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Some fundamental vitality was set free among Nigerian creatives in the years before independence. The hundred-year dominance of colonialism was coming to a close and the population of Nigeria, with its over 300 tribes and ebullient energy, were poised for a fresh chapter in which they would determine the context of their lives.

Those who most articulated that complex situation, that paradox of modernity and tradition, were artists in all their stripes. Practitioners across the country, in continuous exchange with one another, produced works that referenced their traditions but in a contemporary setting. 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 dream of art in a distinctly Nigerian context.

The influence of the works created by the Zaria Art Society, the group that assembled in Lagos and exhibited all over the world, was profound. Their work helped the nation to rediscover its ancient ways, but adjusted to contemporary life. It was a new art, both introspective and festive. Often it was an art that hinted at the many dimensions of Nigerian mythology; often it drew upon daily realities.

Ancestral beings, traditional entities, rituals, traditional displays featured significantly, alongside popular subjects of dancing figures, portraits and landscapes, but rendered in a special light, with a palette that was utterly different from anything in the Western artistic canon.

International Connections

It is essential to highlight that these were not artists producing in solitude. They were in dialogue with the currents of world art, as can be seen by the reactions to cubism in many works of sculpture. It was not a reaction as such but a reclaiming, a recovery, of what cubism appropriated from Africa.

The other field in which this Nigerian contemporary art movement revealed itself is in the Nigerian novel. Works such as Chinua Achebe's foundational 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 cultural tensions. Christopher Okigbo wrote in Labyrinths, 1967, that "We carry in our worlds that flourish / Our worlds that have failed." But the contrary is also true. We carry in our worlds that have failed, our worlds that flourish.

Current Significance

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

The other is the upcoming exhibition at Tate Modern in London, Nigerian Modernism, which aims to highlight Nigeria's input to the broader story of modern art and British culture. Nigerian writers and creatives in Britain have been a crucial part of that story, not least Ben Enwonwu, who resided here during the Nigerian civil war and sculpted Queen Elizabeth II in the 50s. For almost 100 years, individuals such as Uzo Egonu, Demas Nwoko and Bruce Onobrakpeya have shaped the artistic and intellectual life of these isles.

The legacy persists with artists such as El Anatsui, who has expanded the possibilities of global sculpture with his large-scale works, and ceramicist Ladi Kwali, who transformed Nigerian craft and modern design. They have continued the story of Nigerian modernism into contemporary times, bringing about a revitalization not only in the art and literature of Africa but of Britain also.

Artist Perspectives

Regarding Artistic Originality

For me, Sade Adu is a perfect example of the British-Nigerian creative spirit. She combined jazz, soul and pop into something that was completely unique, not imitating anyone, but producing a innovative style. That is what Nigerian modernism does too: it makes something fresh out of history.

I grew up between Lagos and London, and used to pay regular visits to Lagos's National Museum, which is where I first saw Ben Enwonwu's sculpture Anyanwu. It was compelling, uplifting and intimately tied to Nigerian identity, and left a enduring impact 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: stained glass, sculptures, monumental installations. It was a developmental experience, showing me that art could narrate the history of a nation.

Written Influence

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 sought out representation wherever we could.

Musical Activism

I loved discovering Fela Kuti as a teenager – the way he performed bare-chested, in colorful 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 accompaniment and a inspiration for resistance, and he taught me that Nigerians can be unapologetically outspoken and creative, something that feels even more important for my generation.

Modern Forms

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 returning to roots. Her focus on family, domestic life and memory gave me the certainty to know that my own experiences were sufficient, and that I could build a career making work that is unapologetically personal.

I make representational art that investigate 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 translating 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 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 generally neglected them. In the last five years or so, Nigeria's cultural presence has grown significantly. Afrobeats went global around a decade ago, and the visual arts followed, with young international artists finding their voices.

Cultural Heritage

Nigerians are, basically, hard workers. I think that is why the diaspora is so abundant in the creative space: a inherent ambition, a strong work ethic and a group that backs one another. Being in the UK has given more access, but our drive is rooted 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 developmental in showing how Nigerian writers can speak to shared experiences while remaining strongly connected in their culture. Similarly, the work of Prof Molara Ogundipe and Gabriel Okara demonstrates how experimentation within tradition can create new forms of expression.

The dual nature of my heritage influences what I find most important in my work, negotiating the different elements of my identity. I am Nigerian, I am Black, I am British, I am a woman. These intersecting experiences bring different priorities and curiosities into my poetry, which becomes a space where these effects and outlooks melt together.