Yesterday was Proust’s birthday, and in previous years, I would have observed it. This year, however, I’m thoroughly occupied with the other obsession that has dominated my time and attention: arthousesf.org.
In the days when Proust Said That blossomed from the Cacophony Society event, The Marcel Proust Support Group of San Francisco, city rents were cheap and artists and writers could work part time for survival and devote their time to creative work. What happened in this formerly charming city is legend: it became the most expensive city in America, at one point, rents escalated horrifically, and the once huge community of people in the arts was priced out. In 2017, a study by the SF Arts Commission found that of the artists still here in 2010, nearly three quarters of them had left or were planning to leave—and there weren’t that many left by 2010. During the pandemic, city landlords agreed on a new policy: they would only rent to tenants who could produce pay stubs proving they made three times the rent.
There is more to this story: My Other Obsession, Part 2
Proust Said That 