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A certain fundamental force was unleashed among Nigerian practitioners in the years preceding independence. The hundred-year rule of colonialism was approaching its conclusion and the population of Nigeria, with its more than three hundred tribes and ebullient energy, were poised for a different era in which they would determine the nature of their lives.

Those who most articulated that double position, that paradox of modernity and custom, were creators in all their forms. Practitioners across the country, in continuous conversation with one another, produced works that referenced their traditions but in a modern framework. Figures 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 reinventing the vision of art in a rigorously Nigerian context.

The effect of the works created by the Zaria Art Society, the collective that gathered in Lagos and displayed all over the world, was significant. Their work helped the nation to rediscover its ancient ways, but adapted to the present day. It was a new art, both contemplative and celebratory. Often it was an art that hinted at the many facets of Nigerian folklore; often it incorporated daily realities.

Spirits, traditional entities, ceremonies, masquerades featured centrally, alongside common subjects of dancing figures, portraits and scenes, but presented in a special light, with a visual language that was utterly distinct from anything in the Western artistic canon.

Worldwide Exchanges

It is important to highlight that these were not artists creating in solitude. They were in touch with the movements of world art, as can be seen by the approaches to cubism in many works of sculpture. It was not a reaction as such but a retrieval, a reappropriation, of what cubism borrowed from Africa.

The other field in which this Nigerian modernism revealed 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 show a nation bubbling with energy and cultural tensions. Christopher Okigbo wrote in Labyrinths, 1967, that "We carry in our worlds that flourish / Our worlds that have failed." But the reverse is also true. We carry in our worlds that have failed, our worlds that flourish.

Current Impact

Two notable contemporary events demonstrate this. The eagerly expected opening of the art museum in the historic center of Benin, MOWAA (Museum of West African Art), may be the most significant 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 forthcoming exhibition at Tate Modern in London, Nigerian Modernism, which aims to spotlight Nigeria's input to the broader 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 resided here during the Nigerian civil war and crafted Queen Elizabeth II in the 50s. For almost 100 years, individuals such as Uzo Egonu, Demas Nwoko and Bruce Onobrakpeya have influenced the visual and intellectual life of these isles.

The heritage persists with artists such as El Anatsui, who has extended the opportunities 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 contemporary times, bringing about a regeneration not only in the art and literature of Africa but of Britain also.

Artist Insights

Regarding Artistic Originality

For me, Sade Adu is a prime example of the British-Nigerian creative spirit. She blended jazz, soul and pop into something that was entirely her own, not imitating anyone, but producing a fresh approach. That is what Nigerian modernism does too: it creates something fresh out of history.

I came of age between Lagos and London, and used to pay frequent visits to Lagos's National Museum, which is where I first saw Ben Enwonwu's sculpture Anyanwu. It was compelling, inspiring and strongly linked to Nigerian identity, and left a lasting impression 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 newly commissioned work: colored glass, sculptures, large-scale works. It was a influential experience, showing me that art could narrate the history of a nation.

Literary Significance

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 separated my family. My parents never spoke about it, so reading that book in 2006 was a foundational moment for me – it expressed a history that had influenced my life but was never spoken about.

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

Musical Social Commentary

I loved discovering Fela Kuti as a teenager – the way he performed without a shirt, in vibrant costumes, and challenged authority. I'd grown up with the idea that we always had to be very guarded of not wanting to say too much when it came to politics. His music – a fusion of jazz, funk and Yoruba rhythms – became a musical backdrop and a rallying cry for resistance, and he taught me that Nigerians can be boldly vocal and creative, something that feels even more urgent for my generation.

Contemporary Manifestations

The artist who has inspired 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 concentration on family, domestic life and memory gave me the confidence to know that my own experiences were sufficient, and that I could build a career making work that is unapologetically personal.

I make human form works that explore identity, memory and family, often referencing my own Nigerian-British heritage. My practice began with looking backwards – at family photographs, Nigerian parties, rich fabrics – and transforming those memories into paint. Studying British painting techniques and historic composition gave me the methods to blend these experiences with my British identity, and that combination became the expression I use as an artist today.

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

Artistic Tradition

Nigerians are, essentially, hustlers. I think that is why the diaspora is so productive in the creative space: a natural drive, a committed attitude and a group that backs one another. Being in the UK has given more exposure, but our ambition is rooted in culture.

For me, poetry has been the primary bridge connecting me to Nigeria, especially as someone who doesn't speak Yoruba. Niyi Osundare's poetry has been developmental in showing how Nigerian writers can speak to common concerns while remaining deeply rooted in their culture. Similarly, the work of Prof Molara Ogundipe and Gabriel Okara demonstrates how exploration within tradition can create new forms of expression.

The duality of my heritage shapes what I find most urgent in my work, managing the various facets of my identity. I am Nigerian, I am Black, I am British, I am a woman. These intersecting experiences bring different priorities and inquiries into my poetry, which becomes a space where these effects and outlooks melt together.