I am good. I am wearing a lot of hats right now, but overall, I am good.

Yes, I am back in Lagos.

I am indifferent to it. I just feel like sometimes the price does not match what we are getting. I also feel like everyone is in some delusional bubble. I feel like the people who are more realistic about what Lagos is are the people who are on the mainland. As for the rest of Ikoyi, I honestly don’t know what world they live in. Why am I seeing potholes this big in Ikoyi? Why is there flooding? I just have questions. I love the vibrancy of it. I like the people that make Lagos. But I feel infrastructure-wise, it could be a lot better.

I think it really started when I took a year off from school. I was a statistics major. I was very good at math, but I knew that even if I finished that degree, I would not stay in that field. During that year off, I started painting. I would paint and post online and people kept saying, “This is so good.” Most of the validation came from friends and teachers telling me it looked good, but I was still unsure. When I returned to school, my academic advisor for statistics welcomed me back and said she noticed I added an art class. I told her I had not switched majors yet because I was still trying to explain it to my parents. She asked to see what I had made, so I showed her, and she told me I was in the wrong major. That was the push I needed. I switched to art. After that switch, my parents stopped paying my school fees. They wanted me to come back home and study nursing instead. I had to figure out how to survive and make it as an artist. That moment, with no safety net, was defining for me.

Honestly, that's what they do.

I cannot say the same for everyone. Some people go through that and they will be back doing nursing in two months. It was not easy. I had to take a lot of jobs and do many things just to make it. It made me take everything I do seriously. People ask why I am so confident. It is because I had to fight for this. I literally had to fight for this.

My success is tied to the fact that I have always been around Nigerian businesswomen. A lot of Nigerian women tend to be entrepreneurs. I did not go to business school, but I make decisions based on common sense and the energy I grew up around. I would ask myself, do they do that? Do they report their taxes? When people ask how I built my career framework, I tell them I treated it like a business. I built my art career like any regular career. I asked myself, what are the steps to move up? What are my timelines? I treat my art like a full business. I see it as a proper career that can stand next to a doctor or a lawyer. I break down the things I have to do the same way they would. Being surrounded by enterprising women, women who are sharp and serious about their work, shaped my career and who I am. There are not many female artists to look up to, especially the big ones. There is not much access to them. My saving grace was going on websites. I would look up someone like Njideka Crosby. It was not her art that pushed me, even though I love her art. It was her CV. Many artists put their CVs online, and I was able to see the timeline. She got this award at this time, she went to this school. Through her CV I saw she did a switch. In college she was pre-med before she moved to art. Seeing that switch on her resume gave me confidence. It showed me I did not have to start in art from the beginning.

Even though I am an artist, I am very technical. I come from a math background. Some artists work very sporadically. I am the opposite. I am linear and tactical. When an idea comes, I think about the color scheme first. I read a lot of color theory books, so color is very important to me. Sometimes I pick colors because I want a nostalgic feel, something that makes people think and remember a certain time. A lot of comments about my work start with how it makes you feel, and that is because I think about the colors first. Composition comes after. Sometimes when I am outside, I see someone and I like their nail design. I ask to take a picture, and I take those colors and play around with them. That is how I think. Once I have the colors I want to use, I start composing and deciding how I want the figure to sit on the canvas. Now, I do not only work on canvas. I think of how the artwork will look on a phone case, on products, on other formats. I wear many hats, so I do not waste time ideating directly on canvas. I work digitally first. I map out the painting. I get the colors right, I get the composition right. I paint faster than many people because I cut that time out. I do not ideate anywhere except digitally. Once it is set, I know my composition and everything. All I do is replicate it on the canvas. I bring it to life from that digital plan. I am very technical with how ideas move into reality.

