Nick Cave and Laura Mott in Conversation: Inside the Duo’s Love Letter to Detroit

Nearly a decade ago, artist Nick Cave and curator Laura Mott transformed Detroit with Here Hear, a citywide collaboration that brought together and celebrated performance, music, and community. A landmark cultural moment, the project didn’t just fill spaces; it reimagined how an entire city thought about art as a collective act. Now, the pair reunite for Seen/Scene: Artwork from the Jennifer Gilbert Collection, opened earlier this month and on view until 10 January 2026 at The Shepherd, Library Street Collective’s Romanesque exhibition space in Detroit’s Little Village.

Co-curated by Mott and Cave, the exhibition brings together works by thirty-six artists – from Helen Frankenthaler and Kerry James Marshall to Amoako Boafo and Rashid Johnson – to explore how portraiture and abstraction alike reflect who we are, and how we see one another. Anchoring the show is Cave’s new two-storey virtual-reality sculpture, a self-portrait that also serves as a digital draft for a monumental bronze to come. In this intimate conversation for Something Curated, Cave and Mott reflect on the evolution of their collaboration, the spirit of Detroit, and the ways art continues to offer a mirror through which to understand our shared humanity.

Laura Mott: I always love hearing your origin story and about your childhood. I think it’s so important to who you are as an artist, as a messenger, as a thinker.

Nick Cave: Well, you know, as a kid, I was one of seven boys. Can you believe it? One year apart.

LM: Oh my goodness.

NC: Nuts, right?

LM: She’s just a saint, your mother. I have one, and that’s enough.

NC: But it was amazing, as I’ve grown up and reflected back, to realise that my mother never got in the way of my pursuit as a creative person. Even as a kid, I was making things from nothing, drawing, building, experimenting, and she let me do it. That gave me freedom, a sense of security that allowed me to be in the world more fully.

LM: How did that then lead to your next steps? What brought you to Cranbrook?

NC: I was in graduate school at North Texas State, studying with Shigeko Spear, who had been a student of Gerhardt Knodel at Cranbrook. Gerhardt came down for a lecture, did studio visits, and told me, “You need to be at Cranbrook.” I said, “The only way I can get there is if I get a full ride, because I don’t have any money.” And somehow it happened. All my professors had come out of Cranbrook, so I was being built in that tradition already. They shaped me, taught me accountability and critique. It was critical to who I am today.

LM: It’s hard to believe it’s been ten years since Here Hear.

NC: Can you believe it?

LM: I can and I can’t. It feels like yesterday and a lifetime ago at the same time. That project was transformational for Detroit and for us. It created a collective memory within the city that people still talk about. What I love is how you managed to create intimacy at such a large scale. How do you think back on Here Hear now?

NC: When I think about Here Hear, I think about why it came to be. As a young Black artist at Cranbrook, I was the only person of colour there. Detroit saved me. It was the city that balanced my identity. To immerse myself in the culture, the energy, the people was life-changing. So when the opportunity came to do that project, I wanted to give something extraordinary back. It was about building a collective experience, and that takes community. It needs all of us.

LM: It kept growing, starting with a simple idea in Detroit and expanding into photo shoots, a book, dance labs, a film with the Ruth Ellis Centre, Heard Detroit with a hundred students, and a major finale.

NC: It starts with a grand idea, but there are all these markers along the way, moments to consider: how do we mark this time? What do we leave behind? How does Detroit carry on? How do Cranbrook and Detroit maintain that relationship? It’s about the importance of needing each other.

LM: That project changed everything for me and for Cranbrook. Now everything I do has scale, ambition, and community built into it. Ten years later, we’re co-curating Seen/Scene, which is in some ways a homage to Here Hear.

NC: Looking at Jennifer Gilbert’s collection, I saw a sense of a chosen family. People collect in deeply personal ways. This exhibition feels like that. These artists, these works, they’re all connected. I thought of Sly & The Family Stone’s Family Affair. You’ll have individual encounters, but collectively you find yourself in the centre of the conversation.

LM: I love that. Since being in the space, I’ve noticed how many portraits seem to look directly at the viewer. There’s a sense of being seen, of eyes meeting eyes. The mirrors reinforce that. The exhibition asks: how do we see each other, and reminds the viewer that they’re not passive, they’re part of that seeing.

NC: Exactly. From figurative to abstract, it’s all about the body, how it reflects, morphs, expands. We’re always in spaces beside people we don’t know. You make a choice: do I belong here? Do I connect?

LM: Your new VR sculpture is both a self-portrait and a draft for a future monument. How did working virtually open up new ways of thinking?

NC: VR is fascinating. There’s an immediacy, stepping inside an idea and experiencing it physically. It’s life-changing. Amalgam in the show is about elevation, about being transported. It’s a way of imagining the future and what’s possible.

LM: Experiencing it inside The Shepherd, that old church, felt powerful. The blend of technology, spirituality, and transformation brings imagination into physical form.

NC: That’s exactly it. It’s about seeing what’s possible. I’m also finally working in large-scale bronze, my first 26-foot sculpture at Meijer Gardens. I’ve always wanted my work to exist in public space, accessible to everyone. Art belongs out in the world.

LM: Detroit feels ready for this next chapter. It’s special that you’re returning through this new medium, this “family affair”.

NC: I didn’t realise it at first, but as we selected works for Seen/Scene, it became clear that artists stick together. There’s camaraderie, accountability, difference, and we embrace it all. The room needed to look like that.

LM: A mirror of the community outside.

NC: Exactly. The art mimics that. We need love, compassion, connection. This show is about being seen and being part of a scene. Even the mirror works remind us of that daily ritual of reflection, of checking who we are before stepping into the world.

LM: There’s also layering of generations, Hendricks from the 1970s, Mario Moore now, and yet the same pride, presence.

NC: Yes. Some works, like Doug Aitken or Beverly Fishman, hold space for grief, anxiety, mourning, while others, like Jeffrey Gibson or Rashid Johnson, channel energy and defiance. It’s emotional terrain.

LM: Those contrasts make it human. The snapshots of pride, struggle, intimacy, remind us what it means to be alive and connected.

NC: That’s what excites me. This show is a gift to Detroit, and Jennifer Gilbert’s generosity isn’t just about her collection, it’s about her offering.

LM: Beautifully said.

NC: For me, that’s everything.

LM: You’ve taught for many years. What do you tell young artists starting out?

NC: First, learn to trust yourself. That’s what I try to teach. Know how to make decisions. Understand that failure is success. Failure is where you find the answers. Just make things. Don’t worry about meaning yet. Stay open, stay loose. Art takes time. It’s not part-time work. Being an artist is a way of being in the world.

LM: Thank you.



Feature image: Seen/Scene: Artwork from the Jennifer Gilbert Collection. Curated by Nick Cave and Laura Mott. Courtesy the artists and The Shepherd