Ahead of the opening of his exhibition Bermuda: Stories in Memory, Ming sat down with exhibition curator Daisy Gould to discuss their working relationship and how his new body of work came to be.
DG: My working relationship with artist Bill Ming began like many contemporary collaborations—with an e-mail. In late November 2022, I reached out to Bill with what now feels like a rather stiff introduction. I had just started my master’s degree, and though I’d grown up in Bermuda, I was developing a newfound appreciation for Bermudian and wider Caribbean art—a passion that would shape my academic and professional path. My ongoing research focuses on contemporary Bermudian art and given Bill Ming’s profound influence on Bermudian art as one of the island’s most notable figures in visual culture, I had to reach out to him.
A true trailblazer, Bill “Mussey” Ming was born in Bermuda in 1944 and relocated to England in 1971. While artistically inclined since childhood, it was there he honed his craft, studying at Mansfield College of Art before earning a degree in sculpture and creative writing from Maidstone College of Art. In 1992-93, Ming broke barriers as the first Black artist to receive the prestigious Henry Moore Sculpture Fellowship at John Moores University. Just a few years later, in 1995, he contributed to the groundbreaking exhibition The Caribbean Connection in London, celebrated as the first major showcase dedicated to Caribbean art in Europe. As a contemporary of notable artists like Denzil Forrester, Frank Bowling, Aubrey Williams and Errol Lloyd, Ming’s work plays a vital role for Bermuda. His art transcends boundaries of race, class and heritage as he connects the island’s artistic traditions to wider Atlantic dialogues, offering a rich lens through which we can view Bermudian culture and its global connections.
To my delight, in response to my e-mail, Bill and his wife, Nadia, invited me to visit them at their home in Newark-on-Trent.
When I first met Bill, I had already been researching his artistic practice, particularly thinking about how his work challenges the colonial narratives that often dominate Bermuda’s history. While Ming is best known for his sculptural and assemblage works, I was thrilled to learn more about a lesser-known part of his oeuvre, his collage practice. In discussing his work, Bill and I reflected on what feels like a current renaissance of Bermudian art. At a time when more local artists are embracing socially engaged art practices, Ming stands as an exemplary figure—a reminder of the island’s rich artistic traditions and the deeper cultural narratives that are often overshadowed in art by Bermuda’s postcard-perfect beauty. While this creative energy may feel new, it’s rooted in longstanding practices that are only now being more widely acknowledged.
BM: I was shocked when we met at the train station, because in my ignorance I assumed that you were a Black Bermudian—on the phone we sound alike? I felt I had to tell you about this but I thought you’d be upset by this confession. Your response impressed me by jokingly apologising for not being Black. That was so refreshing to hear, so I knew then that the other business would be much easier to deal with. I have to admit this has happened before. Have I been in England too long? Nah!
DG: While I certainly can’t speak on behalf of Black artists such as you, I deeply appreciate the significance of your work, both on the island and beyond. Shortly after meeting, I proposed the idea of us working together on a new exhibition. Tell me, what was your initial reaction?
BM: Initially it took me aback; I was a bit cautious as to why me, and what the motives were. I was also guarded about showing people the new stuff I had been working on. However, my feelings were allayed after reading what you had written about my work. I couldn’t stop reading the script, and I must admit, I didn’t recognise that artist as me. You captured most of my thoughts, emotions and words through the works, you seemed to have a keen knowledge of the pieces and looked at them in ways I hadn’t seen or thought about. I knew then that you were for real.
When you mentioned an exhibition project in Bermuda at Masterworks Museum, initially I said no… too much cedar in da place! But I thought about some years back doing a similar show in Grenada, the difference being it was sculpture and assemblages. I was using the raw materials from the beaches and debris on the shore, I put up posters around the neighbourhood and gave a talk. That worked out well, so why not in Bermuda?
DG: I could sense your hesitation—and I understood why. The “Art World” is challenging, and even more so for an artist from Bermuda, where arts and culture aren’t fully recognised as viable careers. There’s a persistent disconnect in how the arts are perceived; solely as hobbies, with visual arts rarely acknowledged as forms of cultural production or historical documentation. Even as a curator building my career in some of the world’s most respected arts institutions, friends and family still question what I’m doing. I’ve faced these doubts for just over a decade; for you, Bill, you’ve been navigating this field for several decades—and with the added complexities of race and gender—it’s hard to imagine how often you’ve had to confront these same doubts and questions. When you called me a few weeks after reading the essays I’d written about your work saying you were open to collaborating on an exhibition, I was thrilled. This was around early summer 2022, so I started negotiations with Masterworks Museum on dates. A few months and visits to Newark later, and you had developed an entirely new suite of works based on Bermuda. When I first saw them, I was completely blown away. What was the inspiration behind the new body of work?
BM: This new direction in the work is a continuation of a project I did with an artist and writer friend, François Matarasso, for a book I had illustrated about migration entitled Bread and Salt. We launched it in Holland in 2013.
On visiting Bermuda in 2023 I did a lot of walks in and around Devonshire, the places and spaces I had trod as a youngster growing up in Bermuda. There’s nothing like treading those spaces and seeing how they’ve changed, yet memories remain. I also used the time there to collect stuff like used books from The Barn, stories of Bermuda, maps, a collection of postcards and, on my return to the UK, books from our local library here in Newark. Still, the work is all anchored at the centre, around me; a witness that makes these pieces so rooted.
