Foluso
Akodi Orisa resident artist, Foluso.
painting, architecture, textiles, terracotta, performance.
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A great one has departed.
The greatest custodian of Ifa, the Araba of Ile Ife, Araba Adisa Mokorowale with Moyo Okediji July 26, 2017.
Another painting that I just extracted from my garage is this dark work.
Another painting that I just extracted from my garage is this dark work.
There is an interesting story behind it.
In the year 2000 or 2001, the British Museum invited me to give a lecture as part of the ceremonies held in commemoration of the 50th anniversary of the coronation of Queen Elizabeth II, and also to mark the completion of the Great Court built as an extension of the main museum building. They wanted me to address the body as my topic.
EYE WITNESS ACCOUNT
Eye witness account, we looked at this work in class today.It is part of much larger door panel carved by a Yoruba sculptor called Dada Arowoogun.He is one of those we refer to as a “traditional” African artist.
ENGLISHMAN IN BENIN CITY, 1981 (Part Seventeen)
I was already tipsy when Gina screamed.
But the performance on the stage continued as if nothing was happening. Obaseki got up and went into the ushers’ chamber. I tried really hard to see what was happening at the other end of the arena, to get an idea of what was happening to Gina. I really couldn’t see her. But because Joshua, who was assaulting Gina, was wearing a white suit, he was relatively visible, next to Gina, who, going by what she wore during the day, was in a red gown. But it appeared that Gina was already on the floor, and Joshua was kicking her, as she continued to scream while it seemed he continued to hit her.
HAPPY THANKSGIVING
Is it merely a coincidence that the news of the abduction and assassination by suspected Fulani invaders of Oba Israel Adeusi, the Olufon of Ifon, happened the very same day that the United States is celebrating the annual Thanksgiving event?
There is no coincidence in history.
Nature times things with organic orchestration.
ÌWÀ
ÌWÀ
“Olódùmarè has several wives,” my father said. “Do you know that?”
We were strolling back home from his writing workshop that evening, and I was seventeen. I always accompanied him to his writing workshops where he taught playwriting