow a simple logic of supply but a strategy of deep connection, intrinsic to its very design. After acquiring the rights to quality series, Netflix analyzed viewing behaviors with surgical precision. Artificial intelligence then guided the production of their first original series, House of Cards (2013), whose narrative framework responded precisely to identified expectations. This series, of undeniable quality, was literally designed to create a connection with what already mattered to many viewers.
This approach (called “data-driven”), although commercially effective, raises questions about cultural standardization and artistic risk-taking. Nevertheless, it demonstrates the importance of knowing those to whom one is addressing oneself, not to flatter them, but to establish an authentic connection.
For cultural venues anchored in territories, the work consists simply, though this simplicity is very demanding, in going to meet the inhabitants, to know them and recognize them. This is in no way demagoguery but knowledge of the other. Let us honestly ask ourselves: what portion of our professional time do we devote to formal encounters with our audiences? We easily legitimize time spent prospecting at the Avignon Festival or the Cannes Festival to spot new creations. But do we deploy as much effort to meet those to whom we address ourselves?
Without this knowledge, how can we propose works that resonate with what matters to them, that give them a profound reason to travel? It is quite simply impossible. This requirement, for it is one, is neither demagoguery nor the desire to please. It is about knowing those to whom one is addressing oneself. Knowing the other is being connected with them. From this relationship can be born mutual enrichment, surprises, fruitful disagreements, constructive disputes.
Authentic connection allows for risk-taking: “I trust you, I come to see everything you propose, even what might displease me. It interests me anyway.” That is the true connection. This connection must be built, activated, cultivated. This responsibility falls to us. We cannot ask people to do this work in our place based on a few posters, however aesthetic they may be, or publications on social networks, however numerous they may be.
My proposal is simple in its statement and demanding in its implementation: organize in our schedule formalized moments dedicated to encounters with the people to whom we address ourselves. From this regular practice, we will establish deep connections, we will truly know them.
Caution, this knowledge is never definitively acquired. Communities evolve, expectations transform, identities recompose themselves. It is not about commissioning an audience study from an external firm to know once and for all “the audience’s expectations.” I am speaking of exactly the opposite: it is not about knowing the tastes or expectations of an abstract audience, but about connecting with concrete people.
This connection passes between human beings. It is not an online questionnaire to fill out, it is a living relationship. And digital tools and databases must also accompany us. In a cultural venue, the work is collective, staff changes, we must preserve the memory of relationships woven. We cannot afford to lose the connection. Because if we lose it, we will lose much more: we will lose our place itself. Without connections, no places. The formula may seem terse, but it summarizes the fundamental challenge of our cultural action.
As Walter Benjamin already wrote in The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction (1935), the authentic cultural experience concerns the aura, that “singular weave of space and time” that connects us to the work (with many nuances, which I have documented in the article The Work of Art in the Age of Digital Mediation. Today, this aura no longer resides only in the uniqueness of the work, but in the quality of the connection woven between people and cultural offerings. It is this connection that we must cultivate, patiently, humbly, but with determination.
(Collage created by young people from the PJJ as part of a workshop led by Benoît Labourdette - 2025)
My multidisciplinary practices—spanning creation, cultural action, training, and support in a wide range of cultural, social, and educational contexts across France—provide me with a privileged, subjective, and in-depth observatory of the cultural sector in France.
This sector is weakened by its position, often deemed “non-essential” by many political leaders, by the competition from digital platforms in cultural practices, as well as by challenges and obstacles related to the difficulty of establishing interdisciplinary collaborations and the scarcity of evaluations, which are often poorly conducted and instrumentalized.
My observatory allows me to identify dynamics that work, as well as difficulties I observe. Here, I propose to share my analyses, methods, and suggestions, hoping they may prove useful. My goal is to contribute to a stronger cultural sector in the future, as I believe that defending a cultural sector funded by taxpayers’ money holds the potential for emancipation, the development of freedoms, democracy, and the capacity to act—in a way that is fundamentally different from what private actors produce.
This is possible if there is no hypocrisy, and in my view, it comes at the cost of a commitment to lucidity and self-questioning, a choice to deconstruct representations, and perhaps to challenge certain privileges and systems of domination.