I would say friendship. I have never been someone who selects friends based on looks or status. The people around me come from different walks of life. I will be friends with someone who is a CEO, and I will be friends with someone who is a waiter or a cashier at a grocery store. Because of that mix, I move with a community of people who believe in my vision. They are just happy to be part of the world I am building. I find it hard to ask for help. But my community shows up for me. I had a community in Maryland, then in New York, and it keeps growing. If I post that I am working on something, they reach out and ask how they can help. When I host dinners or parties in New York and I get tired and step away, I come back and the whole place is clean. When I am working on a big project and not eating, they show up with a caterer or send a cleaner to my house. They do that because they see me put everything into what I do. These are people from every part of life figuring out how to support. Sometimes I ask myself if I show up in the same capacity. I remind myself that me showing up as I am is already something, because most people are packaged. I am straightforward. So yes, my community means everything. The people who join this world I am building show up. They connect with each other. Every event leads to new friendships. People meet through my work, in different countries even. Someone sees someone else in Amsterdam wearing one of my patterns and they become friends because they think, if you like her, you must have sense. That is how it spreads. Everyone becomes a friend in some capacity. No one is above anyone. Everyone is equal here.

I do not really have financial problems because I focused on diversifying. When people ask if I ever get artist block, I say no, because I am always working in different mediums. I started doing photoshoot events where people could get professional headshots with my pattern. I did a pajama event at a big hotel. I switch into different things that expand on what I have already created. Because of that, I am always going to be financially okay. I have extended myself into many streams. Earlier on, even when I was at my lowest, the little money I made was always taken and moved into something else. The only advice I always give artists is to stay on top of your taxes and the normal things.

It was really focused on Black innovation and Black creativity in every aspect of life, especially product making by the hands of Black people. So much of what exists has been built by Black hands—Black ingenuity. Even now, if you look at modern times, we are still being ingenious. We are still being creative. Look at what is happening in the fashion industry. They keep highlighting all these Europeans, but Nigerian fashion creators are cutting the game. I do not know when it is finally going to click in everyone’s head what is happening in the Nigerian fashion industry. It took them a long time to take Nigerian music seriously, so we will give it some time before fashion gets there. Ingenuity is just innovation. Black people across the diaspora are very innovative—music, arts, fashion, sports, even everyday life. There is always someone coming up with something that makes Black life easier. That is what I was creating. I made a clock for the last day of Black History Month, and for every hour of that day, a product from a Black brand was given out.

They wanted to capture Black luxury. They used a lot of poetry-style language in the brief, but at the core, it was about Black luxury. I definitely applied myself more because my work was placed in a center box beside two other artists. I treated it like a low-key competition. I didn’t even know what the others were making, I just knew I had to give 110 percent because the art could end up being the one people saw first—and it did. It became the cover image for a lot of articles and newsletters. I only take commissions now from corporations or people who have proper art directors. I’ve learned that my issue comes when there’s no art direction. I’m not ideating with you for free—I will bill you for ideation because that takes time. Go and hire someone whose job is to take whatever vague thing is in your head and translate it into a clear brief that I, as the artist, can actually execute. The main problem with commissions is when that middle layer is missing and you end up going back and forth endlessly with the client. So now, when I do commissions, I only work with people who already have that middleman—someone who has spoken to the client, understands exactly what’s needed, and then presents it to me clearly. That’s when the job becomes easy.

Neighborhood started when I was working as a nanny. I would walk through these areas and observe what used to be there and what was left. The first painting in that series was inspired by where I stayed. They used to call it Chocolate City. It was a Black and brown community, but gentrification came in and everyone was pushed out. So I started painting those spaces the way they used to be, placing Black people back into those neighborhoods and creating scenes of Black joy. I wanted to bring back old architecture. I love old Nigerian and West African buildings, the kind of structures that had personality, before these new glass boxes started taking over. So I would paint those homes and then fill every window with life. Through each window you would see families, kids, people doing small everyday things. Whenever I posted a piece, I would ask people, “Who are you in this painting?” And people would respond: “I am the girl looking out the window trying not to mind my business.” “I am the person buying artwork downstairs.” It became a playful way to include people from the diaspora in the world I was building, especially when I layered my patterns into it.

