Amid the thousands of emails that filled his inbox, former University of the Arts professor Kyle Crichton never expected to receive a message like the one delivered at 6:19 p.m. on May 31.

Crichton froze as the news broke — president Kerry Walk said the school was closing in a week. And on June 7, the historic arts college officially shuttered its doors, leaving hundreds of students and educators wondering how and why the university suddenly collapsed.

Administrators blamed declining enrollment and unexpected financial challenges as the source of the dismay, while some UArts employees and union members pointed to alleged mismanagement. The closure sparked days of protests and class-action lawsuits filed by dozens of ex-staffers.

‘I started filming it’

With uncertainty still looming,Crichton grabbed his camera and began capturing student-led protests on the steps of Dorrance Hamilton Hall on June 5. The award-winning filmmaker had another project on the books, but he decided to chronicle the story he was experiencing and watching unfold.

“As it happened, I started filming it,” said Crichton, who received a Mid-Atlantic Regional Emmy for his work on the 2023 documentary Angel Dose. “I was disappointed financially, but I was also disappointed I wasn’t going to be teaching these kids.”

In need of a cinematographer and co-director, Crichton tapped fellow UArts graduatesKatie Supplee and Michelle Rose Goodwin, who agreed to be a part of the project, still in early stages and currently titled “Reckless Education.”

Along with capturing the devastation of the June 7 announcement, the three filmmakers have interviewed UArts students, staff, and faculty about the lasting affects of the shut down over the past four months.

Goodwin, the co-director and producer of the film, is hopeful the documentary will fully capture the frustrations, anger, and heartbreak felt among the UArts community in the days and months after the unforeseen closure.

“The school dissolving in the fashion that it did shook a lot of people’s foundations, took a lot of control from their lives, and made a lot of people feel powerless,” Goodwin said. “And I think this documentary is a way to try to give them that power back.”

Why did UArts close so suddenly?

Goodwin said they aren’t shying away from the school’s missteps, which ultimately led to its dissolution and Chapter 7 bankruptcy filing. But a goal of the documentary is to figure out what happened.

To unveil the full wreckage of UArts, Crichton said it’s a “multi-pronged” approach that requires the voices of city officials.

Crichton, Supplee, and Goodwin are hoping to land interviews with city council members and attorney general Michelle Henry.

“Art is such a good vessel for spreading ideas, and I feel like that’s what we’re doing here,” Supplee said. “We don’t want to just impact the Philly arts scene with the film. We want to speak to the shuttering of educational institutions as a whole.”

Next steps for production

Supplee, whose fiancé worked at UArts before the university closed its doors, said the small production crew is now following “displaced UArts students who were forced to transfer schools to pursue their creative arts career.”

With filming in full swing, Crichton said the team is aiming for a 2026 release. The next step is to add more interview subjects, researchers, and filmmakers to bolster up the production, and score additional funding to piece the self-funded project together.

The three filmmakers are funding the independent venture while balancing their daily work as documentarians and content creators.

Crichton is confident they can produce the film “rag-tag style” for $100,000. And as they bring on more contributors, preferably UArts alums, he believes the nearly two-year process will be worth the wait.

“It feels like we have lightning in a bottle, and we want to continue pursuing it,” Crichton said. “Things will unfold, and we’ve come to the realization that it’s going to be a little bit of time, but we’re prepared for it.”

For more information, visit recklesseducationfilm.com.

– The Philadelphia Inquirer

Legendary Philly artist Sam Maitin built a life and career at the University of the Arts. A nearly 50-year-old painting of his still adorns the northside stairwell of the former Gershman Y building, owned by UArts since 2000. The three-panel painting — with a 16-foot-long central piece and two 8-by-4-foot flanking paintings — bursts with vibrant colors.

After the sudden announcement of UArts’ closure, Maitin’s daughter, Ani, made a trip to the arts college to ensure her father’s work would be saved. She covered the triptych with sticky notes with her email and phone number. She left another Post-it with a more urgent message: “Anyone told to remove these artworks please contact me in advance. They require special handling.”

Former staff member Elisa Seeherman understood the urgency.

“It’s not just about the monetary value of these pieces, it’s about the historical value of them,” said Seeherman, who was the school’s director of career services. “He was a Philadelphia icon.”

