One of the most significant and expansive exhibitions of African art in recent years, Nigerian Modernism is currently on show at Tate Modern in London until May 2026.
Spanning nine rooms and displaying almost 300 artworks from more than 50 artists over 50 years, this monumental show draws deep from global institutional archives and private collections.
“The exhibition brings together years of sustained research, acquisitions, displays, symposia and public programmes shaped in part through the Africa Acquisitions Committee,” says assistant curator Bilal Akkouche.
“It offers an opportunity to consolidate this work into a major exhibition that places Nigerian modernism in dialogue with international modernisms, rather than at their margins.”
But what does it mean for power relations in postcolonial museum practice, and for African art more generally, when the implication is that objects become (more) internationally significant when displayed from within the Empire?
To answer that question, Nigeria’s history as a British colony from 1914 to 1960 is significant. An exhibition of Nigerian art of this magnitude, in the UK’s capital, in one of its major art institutions, necessarily inhabits a contested site of neoimperialist discourse.
The exhibition deals with this self-consciously, declaring with a wall text at the start that it explores the rise of modern art in Nigeria both before and after national independence and all the complexities in between.
But Akkouche notes, “While historical context is important, the exhibition prioritises the visual, material and formal power of the works, allowing audiences to encounter Nigerian modernism first through the artist’s ambition and innovation.”
Room 1, Figuring Modernity, opens the exhibition and explores the diverse forms of figurative portraiture and sculpture associated with the emergence of modern art in Nigeria at a time when formal arts education was not in place, and Christianity upheld colonial rule. It includes works by the major national figure Chief Aina Onabolu, such as the oil on canvas Sisi Nurse (1922), a portrait of the philanthropist Charlotte Olajumoke Obasa. This room also displays Akinola Lakesan’s depictions of traditional scenes, such as the oil on canvas Yoruba Acrobatic Dance (1963).
The exhibition booklet says that Chief Onabolu was instrumental in the development of visual arts education in Nigeria. This is interesting, as I think some of his work is evocative of Paul Cézanne. Indeed, it turns out Chief Onabolu studied in Paris at Académie Julian. This got me thinking about the way that African art in turn influenced the cubism of Cézanne and Picasso.
Room 1 also has some rare photographs of the Nigerian landscape and aristocracy by Jonathan Adagogo Green, as well as some excellent sculpture by the legendary Yoruba carver Lamidi Olonade Fakeye.
Room 2, Ghosts of Tradition, is an homage to Ben Enwonwu, the first African modernist to gain international recognition and one of the most important Nigerian visual artists. He combined his training in Igbo sculpture with techniques learnt abroad, such as at the Slade School of Fine Art in London, and was adept at both sculpture and painting.
This room is either overhung or too long and narrow; I can’t decide. But there are many, many Enwonwu paintings on display. Even when referring to my notes and photos, I struggle to remember them all.
The most recognisable (and arguably, the most beautiful) are The Dancer (1962) and Black Culture (1985), also used in the exhibition’s promotional material. The Dancer is particularly culturally significant and shows the Agbogho Mmuo (Maiden Spirits) of Nigerian Masquerade — the cultural costumed ceremonies invoking ancestors and spirits.
Despite my gripes about Room 2 feeling like a corridor, the standout of the entire exhibition, in my opinion, was here. Enwonwu’s Seven Wooden Sculptures in ebony, commissioned by the Daily Mirror newspaper in 1960 for its headquarters in Holborn. At first glance these figures look like angels, but each figure actually holds an open newspaper which looks like wings. Enwonwu said about these sculptures: “I tried… to represent the wings of the Daily Mirror, flying news all over the world."
By the time I got to Room 3’s Ladi Kwali: Of Soil and Stone, showing stunning traditional clay pots and vessels, my stamina was waning. I had already seen a lot of art and was beginning to find the exhibition quite intellectually and visually demanding. Plus, my phone literally began overheating from all the photos I took. As such, the Kwali room of gentle pottery was a welcome oasis of calm. I would, however, recommend that you do ensure you are well rested and fed before taking this exhibition on, and that goes for your phone too.
OK, right, Room 4, New Art, New Nation: The Zaria Art Society… This was one of the biggest rooms of the show, so I’ll whizz through the highlights. Here, we learn more about the Zaria Art Society and start understanding how Lagos was a hub for artists from the region and everywhere. I especially loved their brightly coloured abstract and geometric paintings.
Rather memorable was the painting Nightclub in Dakar (1963) by Demas Nwoko because it made me laugh out loud. Absurdly plump women in a disco dancing with absurdly skinny men. But the most stunning piece in Room 4 was The Last Supper (1981) triptych by Bruce Onobrakpeya, beautifully displayed in the midst of the linocuts The Fourteen Stations of the Cross (1969).
Room 5 is called Eko — the precolonial name for Lagos, Nigeria’s most populated city. There are important cultural artefacts on display here, including the cultural magazine Nigeria and the literary journal Black Orpheus. This room also has Ojeikere’s Hairstyles photography series, celebrating Nigerian hair design.
Room 6, Forest of a Thousand Spirits: New Sacred Art Movement contemplates the 400-year-old Osun-Osogbo Sacred Groves, a Unesco world heritage site, dedicated to Osun, the Yoruba river goddess of prosperity and fertility, and the New Sacred Art Movement. Meanwhile, Room 7, Festival of the Gods of the Oshogbo School, looks at works celebrating the orishas and festivals in their honour and includes Asiru Olatunde’s 1965 work The Garden of Eden and Rufus Ogundele’s Sacrifice to Ogun, God of Thunder, also from 1965.
Room 8 is dedicated to the Nsukka School, which developed in the early 1970s at the University of Nigeria in Nsukka. In the aftermath of the Biafran civil war, artists integrated indigenous art forms into a socio-political modern context. Uche Okeke’s Ana Mmuo/Land of the Dead (1961) is one of the standout works in this room, alongside Obiora Udechukwu’s Refugees (1977) and El Anatsui’s Solemn Crowds at Dawn (1965).
The exhibition concludes with Room 9, Egonu: Painting in Darkness, and focuses on the work of Uzo Egonu, who lived in post-war Britain but dedicated his work to Nigerian themes of nationhood and belonging. He was deeply affected by the Biafran War.
It is ironic to me that in the current context of cultural production, arguably the most significant Nigerian exhibition yet is showing in the UK, while the new, much-hyped (and internationally funded) Museum of West African Art in Benin City remains closed after protests at its launch because local people want the museum’s Benin Bronzes returned to their oba (king), Ewaure II.
In an admittedly complex global setting, I felt that the curators did not sufficiently allow the works to breathe amid a near-forensic historiographical presentation. Their approach has inspired and divided critics and visitors alike.
I sit in both camps.
I liked the fastidiously historical approach of the show, but I didn’t love it, and I really, really wanted to love this show. That being said, it is undoubtedly one of those shows where you will learn so much and see several mind-blowing artworks. TLDR: Nigerian Modernism is a must-see, even though at times it creaks under the weight of its own ambition.
Nigerian Modernism is currently on show at Tate Modern in London until May 2026.
