For a business whose purpose is teaching and creativity, I wish CCA had shown us it could also continue to learn.
Two weeks ago on January 13, the California College of the Arts (née and Crafts) announced it will be closing after nearly 120 years. The news broke simultaneously for faculty, alums, students, staff, and the press. There was no heads up or forewarning; days were occupied with collective stress, surprise, sadness, and anger. It was a textbook (wink) example of how not to communicate critical and consequential information — and a huge missed opportunity to reassure current students that they could complete what they started, and had made the right decision. As faculty, we unexpectedly needed to make space in our classrooms to process all this; the semester started a week later. Much of the community is still reeling.
A few other missteps compounded the initial shock: SF Mayor Lurie’s original Instagram post made no mention of CCA and instead celebrated its new owner, Vanderbilt University — despite the painting behind him being made by a CCA alum. And Vanderbilt’s press release promises they’ll be “cultivating visionary creators and inventive thinkers who are prepared to make a difference in the Bay Area and beyond” — precisely the community that CCA is already comprised of. Since Vanderbilt seeks “designers whose work bridges creative expression and technological innovation… with real-world impact,” perhaps they might start by engaging with the people who’ve been here, doing exactly this work, for decades. Nobody I know has heard from anyone there. Yet.
I’ve taught for nearly 30 years, and CCA has been a professional home of mine for nearly a decade — a smidgen of the time compared to folks who have taught there 20, 30, and 40 years. I started as a guest lecturer, moved to adjunct, and Chaired the Master of Interaction Design (MDes) program for 4.5 years before returning to the classroom as associate professor. Along the way, I saw the inner workings of programs and operating budgets that didn’t budge even when enrollment doubled. I spun up cross-program workshops and events and introduced new electives because it was important to do so. I co-facilitated an all-grad hackathon with Google that resulted in cash prizes plus a visit to the Googleplex to present student ideas to leadership. I hosted several alumni reunions with Q&A for current and prospective students, hosted Bay Area design community events during SF Design Week (including from the stellar [and former CCA Board member] Maria Giudice), hosted pre-program luncheons and social hours and faculty dinners. (Unexpectedly, and on a somber note, I gathered faculty and students for a memorial service for a core faculty member. We miss you, Susan, especially now.) I partnered with CCA’s marketing team on updated videos and stories; identified an alum to create a new MDes program identity and rolled it out on swag. I partnered with Career Services (before they were shuttered) to bring in countless guest critics for portfolio reviews — though I had to scrounge for honoraria to acknowledge their time. I also taught, mentored, facilitated, listened, and facilitated some more. There were countless administrative meetings where spreadsheets pointed to other spreadsheets to track admissions. I reviewed hundreds and hundreds of applicant portfolios and reached out to dozens of admits to welcome them personally, to convert interested folks to enroll. I recruited 50 faculty over the years as Chair, and was absolutely thrilled to diversify the perspectives and voices in the curriculum when we were all teaching online and location didn’t matter — and experience mattered more. (I was radicalized by responding to this set of teaching and learning circumstances, and continue to believe that talent will live where talent is happiest.) And what’s more, through my recruiting practice, I’ve placed two MDes alums in full-time roles.
During the pandemic, I witnessed layoffs and reorgs, an ever-evolving definition of hybrid teaching, plus the introduction of new administrative systems that were handed to us without being tested. I authored multiple transition scenarios for an incoming Chair and/or Assistant Chair, and ran several recruiting and hiring processes for my successor. And still, I galvanized my faculty to orient our incoming (and final) president about the history and potential revenue streams of our program. The core faculty presented no fewer than 14 tested, proven ideas, interventions, and new initiatives — any one of which could have been tried and executed. Sadly, none were. Academia isn’t known for its ability to pivot swiftly, but this felt different. I came to realize that it had been stuck for a long time — even well before my efforts.
Throughout it all, I’ve experienced an imbalance between the people administering the work and the people doing the work. CCA felt both top-heavy and silo’d. I rejected the nomenclature of “divisions” — e.g., Design, Architecture, Fine Arts. There was no initiative to think across the literal divide, no support to offer what worked in one program and share it with another. Once, in an all-faculty meeting, I stood up and wondered aloud how we might share a database of successful lecturers, critics, and alums, so we could recommend folks that we trusted. Back in February 2020, in my Chair interview with the then-Provost, I wondered aloud (again) what a non place-based CCA education might look like. “That’s a good question,” I heard. You already know no changes occurred.