DG: The works featured in the exhibition, aptly titled Bermuda: Stories in Memory, represent a profound moment of return in your artistic practice. While Bermuda has never truly been absent from your work—an impossibility for any Bermudian, I believe—this is the first time I’ve seen it articulated so explicitly.
It’s worth noting that your early 1990s exhibition at the Bermuda National Gallery was called Home Comin’, a title laden with significance. This new exhibition feels like another homecoming—a powerful reconnection with the island’s stories, landscapes, and cultural identity, viewed through the lens of your own memory and experience.
BM: The title of this exhibition came about through the large works that I began during the pandemic, the lockdown triggered this train of thought. Standing in our attic and looking out over the garden, this deja vu feeling hit me. I began thinking of Bermuda summers; the poinciana tree in da backyard and me sitting in it, surrounded by dead or dying cedar trees, all silvery and barren, drawing me in while listening to the now-extinct singing cicadas who were the soundtrack during those long hot summers days. It’s not that I am recreating those days gone by, but I am aware that these changes I observed in my childhood were the beginnings of what we see happening today.
I see these collages as an extension of woodcarving; some have jagged edges, ridges, or smooth finish, a sculpture under glass. Looking back over my earlier works and bringing them forward, I do this quite a lot. At times my titles write themselves as I’m tearing, cutting or drawing. This deconstruction helps me to uncover earlier pieces that hadn’t worked or were not used in the right context. I do tend to use words or book covers at times, or even quotes. A sculpture from the nineties titled Reaching Back to go Forward is about memory; of those bits you leave behind, the unfinished business that one needs to resolve, and remembering why you do art. To make some sense of this world. Mark making, whether it’s in a cave or studio, you leave a sign: “I woz here.”
DG: I mentioned this in the introduction to the book that accompanies the exhibition, but it bears repeating: you possess one of the sharpest memories I’ve ever encountered. You have a remarkable ability to capture the essence of a memory—its emotions and intricate details—and transform it into art that others can experience and connect with; it is nothing short of extraordinary.
BM: Memory, oh for me, is so important. Without it, I would be completely lost. Particularly race memories, because the reality meant growing up in a world with books that contain a lot of blank pages that were given to us. So I see myself filling in those gaps, a job I relish. I don’t live in the past, but I do haul stuff from there. It’s where my reservoir of images and stories dwell. Memories also give you a second chance in not making the same mistakes and learning from them.
A memory I often relive is back in the early fifties at the old Elliott primary school. During the assembly, our teacher, Miss Legall, said “We have some special guests all the way from Trinidad.” We all looked in awe at these guys dressed in bright costumes, then they began playing on what looked like tin cans, and this amazing sound resonated throughout the assembly hall. We were enthralled, knocked out, by this strange but beautiful noise coming off these steel pans. I think they were the first steel band to grace Bermuda. Kids will always remember the time that an awareness of another culture was shown and shared; one they may never have had the privilege to experience otherwise. I relived that scene every time I went to work in schools, and each time I would relay this story to them. I always told myself I was a one-man band, a steel pan man band.
DG: We expect so much from artists, these “one-man bands.” These are people who are putting some of the most intimate facets of themselves and their ideas out there for us to respond and relate to. That’s why I see the role of a curator as much more of a facilitator of artists’ work, so they don’t feel like they have to stand alone; but I’m never the author. Often my role is the conduit between the artist and the institution, both of whom I have commitments to, so sometimes I have to make suggestions in one way or another, but always with the artist’s needs and artistic vision at the forefront of every decision.
BM: That’s why working together with you has been really special. It’s not often I get the opportunity to work with a colleague, usually I fly solo. I do value your curatorial input and support, and those occasional nudges in the direction that suited the project. For example, if you recall, I wanted to include a few wooden assemblages; your response was that they were not appropriate for this project. I was a bit disappointed but I agreed they were unsuitable for the final selection. I locked into what you were looking for and what not to include in the final choice for the exhibition. I was glad you stood firm on some issues. I think the e-mails were getting to me, though, and I know this couldn’t be avoided. But thanks to Nadia manning that side of the project, it wasn’t too bad. So our working relationship is on a sure footing.
DG: Working with you, Bill, has been the highlight of my career. Art has an important role to play in Bermuda in its capacity to serve as a frontier for differing opinions to meet and share experiences. You hold a pivotal position within Bermudian culture and the broader Atlantic artistic landscape, and I know you’re thrilled to share this exhibition and accompanying publication with Bermuda and the wider world.
Bill Ming’s Bermuda: Stories in Memory is open at Masterworks Museum of Bermuda Art from March 14th to May 10th, 2025. A publication featuring the works in the exhibition is available at bookstores islandwide or by e-mailing daisymgouldart@gmail.com.
For more information on Bill Ming’s work, visit www.billming.com
Editorial note: Bill Ming often uses vernacular spellings such as “da,” “de” and “woz” in his writing and particularly in the titles of his work, such as Da Bermudians (2023-24). This is intentional and has been left in the text to reflect the importance of language in relation to identity.
