Kelly Williams is a joy. She is grounded, astute, compassionate, and giving. These qualities define her being, but also her role as a collector of contemporary art. She has intensely committed to learning about art, connecting with artists, and acquiring works that together form a broad-reaching yet very personal collection. The central focus of Williams’ collection is works by female and BIPOC artists. She is very interested in the specificity of U.S. history and the myriad ways that these particular artists not only hone their craft, but also how they engage conceptually with this country’s social, political, and economic realities over time. Williams is so devoted to the work of these artists that she took great care and thought as she and her husband, Andrew Forsyth, renovated their current Palm Beach home over the past four years. The house was built in 1962 and is called Villa Corallo (“Coral House”). True to its name, it is painted a lovely shade of pink and is built on a coquina ridge. The interior was inspired by the Ward Bennett–decorated Agnelli apartment in Rome, Italy. Williams’ mix of modern art and antiques and rattan was inspired by Marella Agnelli, although she decided to use a lot more color.

Not surprisingly, several of the rooms were designed around specific artworks. In a corner of the stately living room hangs a “maritime buoy” by Mark Bradford. It fits perfectly in the corner that was measured and designed for it and hangs low, just off the floor, by a thick rope. One can walk up to it and scan the detailed, delicate surface of Bradford’s piece, which commemorates the buoys that were traditionally used in the shipping trade to protect the sides of docked boats. Its surface reveals both natural and human-made materials and, as in much of Bradford’s works, draws upon mapping as a means of tracing Black communities and cultural histories. Throughout Williams’ home are more artworks by well-known artists: Jeffrey Gibson, Sam Gilliam, and Vanessa German, as well as pieces by younger artists, such as Dayron Gonzalez, Autumn Wallace, and Murjoni Merriweather. Each work is carefully and thoughtfully installed and presented in special places that seem tailor-made for each piece and in ways that create dynamic conversations between them. One could spend hours taking it all in. I sat down with Williams, a private equity investor, former lawyer, and founder of a successful company [Customized Fund Investment Group], to chat about art, life, and her vision for the future.

In the library, a punchy floor-to-ceiling orange frames Williams’ collection of books. Works between the bookcases, from top: “Honoring Modern Series,” 2015-2017, by Gina Adams; “Temporal Traveler 1,” 2019, by David Shrobe; “Black Receipt #5,” 2017, by Azikiwe Mohammed.

Let’s start with how you became interested in art and collecting. Was there an exhibition or one piece of art that inspired you? Did you grow up in a family that was involved in the arts? There are so many different points of entry into the contemporary world.
I grew up in a very lower-middle class family. My family is from New York’s Hudson Valley and they’ve lived there since the 1600s. I’m the first person in all that time ever to go to college. My family was not steeped in the arts, or active in that world in any way. I wouldn’t say my husband and I were active collectors until we bought our first house in the Hudson Valley. It was an old Victorian and it was in complete shambles. I remember my grandmother coming and bursting into tears, saying, “No one can live in this place, it’s so bad.” But this is when we first became interested in the Hudson River School of Painting, and I find that such an interesting genre, because it is the first purely American school of painting.

So it was really this first house and the landscape and region in which it was situated that sparked your interest in how things—in particular the natural world—were being imagined and represented visually by the artists working in the area?
I always say, “Everything is new once.” What looks to us now like old-fashioned landscape painting was actually very cutting-edge at the time. When you think about what else was being painted in the 19th Century—mostly portraits—the Hudson River School of painters started to do these big landscapes, and really represented not just the Hudson Valley’s landscape, but also what our country looked like or what we imagined it looked like. That was really very cutting edge. It was also propaganda. Part of what was going on in the Hudson Valley was that all the forests and trees were being cut down to build new homes. It was actually one of the first environmental movements, because these artists were painting these idealized landscapes, so people would know this is what it should look like. As we went further West, it was really about drawing people into our country, and getting people to settle there, so they would paint these beautiful landscapes of the West. Now it looks so quaint, but it actually was pretty interesting and controversial at the time, if you think about it. As you probably know, a lot of artists are now moving to the Hudson Valley. In fact, Jeffrey Gibson’s studio is right next to Olana State Historic Site. He walks his dog on the grounds. And Tschabalala Self just moved there. I love that now, almost 200 years later, there’s a new generation of artists moving there, and appreciating it, and being inspired by how beautiful the Hudson Valley is.

