Shinique Smith

Dan Golden: To start, can you share a bit about your early artistic inspirations and formative experiences? I read that you grew up in the Baltimore-Washington area and were drawn to graffiti and Japanese calligraphy. How did those early influences shape your approach to artmaking?

Shinique Smith: Yes, I grew up in West Baltimore, taking dance classes and attending theater and art camps. When I attended high school at Baltimore School for the Arts, I was a visual arts major, and while there, I met young graffiti artists with whom I began tagging. My early inspirations were broad—from my mom’s drawings and fashion designs to artists and dancers like Erté, Romare Bearden, Niki de Saint Phalle, Alvin Ailey, Martha Graham, Haring, Basquiat, Da Vinci, Dürer, and Betye Saar. Back then, it was a struggle to find Black women in the arts; one had to research and dig to see themselves reflected. After graduating early, I took college courses in Japanese calligraphy. The confluence of using black ink on rice paper without bleeding and spray paint on concrete without being caught instilled in me a hand with fluidity and speed and a process grounded in meditative self-assurance.

DG: Your work is known for its distinctive sculptural forms, wide range of materials, and immersive, installation-like environments. How did you develop this unique visual language?

SS: My sculpture-making process is an accumulative one that began in childhood. Maybe it’s an only-child thing, where every object becomes a toy or a story. My mother designed amazing sculptural garments with yarn, silk, denim, and other fabrics, so I was surrounded by the creative potential of materials—and some of her vision transferred to me. I’ve always looked at the world with a sense of wonder for “the everyday.” I’ve chosen to preserve that sense of wonder, even in the face of life’s challenges, which I think is similar to what William Blake called “organized innocence.” Part of my mission is to inspire that feeling in the viewer.

DG: Transformation is central to your practice—you repurpose everyday materials like textiles, clothing, and found objects into sculptures and paintings. What initially attracted you to these materials, and how has your relationship with them evolved?

SS: As I mentioned, I grew up as an only child, so loneliness inspired me to build worlds and imbue objects with meaning. Over the last few decades, I’ve explored that impulse more deeply—how different cultures relate to their objects and how those relationships hold historical, social, and spiritual meaning. I began to understand how connected we all are through the things we need, have, and don’t have, and the objects we cherish, discard, or abuse. That understanding made my objectives clearer and my process more intentional, slower, and deeply personal.

DG: Themes of memory, personal history, and broader social narratives are deeply present in your work. How do they guide your material choices and creative process?

SS: I’m drawn to the idea of utopia—and fabrics, clothing, and related objects. Many materials come from my closet or family and friends, so the work reflects my personal habits and tastes. In some cases, I’ve developed techniques to conceal what’s included—bundling, weaving, and collaging elements to cover and reveal. I think wonder can be sparked not only by what’s visible but by what’s hidden. That allows the viewer to share in a sense of discovery. I embed my work with layers that unfold over time. I try to approach life this way—searching for treasure or bright moments inside the miasma of disillusionment and loss.