The Liberating Power of “No”
By Ari Edelson, Artistic Director, The Orchard Project
There is perhaps no more dreaded word in the creative world than “no.”
No to the play.
No to the grant.
No to the meeting.
No to the pitch.
We whisper it. We soften it. We euphemize it (“Let us circle back…”). We fear it.
And on the receiving end, we brace for it as a judgment — a signal that we have failed, or worse, that we are wrong.
But what if we liberated “no” from judgment?
What if “no” — spoken clearly, honestly, and respectfully — became something else entirely?
A compass.
A boundary that clarifies voice.
A tool for growth and integrity.
A way of protecting the uniqueness that makes great art great.
This isn’t about celebrating rejection — nobody likes a “no.”
It’s about reframing it so it can actually serve the work.
When “No” Isn’t Rejection — It’s Alignment
Years ago, a celebrated British playwright told me about a new play he had finished. It was a romantic comedy — emotional and personal, unlike anything he had previously written.
I asked whether he hoped a particular theater — one that had produced two of his earlier works — would do it.
He didn’t hesitate.
“No, they would never do it, and it is great to know that.”
He wasn’t bitter. He wasn’t defeated. He wasn’t even disappointed.
He continued:
“Their mission is to push the form and surface storytellers who haven’t been on their stage before. This play doesn’t do that. Knowing that frees me. It’s not a judgment — it’s clarity.”
What a liberating idea:
Sometimes not being right for a space — and knowing why — is a gift.
It protects the voice of the artist.
It protects the voice of the institution.
And it strengthens the field by preserving specificity instead of flattening it.
Because when every theater tries to produce everything, no one knows what they stand for. We see it too often: missions blur, voices soften, and a thousand “kinda-fits” smother true identity.
“No” can be an act of artistic courage.
The Problem With Avoiding “No”
From an Artistic Director’s point of view, I also understand the temptation to avoid “no.” Someone in the Broadway arena recently told me there were about sixty shows angling to land in their theaters for the 2026 spring season, and that very few would ever get a direct no — because “you never know” if something else fails to raise capital or closes early.
Whether it’s off-Broadway programming or streaming development, withholding “no” has become a strategy — a kind of protective put option on cultural capital.
But this equivocation has two major downsides:
—It erodes relationships between artists and producers/institutions.
—It muddies a producer’s ability to articulate their vision to the world through their choices.
I would guess few audiences today could clearly articulate the distinct mission of five major NYC off-Broadway producers — and I would argue that their inability (or unwillingness) to say “no” plainly is central to that.
In 2023, at The Stage’s Future of Theatre conference in the UK, several leading playwrights — including David Eldridge, Chinonyerem Odimba, and David Edgar — voiced a rising concern: playwrights increasingly being ghosted by theatres developing their work.
One writer described receiving support and encouragement…
and then radio silence for nearly a year.
No communication.
No clarity.
No next step — not even a “no.”
The Writers’ Guild of Great Britain noted this is now commonplace, and warned that theaters are sometimes commissioning plays they know they will never produce — without telling writers.
Edgar called it a “crime.” Odimba called it “appalling.”
Ghosting isn’t neutral — it pushes artists toward doubt, self-censorship, and sameness.
Art is at its best when voices are distinct — not watered down in the hope of fitting every stage or filling every streamer.
Judging vs. Joining
This mindset echoes a framework we often use in our Notes 2.0 workshops, developed with the wonderful Kaleel Jamison Consulting Group: the difference between judging and joining.
Judging shrinks the room. It says:
“You’re wrong.”
“You don’t fit.”
“You’re less.”
Joining enlarges possibility:
“I see what you’re trying to do.”
“Here’s where we align — and where we don’t.”
“This isn’t a fit for us, but it may thrive elsewhere.”
A transparent “no” with articulated values belongs to the second category.
It is not a door slammed shut — it is a map.
Building a World Where “No” Helps Art Thrive
“No” only works in an ecosystem where there are also meaningful “yeses” — where abundance and transparency are active values.
At The Orchard Project, we’ve worked hard to scale our support for artists while also being open and generous about the times we must say “no.” This shows up in our evolving submission transparency, our communication practices, and the open office hours we host for artists whose projects we do not move forward.
And in our Notes 2.0 work — helping artists, leaders, producers, educators, and teams across the cultural sector build healthier feedback practices — one theme is constant:
When we remove judgment from “no,” creativity expands.
Participants tell us:
—“A clear no helped me protect what I was making.”
—“Hearing why my project wasn’t right made me trust the institution more.”
—“Saying no honestly felt generous — not harsh.”
This is the shift from polite ambiguity to transparent alignment.
A “no” rooted in mission and values doesn’t shame the creator — it honors them.
It says: Your work deserves the right home, not a compromised one.
A Thought for Our Moment
We are in a time when “yes” feels scarce and “no” feels sharp.
Institutions are cautious. Funding pressures are real. The ground shifts daily.
In this moment, clarity is a service. Mission is a form of love. And “no,” when used honestly and generously, becomes the thing that keeps creative ecosystems healthy.
Imagine a world where a rejected proposal left you thinking — sincerely —
They saw me. They knew what they needed. And I still know who I am.
That world is possible.
It is necessary.
And we are building it — one conversation, one decision, one “no” at a time.
The Invitation
As artists, leaders, institutions, and humans:
—Let’s say “no” when we need to.
—Let’s explain why, without apology or cruelty.
—Let’s trust that protecting voice protects art.
—Let’s receive “no” not as erasure but as direction.
Because when “no” stops meaning failure and starts meaning clarity,
we all get freer — and the work gets braver.
And in a field built on risk, imagination, and honesty…
what could be more liberating than that?
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