Ani Maitin talked to Seeherman, UArts Board members, and a representative from the company handling the closing of UArts, and was told she could take custody of the paintings. Still, much like the fate of the students, faculty and staff of UArts, the future of Maitin’s work — and that of many other pieces in the UArts system — remains up in the air.

Seeherman said it would take a crew to remove Maitin’s painting from the building, most recently home to the UArts’ Student Center and Lightbox Film Center. The biggest issue, she said, is finding a place that will properly restore and house the slightly abraded artwork.

“These pieces are huge and won’t fit into most homes,” Seeherman said. “It’s complicated. And that’s probably why the former Gershman Y people left them in the building after they left.”

Sam Maitin: Mayor of the Arts

Sam Maitin was born in 1928 above a grocery store run by his Russian Jewish immigrant parents in North Philadelphia.

After graduating from Simon Gratz High School at age 16, he won a citywide art scholarship to the Philadelphia Museum School of Industrial Arts, now known as UArts. He simultaneously attended the University of Pennsylvania, and would later go on to teach at both schools and the Moore College of Art and Fleisher Art Memorial. He died in 2004.

“His work is an important piece of Philadelphia. But whether or not people loved his work, he was recognized as an endlessly generous person who did so much for other people and organizations,” Ani Maitin said. “It’s an incredible gift to manage his work. ”

The “Mayor of the Arts” — as Maitin was often called — was connected to the Gershman Y through his involvement with the center’s Y Arts Council. He was the in-house designer during the 1960s, working with figures like Joan Kron, Audrey Sabol, and others to promote the Arts Council’s visual, literary, and performing arts programs.

He was commissioned to create a set of paintings for the building’s lobby, and the result was the vibrant three-panel painting adorned with a Hebrew message that represented the mission he and the culture center shared.

The Hebrew phrase “Al tafrosh min hatzibur” translates to “Do not separate yourself from the community.” The painting also contains “Simcha” and “Sasson,” which translates to “joy” and “happiness.”

“I think the message still translates today,” said Craig Stover, Maitin’s former studio assistant and longtime friend. “If UArts made it their mission, their closure may not have happened.”

When the painting was unveiled in the early 1970s, Ani Maitin was only in preschool. But she remembers how it enlivened the Jewish family center, even as the building took on other iterations. “It felt very much like home to me when I was a kid,” she said.

An uncertain future

On Monday, Ani Maitin received a phone call from Alvarez & Marsal, the company tasked with managing and liquidating UArts properties after its closure. Though the consulting firm didn’t respond to The Inquirer’s queries, it informed Maitin that she or anyone from her family could come take Sam Maitin’s artwork from the building.

“Given the circumstances, I’m now feeling more reassured that the company is making efforts to handle things thoughtfully,” she said. “It’s all definitely an unexpected and time-consuming part of caring for my dad’s work and legacy.”

Ani Maitin said she’s scouting for nearby preservation sites and hopes to find a place to house the paintings soon. Her trip to UArts, however, opened her eyes to another glaring problem: No one knows what’s happening to other artists’ works displayed on campus.

“It was clear to me it wasn’t just about my dad’s artwork,” she said. “I felt like I was channeling my dad because he was such an activist. He taught me when you do something, you do it to uplift others too. Don’t just do things to support yourself.”

Based on their phone call, Ani Maitin said Alvarez & Marsal intends “to take their time to deaccession” the other works on UArts campus. This process involves the removal of artwork from an institution’s collection in order to sell or dispose of it. But no further details were provided, she said.

UArts faculty and staff can submit access requests to retrieve their personal items from university buildings, but it’s unclear whether the families of artists are given the same courtesy — or what will happen to artworks that don’t have family advocates like Ani Maitin.

An art piece has slipped through the cracks before, Seeherman said.

In June 2022, Seeherman said, she held a meeting to express concern for a sculpture named A Woman of Courage by Gladys Barry, a donation that had been in the Gershman Hall foyer since 1979.

With a new lobby construction set to begin, she was worried the sculpture would get damaged or misplaced. And when the construction project was completed in 2023, her fears were proven right — the sculpture was missing.

Seeherman is hopeful that outcome can be avoided this time around, citing the work of Ani Maitin and what others are doing to advocate for artists’ work on UArts campus.

“I wish [the art] could find a home where it can be appreciated for the art it is. Whether it’s in a museum, a private collection, or goes back to any of the families connected to it,” she said.

“UArts may have closed, but we’re still a community.”