You could see the concern on their faces. My family was used to seeing artists by the roadside, trying to sell portraits of celebrities and politicians to passers-by. I had taken an interest in art, and they were afraid for my future.  “Artists find it hard to “make it” in Nigeria, you may want to consider being an architect. At least you will still get to draw if you want to.” They just wanted me to turn out fine. I fell in love with art when you could do whatever you wanted; principles, techniques, elements of art, all of that did not matter.  I was a kid. 

Fine arts class in primary school was fun and my teachers soon began to notice I had something special.  The first time it became obvious, was in primary 3. The teacher asked us to draw a restaurant setting. The closest memory to being in a restaurant was from Sundays after church.  My dad would take us to Mr. Biggs or any other eatery and we would all sit around one table. I could picture the way the chairs were arranged around the tables, how the curtains were hung, and the ambiance. In my drawing, I also had people sitting down with food on the tables. My tables didn't have weird legs, it wasn't what you would expect from a child my age. I made it as though I was also sitting at a table in the restaurant, and not drawing from a bird's eye view.

“Wow Tolu, I know I said you should draw a restaurant setting, but this is really good. You would make a very fine artist”. 

I faintly recall the teacher who made this remark, not even sure if it was a man or a woman but something stuck. 

“You would make a very fine artist”. 

That was the first time I heard the word ‘artist’, and I was like “yeah, that is what I am going to be”.

As a child, you look for models; people you want to be like. For some, that person is a family member or relative. For me, there was no artist in my family. It was strange to my family even though I grew up around creative people. 

My mother was a fashion designer and was very creative; one time she took a bunch of brooms, decorated them with beads, and sprayed and planted them in a vase. It was art to me, but to her, it was decoration for the house. I had other relatives whom I would ask to make portraits of me whenever they came to visit. I would then replicate what they had done. Their portraits weren't particularly great, none of them were artists. As far as wanting to be a visual artist was concerned, there was nobody I could look up to.

Early in secondary school, I was still towing the path of being an architect, following the advice I had received. I am not sure how the decision came about, but in my second year of senior secondary, I made it; “I am an artist and I am going to study Fine Art”.  It was one of those decisions where nothing else could change your mind after you made it. I was so sure about it and even sure that it was going to be at Yaba School of Technology (YabaTech).  My mom schooled there.  She has always supported my dreams. She knew I might need extra help if this was what I wanted to do. She got me a Fine Arts tutor, which ranks up there as one of the sweetest things she has done for me. My twin was already in Art class but she wasn't planning to be an artist. So while our mates had tutors for Mathematics and the more serious subjects, we had a Fine Arts tutor.

I remember him to this day. He called me champion, I thought that was really sweet. He was positive I would be an artist and started calling me that. Besides my mum, he probably believed in me the most. It seems like he saw where I was going even before the journey started. I wasn't sure I would make it as an artist, but he knew and made me know everytime that he was proud of me. That meant so much.

I got into YabaTech, studying Visual Art with a Graphic Design focus for my Higher National Diploma. This wasn't the plan. It didn't feel right and I knew I would not practise graphic design. Partly because it didn't feel like what I was meant to be doing and also because I don't know how to sit in one place. I spend a lot of time on my laptop (the relationship is toxic) which requires me to sit in one place but never to do graphic design. 

Art for me had to be in motion. Performance had to be a part of art. One of the ways I describe myself is as a performance artist, the other part is an art educator but more on that later.

Dr. Odun Orimolade is a fantastic performance artist and the director of the Yaba Art Museum. She was my lecturer in YabaTech and I trained under her for my artistic practice as a performance artist. One of the perks of having a relationship with Dr. Odun was being exposed to my other mentor, Jelili Atiku. If you know anything about performance art in Nigeria then Jelili Atiku would be a familiar name. He is a prominent performance artist from Nigeria. These two were very huge influences in my life as far as being a performance artist is concerned. 

It's not common to hear performance art in many Nigerian institutions simply because it is not studied. However, my lecturers like Dr. Odun had global exposure. Performance is a part of the Nigerian condition. So I think the reason many people were not aware of the field at the time was because it was a part of who we are as a people. It was already woven into our practices and culture. Think about how a Nigerian reacts to shock compared to people from everywhere else. An exclamative “Ah!” often accompanies a number of other gestures and expressions when a Nigerian expresses shock. We are constantly performing even when we don't intend to. 

