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Some fundamental vitality was unleashed among Nigerian creatives in the years preceding independence. The century-long rule of colonialism was approaching its conclusion and the citizens of Nigeria, with its more than three hundred tribes and lively energy, were ready for a fresh chapter in which they would shape the context of their lives.

Those who most clearly conveyed that double position, that contradiction of contemporary life and heritage, were creators in all their stripes. Creatives across the country, in constant exchange with one another, created works that evoked their cultural practices but in a current framework. 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 reinventing the dream of art in a distinctly Nigerian context.

The effect of the works created by the Zaria Art Society, the collective that congregated in Lagos and displayed all over the world, was deep. Their work helped the nation to rediscover its ancient ways, but modified to contemporary life. It was a new art, both contemplative and joyous. Often it was an art that hinted at the many aspects of Nigerian legend; often it incorporated daily realities.

Deities, traditional entities, rituals, masquerades featured centrally, alongside common subjects of rhythmic shapes, representations and landscapes, but presented in a distinctive light, with a palette that was utterly unlike anything in the Western artistic canon.

Worldwide Exchanges

It is crucial to stress that these were not artists working in seclusion. They were in touch with the movements 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 retrieval, a recovery, 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 foundational Things Fall Apart, Wole Soyinka's The Interpreters and Amos Tutuola's The Palm-Wine Drinkard are all works that depict 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 reverse is also true. We carry in our worlds that have failed, our worlds that flourish.

Modern Impact

Two significant contemporary events demonstrate this. The long-anticipated opening of the art museum in the traditional capital of Benin, MOWAA (Museum of West African Art), may be the single most important 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 upcoming exhibition at Tate Modern in London, Nigerian Modernism, which aims to spotlight Nigeria's input to the wider story of modern art and British culture. Nigerian authors 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 created Queen Elizabeth II in the 50s. For almost 100 years, individuals such as Uzo Egonu, Demas Nwoko and Bruce Onobrakpeya have influenced the visual and cultural life of these isles.

The tradition continues with artists such as El Anatsui, who has extended the potential of global sculpture with his impressive works, and ceramicist Ladi Kwali, who reimagined Nigerian craft and modern design. They have prolonged 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 Artistic Innovation

For me, Sade Adu is a prime example of the British-Nigerian creative spirit. She blended jazz, soul and pop into something that was completely unique, not imitating anyone, but creating a innovative style. That is what Nigerian modernism does too: it makes something innovative 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 powerful, uplifting and intimately tied to Nigerian identity, and left a memorable effect 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: colored glass, sculptures, monumental installations. It was a formative experience, showing me that art could tell the story of a nation.

Written 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 separated my family. My parents never spoke about it, so reading that book in 2006 was a foundational moment for me – it articulated 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 familiarity 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 Political Expression

I loved discovering Fela Kuti as a teenager – the way he performed bare-chested, in dynamic 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 combination of jazz, funk and Yoruba rhythms – became a soundtrack and a inspiration for resistance, and he taught me that Nigerians can be confidently expressive and creative, something that feels even more urgent for my generation.

Contemporary Forms

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 returning to roots. Her emphasis on family, domestic life and memory gave me the certainty to know that my own experiences were adequate, and that I could build a career making work that is unapologetically personal.

I make human form works that explore 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 translating those memories into paint. Studying British painting techniques and historic composition gave me the methods to fuse 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 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 overseas artists finding their voices.

Artistic Legacy

Nigerians are, fundamentally, driven individuals. I think that is why the diaspora is so prolific in the creative space: a inherent ambition, a committed attitude and a network that encourages one another. Being in the UK has given more access, but our aspiration is based 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 shared experiences while remaining firmly grounded in their culture. Similarly, the work of Prof Molara Ogundipe and Gabriel Okara demonstrates how experimentation within tradition can create new forms of expression.

The dual nature of my heritage influences what I find most urgent in my work, negotiating the multiple aspects of my identity. I am Nigerian, I am Black, I am British, I am a woman. These connected experiences bring different priorities and curiosities into my poetry, which becomes a realm where these impacts and perspectives melt together.