Before, I used to paint with a lot of black. There was a period where many of us were deeply inspired by Kerry James Marshall, so we were using that very dark black for skin—painting Black figures in literal black. Eventually I shifted back into painting skin in the full range of actual Black skin tones. I still play around with flat backgrounds or patterned backgrounds, but that’s the main shift. I moved away from just using black for the skin and returned to the richness of real tones.

Apartment 26 was like stepping into one of the buildings from my Neighborhood series, but this time I focused on one story. The number 26 was intentional because that was how old I was and it felt like a defining moment in my career. Instead of a regular gallery setup with white walls, we turned the space into an actual apartment. We built doors, walls and a hallway so you had to literally enter the work. At the entrance, before stepping through the door, you saw the hallway from the flyer recreated in real life. On the left I built the exterior of the building, Washington Street, which is the street the gallery was on. So it looped reality and imagination together. Real street, fictional building, physical hallway mirroring a painted hallway. Once you opened the door, the first painting you saw was that same hallway, but this time there was a woman standing at the door. You are not sure what she is feeling. Is she arriving, hesitating, thinking of leaving? Then it invites you in. Let’s enter Apartment 26. Inside, I like to add humor, so the first room was a bathroom. You walk in and you are intruding on her privacy. She is sitting on the toilet, not using it, holding a blunt and shirtless, just trying to find peace. And you, the viewer, have just walked in on her moment. From there you move into the living space. She has just arrived, her duffel bag is there. I made actual furniture for the show and then painted those same pieces back into the artworks so the physical products and the paintings spoke to each other. There was a mirror portrait of her. When people took photos it looked like they were inside the painting with her. Someone even bought that mirror. There was also a party scene like a housewarming. Everyone gathered together inside this apartment world. The final room was the living room of the aunt, uncle and child she is staying with. I built everything. Woodwork, tiles, furniture. It was fully immersive. The point was to merge worlds. Fine art, product design, commercial objects, storytelling. People say commercial art has no place in fine art and that it is kitsch. This show was my way of proving that you can bring products, textiles, wallpaper and furniture into a fine art exhibition and have it hold the same power.

Five hundred people on opening day. It was packed. The show ran for two months and a lot of people came through. We had performers who flew in from Brazil. There were people who drove in from North Carolina, like seven hours away. Because we had a sign-in system at the entrance, we were able to track it. By the end of the two months, a little over 3,000 people had come to see the show.

I don’t even celebrate the exhibition until like three weeks later. I’m very much in the real world, so once it ends, I just go straight back into work mode. That’s actually why I planned this upcoming show so far in advance. I want to actually enjoy it this time. I’m grateful I planned ahead because Nigeria is a very unpredictable place. You can plan down to the last detail and something will still go wrong. I started working on this show two years ago. I came into the country five months before just so I could get ahead of any chaos. I told myself, let me give it ample time. So yes, I do get overwhelmed. I’ve been dealing with a lot of nonsense, a lot of noise around the show. Hate is not new to me. I’ve experienced that my whole life. I just live in my truth. I don’t package myself to please anyone. I don’t change how I speak to sound a certain way. I’m always going to be myself.

I feel like I am successful right now because I literally wake up every day excited about what I do. I love my job, I love what I do. I feel like I have already achieved success, so now it is just about making more goals. I cannot just sit still and say I am happy. That is boring. That is such a boring life. I feel like success should push you into the next thing. I am 29 now, but when I was 28 I went through a huge process of figuring out what success looked like for me. That helped me move in the right direction. If you become successful early on, it is easy to just coast. That is how people end up lost or careless, because things keep working for them and there is no challenge. I do not want that. I want to do things that align with me. Before my business blew up, I always wanted to own a coffee shop. I have never even drank coffee before, but I like that a coffee shop is a place where people gather. I want a space where there is a coffee shop and then an art studio above it. That has always been in my head. Now I am in the position to reach for those things, and that gives me a sense of drive. I would say I am successful, but the good thing is that I still have my head on my shoulders, and I am thinking of ways to make that success accessible and meaningful. Success is not just money. I never actually have a lot of money sitting somewhere. I could lose everything but as long as my hands are not cut off and nothing happens to me mentally, I can always build it again.

