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A certain fundamental force was unleashed among Nigerian creatives in the years leading up to independence. The hundred-year reign of colonialism was approaching its conclusion and the people of Nigeria, with its over 300 tribes and ebullient energy, were poised for a different era in which they would decide the context of their lives.

Those who best expressed that dual stance, that tension of modernity and custom, were artists in all their stripes. Artists across the country, in continuous exchange with one another, developed works that evoked their cultural practices but in a modern context. Artists such as Yusuf Grillo in the north, Bruce Onobrakpeya from the midwest, Ben Enwonwu from the east and Twins Seven Seven from the west were reimagining the concept of art in a thoroughly Nigerian context.

The impact of the works created by the Zaria Art Society, the collective that congregated in Lagos and displayed all over the world, was deep. Their work helped the nation to reconnect its historical ways, but adjusted to the present day. It was a fresh artistic expression, both introspective and celebratory. Often it was an art that alluded to the many facets of Nigerian folklore; often it drew upon everyday life.

Deities, traditional entities, rituals, traditional displays featured prominently, alongside popular subjects of moving forms, portraits and scenes, but executed in a unique light, with a palette that was completely distinct from anything in the Western artistic canon.

International Connections

It is crucial to highlight that these were not artists producing in solitude. They were in touch with the trends of world art, as can be seen by the approaches to cubism in many works of sculpture. It was not a answer as such but a taking back, a recovery, of what cubism borrowed from Africa.

The other domain in which this Nigerian modernism expressed itself is in the Nigerian novel. Works such as Chinua Achebe's influential Things Fall Apart, Wole Soyinka's The Interpreters and Amos Tutuola's The Palm-Wine Drinkard are all works that depict a nation fermenting with energy and identity struggles. Christopher Okigbo wrote in Labyrinths, 1967, that "We carry in our worlds that flourish / Our worlds that have failed." But the opposite is also true. We carry in our worlds that have failed, our worlds that flourish.

Contemporary Influence

Two significant contemporary events demonstrate this. The much-awaited opening of the art museum in the historic center of Benin, MOWAA (Museum of West African Art), may be the most crucial event in African art since the infamous burning of African works of art by the British in that same city, in 1897.

The other is the approaching exhibition at Tate Modern in London, Nigerian Modernism, which aims to spotlight Nigeria's input to the larger story of modern art and British culture. Nigerian writers and artists in Britain have been a crucial part of that story, not least Ben Enwonwu, who sojourned here during the Nigerian civil war and sculpted Queen Elizabeth II in the 50s. For almost 100 years, artists such as Uzo Egonu, Demas Nwoko and Bruce Onobrakpeya have influenced the visual and cultural life of these isles.

The heritage continues with artists such as El Anatsui, who has broadened the potential of global sculpture with his large-scale works, and ceramicist Ladi Kwali, who reimagined Nigerian craft and modern design. They have extended the story of Nigerian modernism into the present day, bringing about a regeneration not only in the art and literature of Africa but of Britain also.

Artist Viewpoints

About Musical Creativity

For me, Sade Adu is a excellent example of the British-Nigerian artistic energy. She fused jazz, soul and pop into something that was entirely her own, not imitating anyone, but producing a innovative style. That is what Nigerian modernism does too: it produces something fresh out of history.

I came of age between Lagos and London, and used to pay repeated visits to Lagos's National Museum, which is where I first saw Ben Enwonwu's sculpture Anyanwu. It was compelling, elevating and intimately tied to Nigerian identity, and left a memorable effect on me, even as a child. In 1977, when I was a teenager, Nigeria hosted the landmark Festival of Black Arts and Culture, and the National Theatre in Lagos was full of specially produced work: art glass, engravings, large-scale works. It was a formative experience, showing me that art could narrate the history of a nation.

Literary Impact

If I had to choose one piece of Nigerian art which has affected me the most, it would be Half of a Yellow Sun by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie. It is about the Nigerian civil war in the 60s, which affected my family. My parents never spoke about it, so reading that book in 2006 was a pivotal moment for me – it gave voice to a history that had molded my life but was never spoken about.

I grew up in Newcastle in the 70s and 80s, and there was no familiarity to Nigerian or British-Nigerian art or artists. My school friends would ridicule the idea of Nigerian or African art. We pursued representation wherever we could.

Artistic Activism

I loved encountering Fela Kuti as a teenager – the way he performed shirtless, in vibrant costumes, and challenged authority. I'd grown up with the idea that we always had to be very cautious of not wanting to say too much when it came to politics. His music – a fusion of jazz, funk and Yoruba rhythms – became a soundtrack and a call to action for resistance, and he taught me that Nigerians can be boldly outspoken and creative, something that feels even more urgent for my generation.

Current Expressions

The artist who has motivated me most is Njideka Akunyili Crosby. I saw her work for the first time at the Venice Biennale in 2013, and it felt like finding belonging. Her emphasis on family, domestic life and memory gave me the certainty to know that my own experiences were adequate, and that I could build a career making work that is confidently personal.

I make figurative paintings that investigate identity, memory and family, often using my own Nigerian-British heritage. My practice began with exploring history – at family photographs, Nigerian parties, rich fabrics – and transforming those memories into paint. Studying British painting techniques and historic composition gave me the skills to combine these experiences with my British identity, and that combination became the vocabulary I use as an artist today.

It wasn't until my mid-20s that I began discovering Black artists – specifically Nigerian ones – because art education mostly overlooked them. In the last five years or so, Nigeria's cultural presence has grown considerably. Afrobeats went global around a decade ago, and the visual arts followed, with young diaspora artists finding their voices.

Artistic Tradition

Nigerians are, basically, hustlers. I think that is why the diaspora is so productive in the creative space: a innate motivation, a dedicated approach and a community that supports one another. Being in the UK has given more access, but our drive is grounded in culture.

For me, poetry has been the main bridge connecting me to Nigeria, especially as someone who doesn't speak Yoruba. Niyi Osundare's poetry has been influential in showing how Nigerian writers can speak to shared experiences while remaining firmly grounded in their culture. Similarly, the work of Prof Molara Ogundipe and Gabriel Okara demonstrates how experimentation within tradition can generate new forms of expression.

The duality of my heritage informs what I find most urgent in my work, managing the different elements of my identity. I am Nigerian, I am Black, I am British, I am a woman. These overlapping experiences bring different urgencies and inquiries into my poetry, which becomes a realm where these impacts and outlooks melt together.