It is indeed a beautiful part of the country. It is a shift, though it makes sense, to move from 19th-century American painting to contemporary art. The thread seems to be your interest in U.S. history and the ways in which artists engage with it. As you began to look at contemporary work, was there a particular genre or piece that caught your attention?
I’ve been asked a bunch of times, “What’s the first piece?” The first piece of contemporary art that I bought is by Whitfield Lovell, which I bought two days after the Presidential election in 2016. I was a big supporter of Hillary Clinton, and thought I’d be involved somehow in her administration, and had been planning to be in Washington the weekend after the election. I had a Smithsonian American Art Museum board meeting that weekend, and I was meeting with [Clinton’s] transition team on Monday.

This corner of the living room was designed especially for this piece by Mark Bradford. Hanging: “Untitled (Buoy),” 2015, by Mark Bradford. Three works behind chair: “Visit from the Bub Dodo, Backstage @ Miss Mars, Disco Dancers,” 2009-2018, by Lucy Dodd.

And, of course, there was a very different outcome. How did art figure into this critical moment for you?
Yes…the transition team had to pivot. They still had the meeting, but I was just so devastated. I said to my husband, “I need to go see art. I need to go feed my soul.” We went to the Phillips Collection, and they had two major exhibits going on. One was Jacob Lawrence’s The Migration Series; one of the few times all those paintings were brought together. The other was a solo show for Whitfield Lovell. I walked in, and the piece we bought is called “Bleck;” it was the signature piece when you walked in. I looked at the card, and the provenance was DC Moore Gallery, and I thought, “This isn’t owned by someone? How could this not be in someone’s personal collection?” I called our art consultant, and I said, “Can you call them? I want to buy this piece.” That was really the beginning.

It was the beginning of the end. You were officially collecting art then!
Yes, I was officially on the way. This is a relatively new collection. You’ll see there are many pieces in the collection that are older, they’re from the 1950s, and ‘60s, and ‘70s. The genesis of the collection that’s here in this house really started then.

And as you pull back and look at your collection to date, how would you describe it, characterize it? Are there particular themes that frame it or do you just hone in on individual works because each one speaks to you in a different way? I do love that you have such a fondness and sense of so many of the artists; clearly the works have very personal resonance for you.
I am often asked why I have a strong focus on Black artists, but also on women. And I’ve given this question a lot of thought. And I finally realized, I think that I am drawn to things I haven’t seen before. And because women and people of color are so underrepresented in the art world, I think my eye is simply drawn to their work and to the ideas they are conveying. It really is what speaks to me when I see it. And I would say in general, I focus on Abstract art. Although you do see some representational art here, but even when it’s representational, it’s different. It has a twist. I had this conversation with the artist Titus Kaphar a while back because I talked to him about Black artists who do abstract work. And he said that it takes a certain level of confidence and I agree. And so, when somebody does something very different, you cannot look at the work and say, “Oh, that’s obviously by a Black artist.” I think it takes a level of confidence and also intentionality. But I do think that the representational work in the collection has, as I said, a certain twist. It’s different. It’s not what’s expected. And so, I really do try to be religious about what we focus on. My passion is collecting works by artists of color and women, and particularly emerging artists, because I love the opportunity to get to know them before the galleries have them so wrapped up that you can’t really talk to the artists or develop a personal relationship with them.

How do you come to learn about some of the younger artists? It was exciting to walk through your collection because there were several younger artists I had not heard of. And I’ve been working with artists for over two decades! Are you talking to other artists? Are you talking to curators? Do you come across works at galleries and art fairs?
I would say all of the above. I scroll through Artsy all the time. I’m always looking to see who the new artists are. I look at the postings that art fairs do on Artsy because you can see what’s in their booth, even if it’s someplace overseas. There are a couple of galleries who focus and specialize in emerging artists. And we stay close with them. And they tend to show us things when they come up because they know what I like. I also work with an art consultant, Marjorie Mayrock. She has a good eye and great relationships as well.

Paintings, from left: “Between Rock and Circumstance,” 2018, by Genesis Tramaine; “Around Midnight Last Night,” 1982, by Frank Bowling. On mirrored pedestal: “Village Series,” 2020, by Simone Leigh.

