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LOOKING BACK
LOOKING BACK
I
Exile, however sweet,
for home makes the heart yearn.
Àjò kìí dùn
kónílé gbàgbé ilé.
I colored the Yoruba proverb above for emphasis.
Why?
Because everybody living in Nigeria is a hero.
It is often akin to being a kamikaze pilot in WWII.
They just survived the #EndSars uprising.
Dear Kicking Fetus
Dear Kicking Fetus
For Saidiya Hartman***
Why kick your mother
so hard, so relentless
right in the center
of her tender navel?
Is there something
you know about life,
about the impious ways
ILẸ̀ Ọ̀GẸ́RẸ́ AFỌKỌ́ YẸRÍ
The idea of ILẸ̀ Ọ̀GẸ́RẸ́ AFỌKỌ́ YẸRÍ must be difficult for those who interpret reality from the binary western tradition of male/female, living/dead, organic/synthetic, plant/animal, tall/short, high/low, liquid/solid, left/right and right/wrong or past/present.
THE PAST, PRESENT AND FUTURE
I woke up during the night and went to the bathroom.
There was no water to wash my hands.
No hot water. No cold water.
What was going on?
I went downstairs.
No running water.
The Crossroads
I went into my garage and found a harvest of forgotten canvases waiting for me.
This corona break has given me some time to look at what I already have produced.
This is the last painting I did in 1992, just before leaving Nigeria.
You will notice that it is made from gouache.
Haven’t seen my homeland…
Haven’t seen my homeland since August 2019.
I miss the colorful attires on the streets.
I want to listen to the people speak their various languages.
To drink palm wine.
LOOKING BACK
LOOKING BACK
I
Exile, however sweet,
for home makes the heart yearn.
Àjò kìí dùn
kónílé gbàgbé ilé.
I colored the Yoruba proverb above for emphasis.
Why?
Because everybody living in Nigeria is a hero.
It is often akin to being a kamikaze pilot in WWII.
They just survived the #EndSars uprising.
Dear Kicking Fetus
Dear Kicking Fetus
For Saidiya Hartman***
Why kick your mother
so hard, so relentless
right in the center
of her tender navel?
Is there something
you know about life,
about the impious ways
ILẸ̀ Ọ̀GẸ́RẸ́ AFỌKỌ́ YẸRÍ
The idea of ILẸ̀ Ọ̀GẸ́RẸ́ AFỌKỌ́ YẸRÍ must be difficult for those who interpret reality from the binary western tradition of male/female, living/dead, organic/synthetic, plant/animal, tall/short, high/low, liquid/solid, left/right and right/wrong or past/present.
THE PAST, PRESENT AND FUTURE
I woke up during the night and went to the bathroom.
There was no water to wash my hands.
No hot water. No cold water.
What was going on?
I went downstairs.
No running water.
The Crossroads
I went into my garage and found a harvest of forgotten canvases waiting for me.
This corona break has given me some time to look at what I already have produced.
This is the last painting I did in 1992, just before leaving Nigeria.
You will notice that it is made from gouache.
Haven’t seen my homeland…
Haven’t seen my homeland since August 2019.
I miss the colorful attires on the streets.
I want to listen to the people speak their various languages.
To drink palm wine.
LOOKING BACK
LOOKING BACK
I
Exile, however sweet,
for home makes the heart yearn.
Àjò kìí dùn
kónílé gbàgbé ilé.
I colored the Yoruba proverb above for emphasis.
Why?
Because everybody living in Nigeria is a hero.
It is often akin to being a kamikaze pilot in WWII.
They just survived the #EndSars uprising.
Dear Kicking Fetus
Dear Kicking Fetus
For Saidiya Hartman***
Why kick your mother
so hard, so relentless
right in the center
of her tender navel?
Is there something
you know about life,
about the impious ways