I think there are two types of Nigerian audiences. There are people who are actually art audiences, art enthusiasts. Those are my real customers. Those are the people I care about, people who care about the arts. Then there are Nigerians for Nigeria’s sake. Right now, my upcoming show caught the attention of the latter, and they do not understand what an art exhibition is. People don’t realize how long it took me to even secure a property in Lagos that met the standards I needed. I needed specific lighting, which I had to install myself. Why Lagos? Because I am not dependent on the Nigerian audience to make my money. That would be absurd. I am an artist, but I am also a businessperson. My international audience is watching the show, and they want the work. They want the paintings. I am not looking to make money from Nigerians. I am looking to utilize the visibility. Nigerians are loud, we are flashy, we draw attention. Even if I am giving products at a reduced price, there is profitability in visibility. Someone is going to see a Nigerian wearing that product and it ties back. That is the value. Not immediate profit, but reach. People asked me what I would do when fabric sellers steal my designs in Yaba. I said I do not care. That is still visibility. It is not the same quality because I never release high-resolution files. But if someone is wearing my pattern in Nigeria, even if I made no money from it, that is still a win. My metric here is not money, it is impact. What I keep saying is that Nigerians keep trying to tell me what to do, but they have never been to an art show. They think I am hosting a concert. People even message me asking if they can perform at my show. It is an art exhibition. It is literally art on a wall. You come in, get a drink voucher, receive a question card, and meet people. You interact. There are conversation prompts designed to make you talk to someone new. It is an art exhibition. My American audience is different. They know what an art show is. Nigeria has people who value art too, but this conversation shows how much misunderstanding is still there. And that is fine. Some people will come, be disappointed because they expected something else, or some will see it and say, I want more shows like this. They will realize there are artists already doing this, and they will support them. That is what I want. Stop telling me what to do. Support the creatives already around you. Now people are inviting me to join cultural festivals next year. I will be in London next year. I am here for this show and I am out. I am a businesswoman. I am not here to be attached. I am not giving anyone access to exploit artists. The most I will do is help plan programming, but I am not opening the door for exploitation. There is more good than bad. The negativity is irrelevant. When the show ends, I leave for London and that is it. I think it is great to move like that. People want me to apologize, to bend to them. If they take me to court, I will win. They keep trying to control the narrative, but they have no ground. It all boils down to bigotry and wanting to silence someone confident. They do not like confidence. They want dominance. It is an art exhibition. That is all it is. And it will go exactly how I want it to go.

I like a lot of fantasy books. I do not like nonfiction. I want books to take me away from where I am. I like worlds that are magical. I want to be somewhere entirely new. I do not want to be in the same world I am already living in. There was a recent one I read. I think it is called Beauty and Beast. It is a series. I am on book three. That is the kind of thing I enjoy reading. A film I always return to is actually animation based. It's called Fantastic Mr. Fox. It is stop animation. I think it's just amazing to see. They literally made every frame by hand. They took photos manually and it just flowed. It's quirky and it's something I always go back to. I think if anyone comes to the house and they are there for long, we are going to watch Fantastic Mr. Fox and you're going to see this whimsical world. So that is one movie I always watch. What else? I watch a lot of anime. I don't really watch regular TV or too many movies. I never have the time. But I do know that the one film that sticks with me is Fantastic Mr. Fox. I think it's such a cute story. And it's from Roald Dahl. I grew up reading his books a lot. And it was directed by Wes Anderson. For visual art, I like Jacob Lawrence's pieces. People always point out the comparison between his work and my neighborhood pieces because he focused a lot on everyday scenes. His work speaks to a very specific time period in America. I love how emotional and slightly wonky his compositions feel. I also really love his Funeral piece. There is another artist I like. He is South African and I feel like he is doing a variation of Jacob Lawrence too. His work is very robust. His name is Terrence Maluleke.