I love how passionate you are. You speak so eloquently and in-depth about each and every piece that we’ve looked at. And I’m wondering how you began the process of educating yourself. For example, you said you were involved with museums. And I know that when people ask me, “Oh, I’d love to start collecting. How do I start?” I often advise, “Well, first of all, become a member of your local museum.” I’m a big fan of starting local and eventually you can go beyond that. I would imagine for you, too, being able to be around like-minded folks, some of whom may be very literate in art, and some may still be learning. But I’m curious about your process of education. Do you read a lot? Do you have tons of catalogs? I’m seeing quite a few on your shelves.
Yes. And this Christmas, my whole Christmas list was comprised of books on Black artists. I do read a lot. I’m a researcher by nature. I feel very fortunate to be on the board of a major national art museum that’s buying American art for the American people. At the Smithsonian American Art Museum (SAAM), our curators are extraordinary, and I have learned so much from them: The thoughtfulness of the exhibitions that they organize, and the ways in which they present the art for approval, for acquisitions, by the commission. I mean, it’s a bit like getting your Ph.D. in art history. It is a really very special kind of education. But then also, again, I work with galleries and if I have the chance to meet the artist, it is the best way to learn about their process and why they make the work they make and what their background and inspirations are. All of this opens up whole new insights into the work.

Let’s talk a bit about the future. To start, as you look ahead, are there certain artists whom you’re keeping an eye on? Young artists you want to support? And what about museums? I would love to talk about how you see the future of museums.
Oh, yes, always. I have the wish list. The wish list is always being worked through. Obviously, I would be thrilled to have another Mark Bradford piece, and I love Njideka Akunyili Crosby and Calida Rawles. But I feel pretty happy right now—well, maybe not happy—but satisfied with where my collection is at the moment. This is not a normal state for me.

“Black Woman with Infant,” 1960, by Benny Andrews.

And when you look ahead at the state of the art world and specifically the state of museums in the U.S., what do you see? What are your thoughts on where we are headed or perhaps where you think we should be heading?
I always say to the museum boards that I serve on, “You don’t have to have all of the great art. You have to just have really great friends.” What I mean is that, if you’re an art museum and you have great relationships with other art museums, you can always borrow things. Not every museum, particularly museums in secondary and tertiary cities, will have the budget to acquire world-class art or in volume. The important thing is to develop relationships with other art and cultural institutions who are willing to lend or collaborate—work with you on an exhibition, and then let it travel to your museum. Another one of the things I’ve been thinking about lately, and actually I think of this in the context of someone like Beth Rudin DeWoody, whom I admire so much, and of whom I’m very fond—she is a brilliant and visionary collector. One of the things I love about Beth is she will acquire the things that many may find hard to live with. She’ll acquire works from artists that are extraordinary but tough—they may engage challenging themes and issues. And Beth buys them, and she displays them. And I think that is so important; it’s so important for the artists and for viewers. And I really think particularly with respect to artists of color…Those of us who collect this work in depth really ought to think about how we can facilitate more loans of this work to these secondary and tertiary cities, who often have more diverse populations and should be able to see the work that represents their community.

That’s a great idea. And how might you go about developing a process like this and putting in place for this kind of regular collaboration and exchange? Does it take the form of a lending organization or foundation? That’s an artist’s biggest dream: to be able to create the work, realize his or her vision, and then have people see it, have a broad range of people engage with it, have people be moved, angered, challenged, overjoyed by it.
There could be many possibilities. Let’s consider the exhibition at The Bunker now, right? You’ve got Anne Pasternak [Brooklyn Museum] and Thelma Golden [Studio Museum of Harlem] coming together at a place that is not their museum. It’s Beth DeWoody’s space, and they came together to curate and to offer the opportunity to see different works of art in different ways. This could be another option. You could have people like yourself and others come together and say, “Okay. We’re going to pick from this catalogue of artworks that all of these sources have made available, and we’re going to make this exhibition, and then we’re going to travel it throughout the South and we’re going to travel it throughout the Midwest and ensure many people get a chance to see it and experience these works.”

I agree. It’s so important to also focus on secondary markets and cities where art isn’t necessarily foregrounded in the same way that it is in New York or Los Angeles. It is critical to ensure broader audiences have the opportunity to see these works. And that, somehow, we come up with the resources to make this happen.
That is exactly it. I think about those museums that may have good will around diversifying their boards and their staff, as well as their collections. However, they may not have the resources to do that. And I have read about this. I have heard curators say, “Well, it’s going to take us decades if you want our collection to be 17% artists of color. This is going to take us 50 years to get there at the current pace and with the resources we have.”

There is such opportunity here, to really make a meaningful impact.
I think so. And I think that we may be able to help jump start this, right? One of the things I think is the most arcane about the art world is that such a high percentage of art often sits in warehouses that no one sees. I mean, many museums have somewhere between seven and 15 percent of their collection on view, right? Which means there’s this vast untapped wealth of genius that’s sitting in a warehouse somewhere. And I just don’t understand why someone hasn’t applied some creative thought here. How can we unlock all of this potential? And this has to be grounded in collaboration and trust. We have to believe that this is all very possible.