Tisa Ho has enjoyed a remarkable journey as an arts visionary. Florian Riem discovers how her curiosity and power of persistence has fuelled a diverse and inspiring career
Can we take a step back in time? What inspired you to work in the arts?
I think I’ve been very lucky. I went to school at a time when things were more free, much less structured than they are now in terms of curriculum and what you could do outside class. I was lucky to have had really funky teachers who were interested in the performing arts. One of my earliest memories of the stage was in a drama club at school, where I was allowed to climb onto the grid at the top of the school stage to rig lights for a show. It was fascinating to see what you could do. I was on stage, backstage, getting involved in every possible way. This continued throughout my time at university where an inspiring lecturer ran a drama lab in which we could experiment. This was Peter Brook’s Empty Space in action, at an instinctive, possibly uninformed and definitely amateur level. I think I got hooked with the first show I was ever involved in.
Was this in Hong Kong?
Yes. We had some amazing teachers, and we were encouraged to create and stage our own productions. Which is why I think that one way to develop new audiences is to enable young people to do their own productions, to get involved, to experience what it’s like. The aim wasn’t to train them as professionals but to help them appreciate the effort, talent and teamwork that goes into creating art. Messing around and having fun helps develop this appreciation.
What led you to leave Hong Kong and move to Europe?
Well, Hong Kong is a little island, so it’s natural to look beyond its borders. When I was growing up, there was a strong link to Britain, and going there to study seemed like a very natural thing to do. I made a little detour to France, though, since I had been studying French literature. One day someone said, there are scholarships if you want to study in France, and I just put my hand up. A few months later, I found myself at a Maison de la Culture in Bordeaux, which not only had great wines, but also a really interesting cultural programme at a time when the policy was to decentralise and establish these institutions outside Paris. I was told about a new arts management training programme which had just launched at City University in London, so I headed to the UK.
This was in the mid-1970s, when the arts management programme was in its infancy. I remember we had to do group interviews to get in since there were more applicants than places. A group interview is intimidating if you’ve never done one before, because you have to show off and impress the interviewers that you are a better choice than the others. I found this really difficult and was in awe of the other people being interviewed. But as it happened, my entire group got in! We never met the other groups, but within ours, there was mutual admiration that laid the foundation for lifelong friendships; we are still in touch today, although our careers have taken many different paths.
How long did you stay in London?
It was a one-year programme, but I stayed on in London because I was married by then, and my husband was doing his fellowship on a two-year scholarship. I began working in film, an area I felt I knew least about. I had an amazing boss in Leslie Hardcastle at the British Film Institute and got to help at the film festival as well as visit the archives and repositories. He would talk about running the organisation as a captain of a ship, and it was fascinating to watch how he interacted with his staff, film directors, actors and other people. Remarkably, he always made time to talk to me. It was a masterclass in management.
How did you bridge the gap between film and music?
I didn’t! And even now, I still know very little about film. Again, I was lucky. As the good Asian wife, I followed my husband to Singapore. Once there, I was told that the then Ministry of Culture could use my skills, so I got to work in arts policy and venue management with another phenomenal boss, Juliana Lim, who steered us through some really groundbreaking initiatives. Then I was told “We need somebody to do the festival”. So, I ended up with the Singapore International Arts Festival for a couple of editions.
That’s pretty incredible, for a second job. How did that come about?
I was just asked to do it. I guess someone thought I could. There was already a system in place and a budget. So, I could just focus on the curation and marketing. At that point, all the administration was done by the Ministry. You only had to fight for the typing pool!
What artistic moments come to mind from this time?
