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A certain fundamental force was released among Nigerian artists in the years before independence. The century-long dominance of colonialism was nearing its end and the citizens of Nigeria, with its more than three hundred tribes and vibrant energy, were ready for a different era in which they would determine the context of their lives.

Those who most clearly conveyed that complex situation, that paradox of contemporary life and heritage, were creators in all their varieties. Artists across the country, in constant dialogue with one another, developed works that evoked their cultural practices 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 reimagining the vision of art in a rigorously Nigerian context.

The effect of the works created by the Zaria Art Society, the collective that assembled in Lagos and displayed all over the world, was profound. Their work helped the nation to rediscover its traditional ways, but modified to contemporary life. It was a innovative creative form, both introspective and joyous. Often it was an art that suggested the many dimensions of Nigerian mythology; often it incorporated everyday life.

Spirits, traditional entities, practices, traditional displays featured centrally, alongside common subjects of rhythmic shapes, likenesses and vistas, but presented in a distinctive light, with a palette that was utterly different from anything in the European art heritage.

Global Exchanges

It is essential to highlight that these were not artists creating in solitude. They were in touch with the movements of world art, as can be seen by the responses to cubism in many works of sculpture. It was not a response as such but a reclaiming, a reappropriation, of what cubism appropriated from Africa.

The other area in which this Nigerian modernism manifested 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 depict 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.

Current Significance

Two important contemporary events bear this out. The much-awaited 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 forthcoming exhibition at Tate Modern in London, Nigerian Modernism, which aims to highlight Nigeria's contribution to the wider story of modern art and British culture. Nigerian authors 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 created Queen Elizabeth II in the 50s. For almost 100 years, individuals such as Uzo Egonu, Demas Nwoko and Bruce Onobrakpeya have molded the artistic and intellectual life of these isles.

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

Artist Viewpoints

Regarding Artistic Originality

For me, Sade Adu is a prime example of the British-Nigerian creative spirit. She combined jazz, soul and pop into something that was completely unique, not copying anyone, but creating a new sound. That is what Nigerian modernism does too: it creates something fresh out of history.

I was raised 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, elevating 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 significant Festival of Black Arts and Culture, and the National Theatre in Lagos was full of specially produced work: colored glass, engravings, 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 pivotal moment for me – it articulated 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 exposure 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 Activism

I loved finding 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 combination of jazz, funk and Yoruba rhythms – became a accompaniment and a call to action for resistance, and he taught me that Nigerians can be confidently 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 finding belonging. Her emphasis on family, domestic life and memory gave me the confidence 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 investigate identity, memory and family, often drawing on my own Nigerian-British heritage. My practice began with exploring history – at family photographs, Nigerian parties, rich fabrics – and converting those memories into paint. Studying British painting techniques and historic composition gave me the tools to blend these experiences with my British identity, and that blending 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 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 overseas artists finding their voices.

Cultural Legacy

Nigerians are, essentially, hard workers. I think that is why the diaspora is so prolific in the creative space: a inherent ambition, a dedicated approach and a community that supports one another. Being in the UK has given more access, but our drive 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 developmental 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 shapes what I find most important in my work, navigating 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 inquiries into my poetry, which becomes a realm where these effects and outlooks melt together.