The worst of the GFC (which, incongruously, always makes me think of Roald Dahl's Big Friendly Giant) is yet to hit us here in Australia. I suspect that its real impact will begin to be felt in the arts next year, as major companies deal with tightened budgets caused by dwindling sponsorships, and the effects of fewer opportunities trickle down (trickle down economics, I've noticed, only works in a negative way) to smaller outfits.

The initial impact is being felt at the top end of town, as patrons cut back on expensive tickets. Opera Australia yesterday announced a review of its organisation, following a 10 per cent drop in ticket sales and a $4 million write-down in its capital funds. The new Music Recital Centre has cancelled several concerts scheduled for September, which may not be linked to the GFC, but on the other hand, may well be. And the Melbourne City Council - a major supporter of the arts here - has cut its arts budget by 20 per cent. (I'm sure, of course, that decision has nothing to do with this Bolt-worthy beat-up).

Arts organisations are responding by turning to their supporters for help. They have always depended on private support, but this time there's a desperate edge - many are talking about their future survival. This might make good sense - our very own Michael Lynch, who has been running London's Southbank Centre for the past few years, caused a flurry in Britain this week when he blasted private industry for dropping the ball on arts sponsorship, claiming that the bulk of Southbank's multi-million pound refurbishment was supported by private individuals.

Certainly there's been a recent upturn in appeals. I reported a couple of weeks ago on the international poetry publisher Salt Publishing, a major literary casualty of the GFC, whose imaginative Just One Book campaign has been a stunning success. (If you haven't bought a book yet, go there now). But they're not the only literary organisation with their cap out - the Melbourne Writers Festival is also asking for private donations to bring over some star guests. And Polyglot Puppet Theatre - hit by funding cuts as well as the economic downturn - has also launched a public appeal to help it continue its work for children. (Donations can be made here). I suspect these appeals will become a common feature of the post-crash arts landscape.

It remains to be seen how deep private pockets are, and how the culture weathers the storm. And I can't help wondering how the brilliant upsurge in creativity that has characterised so much recent Australian theatre will negotiate these hard times, as companies inevitably turn to programming with more guaranteed commercial appeal. On the other hand, those at the smaller end of the cultural scale might paradoxically suffer less: what's the difference between poor and poor?

On a brighter note, as Marcus Westbury points out, the fallout can also be positive, as hard times force some creative thinking. "Looking at a post boom Melbourne it is easy to forget how much of what I love about this city is the product of the last great recession of the early 90s," he says. "Its laneway bars, its smart graffiti, its living CBD, its distinctive inner suburbs of eclectic shops and retail strips, its creative community are not the product of arts agencies or central planning but of the fertile ground, cheap space, and hard working initiative of a decade ago. The city is a rich ecology not created through central planning but grown in economic detritus and forged in the harsh and searing furnace of hard times."