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A certain raw force was released among Nigerian creatives in the years before independence. The century-long reign of colonialism was nearing its end and the people of Nigeria, with its more than three hundred tribes and vibrant energy, were poised for a new future in which they would shape the context of their lives.

Those who most articulated that dual stance, that tension of modernity and heritage, were artists in all their varieties. Creatives across the country, in ongoing exchange with one another, developed 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 remaking the concept of art in a rigorously Nigerian context.

The effect of the works created by the Zaria Art Society, the group that assembled in Lagos and exhibited all over the world, was significant. Their work helped the nation to reconnect its ancient ways, but adjusted to modern times. It was a new art, both contemplative and celebratory. Often it was an art that suggested the many dimensions of Nigerian folklore; often it drew upon everyday life.

Ancestral beings, forefather spirits, rituals, traditional displays featured significantly, alongside frequent subjects of dancing figures, likenesses and scenes, but rendered in a special light, with a visual language that was completely distinct from anything in the Western artistic canon.

Global Connections

It is essential to stress that these were not artists producing in isolation. They were in contact with the trends of world art, as can be seen by the reactions to cubism in many works of sculpture. It was not a answer as such but a taking back, a recovery, of what cubism took from Africa.

The other area in which this Nigerian modernism manifested 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 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 contrary is also true. We carry in our worlds that have failed, our worlds that flourish.

Current Impact

Two significant contemporary events demonstrate this. The much-awaited opening of the art museum in the traditional capital of Benin, MOWAA (Museum of West African Art), may be the most significant 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 approaching exhibition at Tate Modern in London, Nigerian Modernism, which aims to focus on Nigeria's role 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 lived here during the Nigerian civil war and crafted Queen Elizabeth II in the 50s. For almost 100 years, figures such as Uzo Egonu, Demas Nwoko and Bruce Onobrakpeya have molded the artistic and cultural life of these isles.

The legacy persists with artists such as El Anatsui, who has expanded the opportunities of global sculpture with his impressive works, and ceramicist Ladi Kwali, who alchemised 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.

Creative Perspectives

On Artistic Originality

For me, Sade Adu is a prime example of the British-Nigerian artistic energy. She blended jazz, soul and pop into something that was entirely her own, not copying anyone, but developing a new sound. That is what Nigerian modernism does too: it creates something fresh out of history.

I grew up 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 powerful, elevating 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 recently created work: art glass, sculptures, large-scale works. It was a formative experience, showing me that art could tell the story of a nation.

Literary Significance

If I had to choose one piece of Nigerian art which has impacted 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 foundational moment for me – it articulated 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 mock the idea of Nigerian or African art. We pursued representation wherever we could.

Artistic Political Expression

I loved discovering Fela Kuti as a teenager – the way he performed without a shirt, 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 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.

Modern 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 returning to roots. Her focus on family, domestic life and memory gave me the assurance 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 drawing on 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 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 generally neglected 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 international artists finding their voices.

Cultural Tradition

Nigerians are, fundamentally, hustlers. I think that is why the diaspora is so productive in the creative space: a innate motivation, a dedicated approach and a group that backs one another. Being in the UK has given more opportunity, but our aspiration 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 formative in showing how Nigerian writers can speak to universal themes while remaining deeply rooted in their culture. Similarly, the work of Prof Molara Ogundipe and Gabriel Okara demonstrates how exploration within tradition can produce new forms of expression.

The twofold aspect of my heritage influences what I find most important in my work, negotiating the various facets of my identity. I am Nigerian, I am Black, I am British, I am a woman. These connected experiences bring different concerns and interests into my poetry, which becomes a arena where these impacts and outlooks melt together.