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Some raw vitality was unleashed among Nigerian artists in the years leading up to independence. The century-long rule of colonialism was coming to a close and the citizens of Nigeria, with its numerous tribes and lively energy, were ready for a fresh chapter in which they would shape the framework of their lives.

Those who most clearly conveyed that double position, that contradiction of modernity and tradition, were creators in all their stripes. Creatives across the country, in ongoing dialogue with one another, created works that referenced their traditions but in a current 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 distinctly Nigerian context.

The influence of the works created by the Zaria Art Society, the group that gathered in Lagos and showcased all over the world, was significant. Their work helped the nation to rediscover its ancient ways, but modified to the present day. It was a fresh artistic expression, both brooding and festive. Often it was an art that suggested the many facets of Nigerian folklore; often it drew upon common experiences.

Spirits, forefather spirits, rituals, cultural performances featured centrally, alongside common subjects of rhythmic shapes, portraits and landscapes, but presented in a distinctive light, with a visual language that was completely unlike anything in the European art heritage.

International Exchanges

It is crucial to stress that these were not artists working in solitude. They were in touch with the movements of world art, as can be seen by the reactions to cubism in many works of sculpture. It was not a response as such but a taking back, a recovery, 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 depict a nation bubbling 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 reverse is also true. We carry in our worlds that have failed, our worlds that flourish.

Modern Significance

Two significant contemporary events bear this out. The eagerly expected opening of the art museum in the ancient city of Benin, MOWAA (Museum of West African Art), may be the single most important event in African art since the well-known 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 role 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 created Queen Elizabeth II in the 50s. For almost 100 years, artists such as Uzo Egonu, Demas Nwoko and Bruce Onobrakpeya have influenced the artistic and cultural life of these isles.

The heritage endures with artists such as El Anatsui, who has extended the possibilities of global sculpture with his monumental works, and ceramicist Ladi Kwali, who reimagined Nigerian craft and modern design. They have continued the story of Nigerian modernism into modern era, bringing about a regeneration not only in the art and literature of Africa but of Britain also.

Artist Insights

On Artistic Creativity

For me, Sade Adu is a prime 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 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 impactful, uplifting and strongly linked 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 specially produced work: art glass, sculptures, large-scale works. It was a formative 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 divided my family. My parents never spoke about it, so reading that book in 2006 was a seminal moment for me – it expressed a history that had shaped 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 looked for representation wherever we could.

Artistic Social Commentary

I loved encountering Fela Kuti as a teenager – the way he performed without a shirt, in vibrant costumes, and confronted establishment. 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 blend of jazz, funk and Yoruba rhythms – became a musical backdrop and a call to action for resistance, and he taught me that Nigerians can be confidently expressive and creative, something that feels even more urgent for my generation.

Current Expressions

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

I make figurative paintings that explore identity, memory and family, often using 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 skills to combine these experiences with my British identity, and that fusion became the vocabulary 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 largely ignored 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.

Cultural Heritage

Nigerians are, essentially, hustlers. I think that is why the diaspora is so abundant in the creative space: a natural drive, a committed attitude and a network that supports one another. Being in the UK has given more opportunity, but our aspiration is grounded in culture.

For me, poetry has been the key 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 exploration within tradition can create new forms of expression.

The dual nature of my heritage informs what I find most pressing in my work, navigating the various facets of my identity. I am Nigerian, I am Black, I am British, I am a woman. These intersecting experiences bring different concerns and curiosities into my poetry, which becomes a realm where these impacts and viewpoints melt together.