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A certain fundamental vitality was set free among Nigerian practitioners in the years preceding independence. The hundred-year rule of colonialism was nearing its end and the people of Nigeria, with its numerous tribes and lively energy, were positioned for a fresh chapter in which they would shape the context of their lives.

Those who most articulated that double position, that contradiction of contemporary life and custom, were artists in all their stripes. Artists across the country, in continuous exchange with one another, produced works that evoked their cultural practices but in a modern 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 dream of art in a thoroughly Nigerian context.

The impact of the works created by the Zaria Art Society, the collective that gathered in Lagos and exhibited all over the world, was deep. Their work helped the nation to rediscover its historical ways, but modified to the present day. It was a new art, both contemplative and festive. Often it was an art that hinted at the many dimensions of Nigerian folklore; often it referenced everyday life.

Deities, ancestral presences, ceremonies, traditional displays featured centrally, alongside common subjects of moving forms, representations and scenes, but rendered in a special light, with a color scheme that was totally different from anything in the western tradition.

International Influences

It is essential to emphasize that these were not artists creating in isolation. They were in touch with the currents of world art, as can be seen by the reactions to cubism in many works of sculpture. It was not a answer as such but a taking back, a recovery, of what cubism took from Africa.

The other field in which this Nigerian contemporary art movement expressed 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 bubbling 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 opposite is also true. We carry in our worlds that have failed, our worlds that flourish.

Contemporary Impact

Two significant contemporary events bear this out. 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 upcoming 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 writers and artists in Britain have been a vital 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, figures such as Uzo Egonu, Demas Nwoko and Bruce Onobrakpeya have influenced the artistic and cultural life of these isles.

The tradition endures with artists such as El Anatsui, who has broadened the possibilities of global sculpture with his impressive works, and ceramicist Ladi Kwali, who alchemised 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 Viewpoints

Regarding Musical Innovation

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 imitating anyone, but creating a fresh approach. That is what Nigerian modernism does too: it creates something fresh out of history.

I came of age 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 deeply connected to Nigerian identity, and left a memorable effect 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, 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 influenced 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 expressed 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 ridicule the idea of Nigerian or African art. We pursued representation wherever we could.

Musical Activism

I loved encountering Fela Kuti as a teenager – the way he performed shirtless, in colorful costumes, and confronted establishment. 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 accompaniment and a rallying cry for resistance, and he taught me that Nigerians can be unapologetically vocal and creative, something that feels even more pressing for my generation.

Modern Manifestations

The artist who has inspired 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 concentration on family, domestic life and memory gave me the assurance to know that my own experiences were enough, and that I could build a career making work that is confidently personal.

I make human form works that investigate identity, memory and family, often drawing on my own Nigerian-British heritage. My practice began with looking backwards – 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 blend these experiences with my British identity, and that fusion became the vocabulary 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 substantially. Afrobeats went global around a decade ago, and the visual arts followed, with young diaspora artists finding their voices.

Cultural Heritage

Nigerians are, basically, hustlers. I think that is why the diaspora is so productive in the creative space: a natural drive, a committed attitude and a community that supports one another. Being in the UK has given more access, but our ambition is rooted 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 formative 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 create new forms of expression.

The dual nature of my heritage informs 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 connected experiences bring different concerns and interests into my poetry, which becomes a arena where these effects and viewpoints melt together.