Donnique Williams (she/her) is a Black queer artist and writer of the Jamaican diaspora. She seeks to create unapologetically inclusive experiences across mediums like collage, poetry, and DJing. With an intentional focus on vulnerability, her work intimately threads the experiences of generational trauma with the radical pursuit of wonder. Whether that’s spinning at QTPOC dance parties, facilitating intimate collage workshops, or sharing poetry that connects our inner worlds—you can find her doing whatever she wants at: @donniquecreates
Donnique Williams
As Guest Curator at Minds Eye Studio Art Gallery and Yoga Studio, I am pleased to present Magnitude + Bond, a solo exhibition of Donnique’s work at the gallery from May 26th-June 30th. Private viewings are available on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays between 1 pm and 6 pm, and the artist reception will be on Friday June 14th from 7:30-10 pm. Event info is here.
Exhibition Statement
Deeply grounded, yet estranged. Deeply connected, yet rootless. Donnique Williams’ exhibition Magnitude + Bond reveals the power of words as they imbue layers of meaning between scraps of paper. And in turn, how the creative act reveals truths about oneself and one’s harvest.
With each collage and poetry piece inextricably linked by the same name, what emerges are the striking, surreal dual expressions of a daughter fighting for her right to live authentically across identities. By combining the tactile creativity of hand cut collage and the enduring intimacy of poetry, the exhibition Magnitude + Bond expounds on the experiences of generational trauma and relentless self-examination. How both can be alienating, how both can be connected.
We come to understand Donnique’s work as a devout warning, in the spirit of Gwendolyn Brooks: that we are each other’s harvest, we are each other’s business, we are each other’s magnitude and bond.
“I cannot influence the opinions of everyone, but I can tell the truth, I can be kind, I can be vulnerable. ”
How did you get started as an artist and writer?
It started as a childhood coping mechanism to manage the all-consuming stressors of growing up. My home life was fluctuating and untenable at times, so my spirit was one that took on stimuli from the outside world. When I began to write, I grasped at all the particles whirring around my brain and gave them weight, gave them a place on the page so I could process them.
On the other hand, my journey to collage started differently. It was a medium I’d always loved and during quarantine, I stumbled upon a treasure trove of O magazines dating back to the late 90s. This felt like the missing piece—when I researched other collage artists, I didn’t find many whose subjects looked like me or the people I loved. It was all very 1950s white pinup/housewife—that never resonated with me. I wanted my art to reflect my experience. So finding this magazine collection filled with materials featuring BIPOC subjects was a gift. It kickstarted my journey into mixed media collage.
What is your creative process? Do the visuals or the words come first?
The words have always come first. I write a lot and I have a large collection of unfinished poetry. It’s from that collection that I pick poems to edit and refine. Once the poem feels right, I use the imagery to inspire my search through my collection of books, magazines, stickers, and paper. I allow the words to lead me to the visuals that will evoke the same emotions.
Then it’s a lot of cutting, pasting, placing, and replacing. All by hand. It’s a meditative and tactile process. I love creating without the aid of screens, since so much of my life feels attached to them. It becomes a welcome respite into play.
How do you know when a piece is finished?
I have to force myself to choose when a poem is finished. There’s always more that can be done, but it’s done when the spirit and imagery of the poem are strong enough that I feel I must create its visual equal. In fact, I give each poem and collage the same name because they are inextricably linked, one cannot exist without the other, and they build upon the spirit of the other.
I know a collage is finished once I’ve placed all the pieces exactly where they will go and I leave it to rest for a day or two. I don’t glue anything down or commit to anything, so when I return with fresh eyes a few days later, and the piece still feels right, I know it’s done and I can paste everything together. Only afterwards do I scan and perfect the piece in Photoshop.
Besides Gwendolyn Brooks, who are some other poets that inspire you?
I believe poetry should reveal, not obfuscate. I love poetry that offers itself to you upon first reading, but upon second and third readings, it has new offerings.
For instance, poets and writers of the Harlem Renaissance have always held a fascination for me, like Langston Huges, Lucille Clifton, and Maya Angelou. Also, those that are able to pinpoint exact feelings with simple precision, like Anne Carson, Mary Oliver, and Ada Limón. I return to a poem like Wild Geese when I need to remember who I am.
And to your question, I named this exhibition Magnitude + Bond after Brooks’ Paul Robeson:
That time
we all heard it,
cool and clear,
cutting across the hot grit of the day.
The major Voice.
The adult Voice
forgoing Rolling River,
forgoing tearful tale of bale and barge
and other symptoms of an old despond.
Warning, in music-words
devout and large,
that we are each other’s
harvest:
we are each other’s
business:
we are each other’s
magnitude and bond.
What does living authentically mean for you?
I know I’m living in alignment when I can easily tell the truth, while allowing people to believe what they want to about me. My life has changed drastically since I began this season of my artistic journey—social isolation, deconstruction, queerness, and relationships. And in order to do the things I must, to follow the magnetic pull of a life that reflects my truth, I have to allow myself to be misunderstood. I cannot influence the opinions of everyone, but I can tell the truth, I can be kind, I can be vulnerable.
Those who get it, get it—and those who don’t, don't.
Being an artist and putting your work out in the world involves some level of vulnerability. What have been the responses to work you’ve shared publicly?
Wow, so many incredible reactions. I’ve had folks walk by my art and stop in their tracks. Whether they buy a piece or not, that always shocks me. Often, people will read the poem after seeing a collage and breathe a deep sigh, releasing themselves from the moment of connection with the art to tell me how the poem deepened their appreciation for the collage. Those moments are so special.
People have made my art a part of their lives, given them as gifts, hung them up in their homes—it’s hard to describe how incredible that feels.
Once, someone cried. I think about them often.
What do you want people to take away from this exhibition?
I want people to see the potential of poetry to exist in their daily lives. I want people to see themselves in collage art—especially Black women. I want to create moments of connection, and moments of self-reflection. I want to invite people into a re-examination of what it means to be a daughter, to be yourself in spite of that.
Hug, Donnique Williams
I want people to see beauty and feel the magnitude of it.
Follow Donnique on Instagram.
Interview by Glodeane Brown
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