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Some raw vitality was unleashed among Nigerian creatives in the years preceding independence. The century-long dominance of colonialism was nearing its end and the citizens of Nigeria, with its more than three hundred tribes and lively energy, were ready for a different era in which they would decide the nature of their lives.

Those who best expressed that dual stance, that paradox of modernity and custom, were creators in all their varieties. Practitioners across the country, in constant exchange with one another, produced works that recalled their traditions but in a current setting. 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 reimagining the concept 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 displayed all over the world, was deep. Their work helped the nation to reestablish ties its ancient ways, but adjusted to the present day. It was a fresh artistic expression, both contemplative and celebratory. Often it was an art that alluded to the many facets of Nigerian mythology; often it referenced everyday life.

Deities, forefather spirits, practices, masquerades featured centrally, alongside frequent subjects of rhythmic shapes, portraits and scenes, but rendered in a distinctive light, with a color scheme that was utterly unlike anything in the Western artistic canon.

Global Influences

It is important to emphasize that these were not artists producing in isolation. They were in contact with the currents of world art, as can be seen by the responses to cubism in many works of sculpture. It was not a reaction as such but a retrieval, a retrieval, of what cubism took from Africa.

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

Contemporary 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 focus on Nigeria's contribution to the broader 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 resided here during the Nigerian civil war and crafted Queen Elizabeth II in the 50s. For almost 100 years, artists such as Uzo Egonu, Demas Nwoko and Bruce Onobrakpeya have shaped the artistic and cultural life of these isles.

The tradition endures with artists such as El Anatsui, who has extended the potential of global sculpture with his monumental works, and ceramicist Ladi Kwali, who alchemised 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.

Practitioner Perspectives

On Musical Creativity

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

I was raised between Lagos and London, and used to pay frequent 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 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 newly commissioned work: colored glass, engravings, large-scale works. It was a developmental 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 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 affected 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 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 make fun of the idea of Nigerian or African art. We looked for representation wherever we could.

Artistic Social Commentary

I loved encountering Fela Kuti as a teenager – the way he performed shirtless, in colorful costumes, and challenged authority. I'd grown up with the idea that we always had to be very guarded 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 call to action for resistance, and he taught me that Nigerians can be confidently vocal and creative, something that feels even more pressing for my generation.

Modern 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 assurance to know that my own experiences were sufficient, and that I could build a career making work that is unapologetically personal.

I make human form works 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 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 combination became the vocabulary 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 significantly. Afrobeats went global around a decade ago, and the visual arts followed, with young international artists finding their voices.

Artistic Legacy

Nigerians are, essentially, hustlers. I think that is why the diaspora is so abundant in the creative space: a inherent ambition, a strong work ethic and a group that supports 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 developmental in showing how Nigerian writers can speak to common concerns while remaining firmly grounded in their culture. Similarly, the work of Prof Molara Ogundipe and Gabriel Okara demonstrates how experimentation within tradition can generate new forms of expression.

The duality of my heritage influences what I find most pressing in my work, negotiating the various facets of my identity. I am Nigerian, I am Black, I am British, I am a woman. These intersecting experiences bring different urgencies and inquiries into my poetry, which becomes a arena where these impacts and outlooks melt together.