We had both really good experiences and crises. I remember programming all-night films with the idea of sending people off with coffee in the morning, and while my Ministry bosses were sceptical about anyone wanting to stay up all night, it was the first thing to sell out. It was less straightforward with the Alvin Ailey Company with whom we were in discussion when he passed away. His company said, “Look, we can’t tour without him, it isn’t going to happen.” There were a lot of midnight phone calls, midnight for me, midday for them. We made calls to find out what was happening with the company, how everyone was and if they were appointing a new director? In the end, Judith Jamieson was appointed, but at first they still felt they were not ready to tour. But it finally did happen, and it was deeply emotional and very intense. As I recall, we observed a moment of silence. When the curtain fell, a collective stillness filled the room—everyone holding their breath—before applause erupted. My sponsor sitting next to me turned to me and said: “That was money well spent. What would you like to do next year?” And I thought: Oh yes, thank you!
That must have been quite a breakthrough.
It was a really good moment, having gone through this. I make a point to tell young arts managers: if you think it’s worthwhile, don’t give up, persist! Not against the wishes of others of course, but if there is a way to make things happen, find a way to persuade people so that they will be happy with the results as well.
We’ve covered film, we’ve covered dance, but how did you get involved with the music business? Was it another phone call that led to you running the Singapore Symphony Orchestra?
Yes, I had a phone call to come and have lunch. Again, I think I was really lucky to be in the right place at the right time to receive these opportunities. It’s probably much harder to break into the industry today. To be perfectly honest, if right now I applied for the jobs I had back then, I might not stand a chance against all the younger people who are much better qualified. The world has changed, and I think that’s neither good nor bad, it’s just different, and you need to be able to adapt. As my father used to say: “When a door shuts, another one will open.” That philosophy has guided me through choices in my career, even when I didn’t know what was on the other side.
When you joined the Singapore Symphony, did you have any idea what to expect?
I had no idea. I had great staff who were there already. One of them said: “Don’t worry, I’ll teach you everything you need to know.” She was right—you learn as you go. Ninety percent of your job is dealing with people, so you learn. You learn about their personalities. You learn what works and what doesn’t.
This is why I always advocate for touring with orchestras because it’s about the relationships you develop when you’re on tour. When you’re in unknown circumstances, in crises big and small, that transforms the relationship between the management and the musicians. I remember saving the egg whites for someone on a high protein diet at breakfast in Belgium, our brass players helping to unload the percussion instruments in Romania, and violinists picking up my laundry for me in Egypt when I couldn’t do it. They were transformative moments in
our relationship.
How did your eight years with the orchestra expand your knowledge of music and repertoire?
The orchestra played at least two concerts each week (apart from during summer break) and so I heard a lot of music and got to know many different conductors and soloists. We also started a chamber music series with orchestra musicians and launched the International Piano Festival, which is still going well today. Since I am not formally trained in music, I make it a point to research and listen to experts. But to answer your question about knowledge: I may not know every piece in the repertoire, but when I am at a concert and feel confused or unsure about what’s going on, I understand that this might be because the piece is deliberately abstract or challenging, rather than a shortcoming on my part.
In 2006 you moved back to Hong Kong.
It was a difficult time. My mother was not well and so I had to go back to Hong Kong. Being with her for the last few years of her life was something I will never regret.
After my time with the orchestra in Singapore, I thought I had retired. I spent some time doing voluntary work for various organisations especially those that advocated equality for women, attending ASEAN and UN meetings. When a friend invited me to speak at a seminar in Hong Kong, I noticed that they were recruiting for the Hong Kong Arts Festival. My mother was declining, I was in Hong Kong a lot, and I was encouraged by the outgoing Festival Director to apply.
Once again, I inherited a great team—an extremely strong team. Some of them are still there today, and I totally trust them and trust their judgement.
What are some of the key features of the festival?
The festival is about five weeks long, with around 150 performances of all genres, an extensive series of over 200 ancillary activities including a phenomenal Young Friends’ Scheme. When I arrived, we had a staff of about 36 or 37. When I left, it was twice that figure. The budget also doubled, thanks mainly to funding from the Hong Kong Jockey Club.
What I wanted to do from the beginning was for the festival to embrace major events in the city, and to include offerings for people who don’t typically go to operas or concerts.