The biggest disconnect — still an opportunity, really — was between how and where students wanted to learn, how and where faculty could teach, and how and where the administration thought things needed to happen. Despite leading what turned out to be one of the most profitable grad programs through years of unprecedented change, I experienced, yet again, one of the throughlines in my career: being told, verbatim, “that’s not how we do things around here.”
Hold up, wait a minute. Shouldn’t a college of creativity be continually willing to reimagine how things are done? Especially one that literally teaches business model innovation and impact?
For a community of 300+ faculty, critics, guest lecturers, authors, successful alums, and serial entrepreneurs — many of whom have given decades of their energy, expertise, compassion, and care to the institution, and many of whom have deep roots in the Bay Area, all over California, and well beyond — I’m flummoxed that we were never as deeply involved as we could have been in helping the business of the college become more sustainable, more relevant, and genuinely innovative. Outside consultants were brought in at considerable expense to analyze our competitive landscape and assess profit and loss statements (with a level of granularity that would have been valuable to access as a Chair). And yet, nothing changed — or it changed too slowly.
What now
Here’s what I know: the teaching and learning community — faculty, students, critics, practitioners — still want and still need a container to teach and learn. To think and make and revise and think and make again. To build curriculum that reflects contemporary approaches to creativity, technology and AI and vibe coding, product and interaction and AR and VR design, architecture and fine arts — all the profound ways our work continues to show up in the world and make business and cultural impact. This is especially true in the Bay where the general vibe is towards more technology and not less.
I’d like to imagine a new teaching & learning container could be self-governing. Perhaps a cooperative model, or one with minimal overhead, so that the people doing the teaching also benefit meaningfully from the value they create. Something nimble enough to respond to how and where students want to learn and how and where practitioners want to teach. Something that honors the expertise and commitment that already exists within this community — rather than treating it as a resource to be managed or commodity to be swapped out.
The work of building something new is substantial — I don’t underestimate that. But this community has already proven it can create meaningful learning experiences, launch careers, foster meaningful innovation, and maintain relationships that span decades. We’ve been doing the hard part: we know what great teaching and learning looks like, we know how to support each other, and we care deeply about this work.
The closure of CCA is a loss to the Bay and beyond. Others wrote about this beautifully. But the community — the relationships, the knowledge, the commitment to teaching and learning — that will not end.
So it feels like a phoenix from the ashes moment to (re)build something that more truly reflects our values: accessible, sustainable, responsive, and deeply rooted in the expertise of the people who show up to do the work.
What we need now is to gather and talk about what we wish to build next. To pool our collective knowledge about sustainable business models, curriculum design, student support and post-program job placement, mentorship, and community building. To view CCA’s closure as a long, important chapter in the culture, and see what we can co-create that’s more resilient. I have ideas, and I’m sure you do, too.
For the higher ed community: I’m grateful so many folks have reached out to me and to each other — a collective loss can have buoying effects. However, given the broader macroeconomic and political conditions in the US right now, plus the ~15 year trend of declining international enrollment, plus complications stemming from obtaining US visas… and following the closure of Mills College and SFAI in the Bay, UArts in Philly… there may be a few interventions I might offer colleagues at Otis, CMU, SCAD, RISD, and elsewhere. If there’s anything I can help you strategize or stave off, please reach out.
For the CCA community: Please stay connected through LinkedIn (not ideal, I know, but it’s where most of us already are). Share updates, opportunities, and ideas. Keep the conversation going there, for now.
For the MDes community: Please self-organize and identify volunteer representatives from each of our 11 Cohorts who will reach out to their fellow cohort-mates. If you’re willing to keep your cohort connected to each other, please step forward and reach out to me. This is how we maintain the network we’ll keep building together.
And here’s something concrete: In mid-August, when the MDes program officially closes, we’re not having a funeral. We’re throwing a block party. A celebration of what we built, the people we are, and the community that will persist beyond any institution. More details to come.
We owe each other this conversation and celebration.
We owe our students and alums this possibility.
Let’s figure out what comes next — together. 🙏
