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Some fundamental vitality was set free among Nigerian artists in the years before independence. The century-long reign of colonialism was nearing its end and the citizens of Nigeria, with its more than three hundred tribes and ebullient energy, were positioned for a different era in which they would determine the nature of their lives.

Those who most articulated that double position, that contradiction of contemporary life and heritage, were artists in all their stripes. Creatives across the country, in ongoing exchange with one another, produced works that recalled their traditions but in a current framework. 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 remaking the vision 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 displayed all over the world, was profound. Their work helped the nation to reestablish ties its historical ways, but adapted to modern times. It was a new art, both introspective and joyous. Often it was an art that alluded to the many facets of Nigerian legend; often it drew upon common experiences.

Ancestral beings, ancestral presences, rituals, masquerades featured significantly, alongside popular subjects of rhythmic shapes, likenesses and scenes, but presented in a unique light, with a visual language that was completely distinct from anything in the Western artistic canon.

Global Exchanges

It is essential to emphasize that these were not artists creating in solitude. They were in dialogue with the trends of world art, as can be seen by the approaches to cubism in many works of sculpture. It was not a response as such but a retrieval, a retrieval, of what cubism borrowed from Africa.

The other area in which this Nigerian contemporary art movement revealed itself is in the Nigerian novel. Works such as Chinua Achebe's seminal Things Fall Apart, Wole Soyinka's The Interpreters and Amos Tutuola's The Palm-Wine Drinkard are all works that show a nation simmering with energy and societal conflicts. 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.

Modern Influence

Two notable contemporary events demonstrate this. The eagerly expected 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 approaching exhibition at Tate Modern in London, Nigerian Modernism, which aims to focus on Nigeria's input to the wider story of modern art and British culture. Nigerian authors and artists in Britain have been a crucial part of that story, not least Ben Enwonwu, who lived 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 opportunities of global sculpture with his monumental works, and ceramicist Ladi Kwali, who transformed Nigerian craft and modern design. They have prolonged 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.

Practitioner Insights

Regarding Musical Creativity

For me, Sade Adu is a excellent example of the British-Nigerian creative spirit. She blended jazz, soul and pop into something that was completely unique, not copying anyone, but creating a fresh approach. That is what Nigerian modernism does too: it makes something new 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 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 important Festival of Black Arts and Culture, and the National Theatre in Lagos was full of recently created work: colored glass, sculptures, impressive creations. It was a formative experience, showing me that art could tell the story of a nation.

Written 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 separated my family. My parents never spoke about it, so reading that book in 2006 was a foundational moment for me – it gave voice to 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 sought out representation wherever we could.

Artistic Social Commentary

I loved encountering Fela Kuti as a teenager – the way he performed shirtless, in dynamic 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 inspiration for resistance, and he taught me that Nigerians can be boldly outspoken and creative, something that feels even more urgent for my generation.

Modern Manifestations

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 coming home. Her emphasis 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 boldly personal.

I make figurative paintings that investigate identity, memory and family, often using my own Nigerian-British heritage. My practice began with examining the past – at family photographs, Nigerian parties, rich fabrics – and converting 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 blending became the expression 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 international artists finding their voices.

Artistic Legacy

Nigerians are, basically, driven individuals. I think that is why the diaspora is so productive in the creative space: a natural drive, a dedicated approach and a group that supports one another. Being in the UK has given more exposure, but our aspiration is rooted 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 common concerns 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 shapes 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 concerns and curiosities into my poetry, which becomes a realm where these impacts and outlooks melt together.