Therefore, one of the first things we did was Zingaro, a major equestrian show. 2008 was the year of the Beijing Olympics, and Hong Kong was hosting the equestrian events, so it made sense for us to put on this show. We had 30,000 people watch it, and it also showed the team that we could deal with performances of scale, as Zingaro was a very big show, involving building the performance venue, as well as stables for the horses, and securing a long list of permits and licenses. Another strong feature of the festival is No Limits, now in its fifth year, which focuses on artists and audiences of different abilities.
Over your almost 17 years at the Hong Kong Arts Festival, how did the city evolve through post-colonial times, socio-economic challenges, Covid lockdowns and reopening?
Hong Kong has always been a very open city. It is small and therefore needs to be open to the world, and this remains the ethos in Hong Kong. It now has a special mandate to be a centre for East-West cultural exchange. This is something Hong Kong excels at as a part of China, and it is very strongly connected to the international community of colleagues and peers at many levels. I am convinced that openness to the entire world will continue to shape the city.
2019 was a profound shock for many of us, me included. I never imagined such behaviour was possible in our city. It felt like something out of dystopian fiction—people setting fire to the MRT stations, one man being set alight, and others beaten up by crowds. It was horrific. This is one of the safest places I’ve ever known. In Hong Kong, I’ve always felt secure, wandering down alleys without a second thought. But for the first time, I felt frightened on the streets.
The unpredictability of gatherings and the sight of beautiful roads dug up, with bricks piled up to be used as weapons, was deeply unsettling. I’m grateful there are no firearms in Hong Kong; otherwise, things could have been far worse.
Then came the Covid-19 pandemic. For the first time, we had to cancel the festival, which was incredibly difficult. Undoing a festival was almost as challenging as organising one. We had to learn how to do it. I will always be grateful that the decision was clean cut—to cancel the entire edition, rather than progressively, which would have been a lot worse. The recovery phase was equally challenging, marked by uncertainty and rapid changes. It underscored how quickly life can shift in unexpected ways. I think we are all still living with this.
Personally, I had wanted to retire to spend time with my grandchildren, but that was the moment we had to deal with Covid. I will always be sad not to have been able to spend time with them in their earliest years. But how could I leave? That would have been completely irresponsible. And travel was impossible with quarantines and restrictions. Only after Covid subsided and the festival was back on track did I feel I could step down with a clear conscience.
Just before Covid, you took on another task: you became Chair of the International Society for the Performing Arts (ISPA).
ISPA is a terrific global network and has allowed me to develop a much wider view on other continents, other countries and cultures, and other cultural policies. This has made me appreciate how fortunate we are to be where exposure to the arts is a requirement in the school system. This is sorely lacking in many parts of the world, where rich cultural heritage exists but is undermined by aging and dwindling audiences. Funding for the arts is often contested, and with a slowing economy and fiscal challenges, arts education is increasingly facing budget cuts in many parts of the world. Financial pressures push schools to prioritise academic subjects over the arts. A lack of teachers, limited time and shifting educational priorities are prompting governments to cut the arts in favour of other subjects.
I think we have to remember the basic humanistic qualities of the arts and the impact on cultures and civilisations. It’s not just “We´ll give them some music or dance or whatever ”—there is a holistic idea of the attributes of an educated person. In China, the concept of a cultured individual encompasses four key areas: music (qin), chess (qi), calligraphy (shu) and painting (hua). This echoes the ideals of ancient Greece and Rome but sadly has faded in many societies.
In Hong Kong, while these ideals are not overtly emphasised, we are all aware of the four attributes, and nearly all arts organisations actively engage in outreach and youth programmes to cultivate future audiences. I cannot think
of a single arts organisation that does not have some kind of community or student programme. But whatever you want to call it, it is to reach out and embrace a wider population, to share and support the journey to a deeper appreciation of
what we love and value. And of course, those of us fortunate enough to be in the profession also continue to learn and to deepen our own understanding and appreciation. This is what motivates us and encourages us to get up in the morning,
feeling lucky to be able to work in this incredible world that is the arts.
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