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A certain fundamental vitality was set free among Nigerian practitioners in the years preceding independence. The century-long reign of colonialism was coming to a close and the citizens of Nigeria, with its over 300 tribes and ebullient energy, were poised for a new future in which they would shape the nature of their lives.

Those who best expressed that dual stance, that tension of contemporary life and heritage, were creators in all their varieties. Creatives across the country, in ongoing dialogue with one another, developed works that referenced their cultural practices 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 thoroughly Nigerian context.

The impact of the works created by the Zaria Art Society, the collective that assembled in Lagos and showcased all over the world, was profound. Their work helped the nation to reconnect its historical ways, but modified to the present day. It was a innovative creative form, both introspective and celebratory. Often it was an art that alluded to the many dimensions of Nigerian folklore; often it drew upon common experiences.

Deities, ancestral presences, rituals, traditional displays featured centrally, alongside popular subjects of rhythmic shapes, portraits and vistas, but presented in a special light, with a visual language that was completely unlike anything in the Western artistic canon.

Worldwide Connections

It is important to emphasize that these were not artists working in isolation. They were in contact with the currents 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 took from Africa.

The other area in which this Nigerian contemporary art movement 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 reverse is also true. We carry in our worlds that have failed, our worlds that flourish.

Current Impact

Two significant contemporary events confirm this. The eagerly expected opening of the art museum in the traditional capital of Benin, MOWAA (Museum of West African Art), may be the most crucial 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 forthcoming exhibition at Tate Modern in London, Nigerian Modernism, which aims to focus on Nigeria's contribution 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 sculpted Queen Elizabeth II in the 50s. For almost 100 years, individuals such as Uzo Egonu, Demas Nwoko and Bruce Onobrakpeya have molded the visual and cultural life of these isles.

The legacy persists with artists such as El Anatsui, who has broadened the opportunities of global sculpture with his monumental 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 revitalization not only in the art and literature of Africa but of Britain also.

Creative Viewpoints

Regarding Artistic Innovation

For me, Sade Adu is a excellent example of the British-Nigerian artistic energy. She blended jazz, soul and pop into something that was entirely her own, not replicating anyone, but developing a innovative style. That is what Nigerian modernism does too: it produces 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 powerful, 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 significant Festival of Black Arts and Culture, and the National Theatre in Lagos was full of recently created work: stained glass, sculptures, impressive creations. 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 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 seminal moment for me – it expressed 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 access to Nigerian or British-Nigerian art or artists. My school friends would make fun of the idea of Nigerian or African art. We sought out representation wherever we could.

Artistic Political Expression

I loved finding Fela Kuti as a teenager – the way he performed without a shirt, in colorful costumes, and spoke truth to power. 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 combination of jazz, funk and Yoruba rhythms – became a soundtrack and a rallying cry for resistance, and he taught me that Nigerians can be unapologetically outspoken and creative, something that feels even more important for my generation.

Modern Manifestations

The artist who has influenced 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 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 explore 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 translating those memories into paint. Studying British painting techniques and historic composition gave me the tools to combine these experiences with my British identity, and that fusion became the language 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 substantially. Afrobeats went global around a decade ago, and the visual arts followed, with young diaspora artists finding their voices.

Cultural Tradition

Nigerians are, basically, hustlers. 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 opportunity, but our drive is grounded 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 innovation within tradition can produce new forms of expression.

The duality of my heritage influences what I find most urgent in my work, navigating 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 interests into my poetry, which becomes a space where these impacts and viewpoints melt together.