Performance was always part of our culture and it took intention, for it to be recognized as an art and acknowledged. It's why I am always grateful for the likes of Dr. Odun and the others.

Like in painting, performance does a lot of things to you both internally and externally. For a performance artist, however, the process is the art, not the resulting two-dimensional or three-dimensional art piece. The process evokes a response from your audience even if you leave them with nothing physical to hold on to.

Early on, I would stand in front of my audience filled with a need to be confident to give a great performance. I soon realised that vulnerability was what I needed. My performances are often from personal experiences and a great performance for me is like sharing these experiences with total strangers while naked.

I had been on a 2-year sabbatical from performing and this was my first performance after the hiatus. I needed to wear make-up for this performance but didn't want it on my skin. The performance was themed around “inferiority complex and how skin colour made people feel superior”.

I needed to draw on personal experiences to help in getting me into the right emotion required for this performance so two events came to mind.

The first happened in a cosmetic store. I am in this cosmetic store because there was a spot I wanted gone from my face. I was not trying to bleach or be white. I just wanted the spot gone. I pick up the product that was suggested to me and it says “whitening”.  My eyes said all I needed to say. 

Being fair and white is a dream that is being sold. This has kept the Nigerian cosmetic industry booming despite our economic situation. Anyway, this made me angry and I had the perfect performance to vent through. The second is a sentence that haunted me for years.  “I hope the voice matches the face because you sound so eloquent. Let's have a physical meeting to sign the agreements”. I had been talking to a lady about a TV program I was to be featured in. We had an agreement then she made the statement. We decided to meet up to finalise. Something felt different from how we had spoken on the phone. We spoke for about two hours, for most of which she was beating about the bush. Eventually, we ended up not signing the agreement. Then I looked at my twin sister and thought “Okay, I guess the voice didn't match the face”.

I had enough emotion to put into the performance at this point. It was my opportunity to respond to the notion of beauty standards, and the idea that being fair-skinned made you superior. This performance was my response. To drive the point home, I needed a way to put a barrier between my face and the makeup I was meant to put on. Everything I could find turned into something to experiment with, but I came up with nothing. In a bid to give up and just go ahead with the makeup, I noticed the wig cap I had worn all along. I pulled it down over my face and looked in the mirror.

Stop!!!!!!! Was my reaction.

Exactly what I needed! From the outside, it was opaque but I could see everything and everyone.

You could tell people asking, why is she trying to hide her face? 

Everyone knows my face. The mask just creates a feeling; that I am depriving you of something important you think you need to see but that I think you don't need to. After that performance, the mask became a part of my performance.

“When she wears the mask, her alter ego comes out” I heard once someone say about the mask.

I am very authoritative and I get a little too serious. Once I wear the mask, if I say move, you'd better move.

My body is my canvas when performing, my medium. 

I am the brush, the paint, and the emotion I want you to feel. I'm trying to communicate with you using my body and when I channel my alter ego using the mask, I do that better.

Remember I spoke about art education, yeah that's where Polly Alakija comes in.

Diana Johnson had a weekly gathering of young people. We talked about everything from the social to the political issues in Nigeria and what we as young people can do to respond to it. This was in 2017, it was called “Get Real”. Diana was so passionate about empowering young people. She was friends with Polly, who was a painter. 

Polly needed assistants for a project she had just secured from the Lagos State Government, and she was recruiting.  

I got in. I got to work with her, alongside other young artists on the project. So anytime you pass through Falomo in Lagos and see the painted columns, think Polly, think Tolu and others. 

We enjoyed working on it and I guess she enjoyed working with us because we got to work on more projects together.

Polly started the Five Cowries Initiative, an art education initiative to enhance learning through the arts. Teach for Nigeria was still in the test phase and she secured a partnership with them. 

The first training was to be in Abeokuta and one afternoon in the studio, she looked at me and asked “Tolu, would you like to come to Abeokuta?”

I was like, “Okay!”

This okay began my journey into being an art educator.  I quickly learned that art education wasn't about turning kids into artists (even though there can't be too many artists) it is used as a means to an end. Creativity enhances learning and that is what art education was about.  In Northern Nigeria, Five Cowries developed a project called My Story of Water. 

How do you explain climate change and make it relatable to them? This was in an underserved community, where no one wanted to come to. It was the first time Polly had left us on our own to go train people.

“I have trained you guys and you have seen me do it like 32 billion times, so go do it” We were to train the educators who would be directly involved in this project. There were a lot of cultural and communication barriers; using art made it easy for us.

