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Some fundamental vitality was released among Nigerian artists 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 ready for a new future in which they would decide the framework of their lives.

Those who best expressed that double position, that paradox of modernity and custom, were creators in all their varieties. Creatives across the country, in ongoing exchange with one another, developed works that referenced their traditions but in a current context. 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 dream of art in a rigorously Nigerian context.

The impact of the works created by the Zaria Art Society, the group that congregated in Lagos and exhibited all over the world, was profound. Their work helped the nation to rediscover its ancient ways, but modified to contemporary life. It was a fresh artistic expression, both brooding and festive. Often it was an art that suggested the many aspects of Nigerian legend; often it referenced everyday life.

Deities, ancestral presences, rituals, cultural performances featured centrally, alongside frequent subjects of moving forms, likenesses and scenes, but presented in a unique light, with a color scheme that was totally different from anything in the European art heritage.

Global Exchanges

It is essential to highlight that these were not artists creating in seclusion. They were in dialogue with the currents of world art, as can be seen by the approaches to cubism in many works of sculpture. It was not a answer as such but a taking back, 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 portray a nation simmering 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 opposite is also true. We carry in our worlds that have failed, our worlds that flourish.

Current 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 most crucial event in African art since the infamous 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 highlight Nigeria's role to the larger story of modern art and British culture. Nigerian writers and creatives in Britain have been a vital part of that story, not least Ben Enwonwu, who sojourned here during the Nigerian civil war and sculpted Queen Elizabeth II in the 50s. For almost 100 years, artists such as Uzo Egonu, Demas Nwoko and Bruce Onobrakpeya have molded the artistic and cultural life of these isles.

The tradition continues with artists such as El Anatsui, who has broadened the opportunities of global sculpture with his impressive works, and ceramicist Ladi Kwali, who alchemised Nigerian craft and modern design. They have continued the story of Nigerian modernism into modern era, bringing about a renewal not only in the art and literature of Africa but of Britain also.

Artist Insights

On Artistic Innovation

For me, Sade Adu is a excellent example of the British-Nigerian artistic energy. She fused jazz, soul and pop into something that was distinctively personal, not imitating anyone, but developing a new sound. 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, uplifting and deeply connected 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 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 pivotal moment for me – it gave voice to 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 mock the idea of Nigerian or African art. We looked for representation wherever we could.

Musical Social Commentary

I loved discovering Fela Kuti as a teenager – the way he performed without a shirt, in dynamic costumes, and challenged authority. I'd grown up with the idea that we always had to be very careful 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 unapologetically vocal and creative, something that feels even more pressing for my generation.

Contemporary Forms

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 finding belonging. 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 confidently personal.

I make representational art 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 methods to combine these experiences with my British identity, and that fusion became the expression I use as an artist today.

It wasn't until my mid-20s that I began finding Black artists – specifically Nigerian ones – because art education largely ignored 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.

Artistic Legacy

Nigerians are, basically, hard workers. I think that is why the diaspora is so prolific in the creative space: a inherent ambition, a strong work ethic and a community that encourages one another. Being in the UK has given more opportunity, but our drive is based 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 formative in showing how Nigerian writers can speak to shared experiences while remaining deeply rooted in their culture. Similarly, the work of Prof Molara Ogundipe and Gabriel Okara demonstrates how exploration within tradition can generate new forms of expression.

The twofold aspect of my heritage shapes what I find most important in my work, navigating the different elements of my identity. I am Nigerian, I am Black, I am British, I am a woman. These connected experiences bring different priorities and interests into my poetry, which becomes a arena where these effects and viewpoints melt together.