No one falls in love with a place because the sewer system works.

I mean, we’re glad it does.

But that’s not why we stay.

We stay because something about the place feels alive.

Because someone’s singing in the square.

Because there’s poetry on the underpass.

Because the city makes space – not just for bodies, but for stories.

That’s what I call cultural infrastructure

And no, I’m not talking about posters on lampposts or the once-a-year street festival squeezed between budget cuts.

I’m talking about real, planned-for, paid-for culture as part of a city’s DNA – embedded into budgets, policies, and planning documents.

Treated as essential, not optional.

I touched on this in a previous article, where I made the case that art is not decorative.

It’s foundational. (Find a link to it here.)

But lately I’ve been thinking about what happens after the mural is painted.

After the dance class moves indoors for the winter.

After the pop-up gallery is dismantled.

What keeps the pulse going?

Because if we want the culture to shape the community, we can’t just hope for it.

We have to build for it.

And we have to protect it.

Just recently, in Sweden, Statens konstråd – the National Public Art Council – raised the alarm over a proposed restructuring of national cultural agencies.

They warned that public art and the design of our shared environments risk being deprioritised.

Not through funding cuts but through invisibility.

And that’s the risk when culture isn’t built in. When it’s left as an afterthought.

So let’s talk about what cultural infrastructure really means – and what happens when we get it right… or ignore it completely.

Culture That Spills Into the Street

When I bike through Amsterdam with my daughter in the Bakfiets, I see it everywhere: the quiet, daily presence of culture.

Not always shiny or centralised – but baked in.

A poetry line etched into a bridge.

A choir rehearsing in a church with its doors wide open.

An atelier tucked behind the supermarket, windows fogged with paint and practice.

A piano on the street, waiting to be played by anyone passing by.

You don’t need a ticket or an invitation.

It just exists. It belongs.

And here’s the thing: this kind of culture doesn’t just happen.

It needs space. It needs support. It needs to be planned for — just like housing, drainage, or transit.

But too often, culture is treated as a bonus.

Urban plans get finalised with no cultural layer.

Developers focus on square metre value, forgetting that the most valuable thing in a city is the feeling people get when they’re there.

Cultural infrastructure isn’t just good for the soul.

It’s good for the street, the square, the development – and the bottomline.

When Culture Is Treated Like a Side Hustle

I’ve seen the other version too.

Cities where artists are brought in once everything else is built.

Told to “activate” a plaza that’s already paved.

Asked to run a workshop “for visibility.”

To bring beauty and emotion on a shoestring and a timeline.

And then we wonder why the square feels sterile.

Why the neighbourhood doesn’t draw people in after 6 p.m.

Why the new development looks great in renderings but feels empty in real life.

Without cultural infrastructure, we’re just building containers.

No wonder they echo.

Culture Is Measurable – And It Works

In my work on community KPIs, I focus on things like trust, participation, and emotional connection.

Not abstract vibes – but real, trackable indicators of community health.

And in every place that scores well on those measures, cultural infrastructure is present and active.

It’s the mural project where every child contributes.

The old cinema repurposed into a community-run cultural centre.

The neighbourhood food festival that turns strangers into neighbours.

The rehearsal space that gives teens somewhere to go after school – and a reason to come back.

These aren’t decorative.

They build identity, pride, and connection.

They increase public safety, improve mental health, strengthen localeconomies, and boost retention.

People stay in cities that make them feel something.

They participate in places that give them space to create.

They trust environments that reflect who they are.

Culture is how we build that trust.

Let’s Wrap This Up

We design for roads, pipes, and population growth.

We run numbers on transport, housing, and retail turnover.

But what about trust? Pride? Joy?

What about the invisible threads that turn a city from functional to beloved?

We can’t afford to treat culture as optional.

We need to plan for it.

Fund it.

Protect it – not just in Amsterdam or Stockholm, but everywhere people want to live with meaning.

Because without it, we’re just building structures.

With it, we’re building stories.

And stories are what make a city worth staying in.

Lots of love,

Stina

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