We made it happen and I came back home with a new name, Hammedat (laughs). I was also part of a project in Ibadan. I had to train 100 teachers by myself but got to go with an intern.  I got there and the director of the American Corner asked “Where is Polly?”  With a look of apprehension, I responded, “She is not coming”. I could see the distress on her face.

“Who is going to train the 100 teachers”

I replied, “Me”. 

They were elderly people who had been teaching for 20 to 30 years. I didn't think I was capable of doing it. I got to meet the teachers; they were doctors and professors.

I was just a little girl from YabaTech.  

I was scared. 

I wore my most serious outfit on the day of the training. I needed to look professional, older than my age. I was so tense, but when I started, I saw that it wasn't about how old I was or my academic qualifications. I knew something they didn't know, and my job at this point was to teach them. Interestingly, they were so humble and full of grace. 

“Tolu, I have never held a pencil or drawn in my life. I don't know how to do this thing”.  It was reassuring knowing I could help get them to the level required for the project.

Another important milestone in my artistic journey was going to Ekiti.

I am from Ekiti State, but this was my first time visiting. It was for an Art residency & bootcamp. They could tell. The environment could smell that their child had arrived. 

Ekiti greeted me with a glowing skin.

I had been working in art education at this time but I wasn't in touch with the core of the art scene. I wasn't going to exhibitions or meeting other contemporary artists. I didn't know what my peers were doing. They also weren't sure about what I was up to. I learned everything I needed to learn about art in Ekiti. It was a crash course. Three weeks of sleeping, breathing, and thinking only about art.

Dr Smooth Nzewi, the Curator for the painting and sculpture section of the museum of modern arts, New York was also here. He became a mentor to me.

“People need to know that you are a thinking artist” Dr Smooth said. 

“How am I going to get people to know I'm a thinking artist?”. I thought.

It was really challenging, I cried on some nights. My thoughts were not coming together, plus seeing what my peers were creating made me even more frustrated that I had nothing to show. 

“I am a performance artist, what do I do with that?”.

 This question led me to begin to think outside the box and challenge myself. 

I had a light bulb moment that brought my culture into focus; the significance of being Yoruba, being a twin, and coming from Ekiti.  Growing up in a city like Lagos and a Christian family gives you a notion that your culture and tradition are demonic. This creates a separation between you and your culture. I had seen people do diabolical things in the name of culture or tradition. It helped solidify these assertions and I didn't want to be associated with it. However, getting to Ekiti helped me dismantle all of those misconceptions and embrace my culture. It helped me study more about my tradition; I got to know the extent to which I should agree or practice and where I should put boundaries. My dad didn't even know I was in Ekiti. I just called him up one afternoon and requested the address to our hometown. He put me in contact with some uncles that I didn't know existed and they helped me get to Ijero, my home town. Getting to Ijero, I met my great-grandmother. She told me so much about my Father's mother who I never met and shared so many stories with me.

I was still thinking about the performance I needed to come up with. All these stories, the materials I collected from here, and the experience so far. It had all come together. It was the foundation for articulating my artistic practice and I got to perform in front of the governor of Ekiti State.

When you come from a background where they say “Don't study art, you will end up by the roadside”. 

You had to be different, you had to prove them wrong.

Getting to art school, I realised the industry is a closed circle. If you are not in it, it's difficult to understand how artists make it in Nigeria. My lecturers would fly out of the country for shows where they were exhibiting on the weekend and then they come back to school Monday morning like they did not go anywhere.

Empowering fellow artists in the creative space to think beyond aesthetics level, and surface functionality is my goal right now. A lot of them are already doing that, but a vast majority that graduated with me with a specialty in sculpture or painting,  now do something completely different. 

Some are fashion designers, which is not bad at all, but I think they can do more in art with their creative skills. I really want to empower the next generation of artists to be art educators. You can respond to so many things if you have a basic art education.

I don't want people who come from the background I come from or children who grew up in such environments I grew up in to be limited by the exposure of the people around them. I want to be a part of that force that changes the narrative, where anybody's child at any financial or social level can wake up and want to be an artist without the parents thinking they would suffer in the future.

I want to be a good example for people who want to be artists and fear that because they come from underprivileged backgrounds, their lives might not turn out fine.

Mine did.

I can do impactful things with my art.

And if my life is not making an impact, there is no point. 

Let's just go to bed, and wait for rapture.