dele jegede @80: The Interview (Part 2)- ‘Where are Nigeria’s visual art critics? Where are Nigeria’s art historians?
In his 60+ years of practice, the Nigerian-American painter, dele jegede, continues in the self-appointed role of visual documentarist of the global drama of the absurd. Whether he is painting an epochal moment in the Black Lives Matter protests inspired by the murder of George Floyd, cartooning the rise of Trump, or highlighting the dysfunction of the Nigerian Police with delicate lines and brush strokes, his works have a long range between chaos and order, but the choreography of colour and draughtsmanship is always deft. Weeks before he turns 80 in April, 2025, he grants us rare access to his origin story, why he does what he does, the place of family and the passion for the vocation. jegede has had a long and distinguished career as art historian, cartoonist, curator, art critic, art administrator, and teacher. In the first part of the interview, he revealed: “the day I first saw a small watercolour paint set on my way to school, my mind exploded. It was undiluted love and joy. That was the day I knew that my life would be incomplete without owning a set.”
jegede emerged in the Nigerian national consciousness with Kole the Menace, his hugely popular, weekly cartoon/comic strip, featuring the adventures of a precocious, rascally preteen, published in the Sunday Times between 1974 and 1979.
The second, concluding part of his conversation with TOYIN AKINOSHO, publisher, Bookartville.com, is published here:
For someone who is a practicing art historian, your studio practice has been quite busy. How do you (more like How did you) juggle things? Family? Passions? (art making) Work? (Art History)
The underlying explicatory factor in all of this is one word: passion. Listen, whatever your mission, if you lack the fervour—the zeal, enthusiasm, call it fanaticism—that is a sine qua non for a resounding success, your achievements will be less than sterling. Of course, talent is an important component that contributes to the attainment of one’s objectives. But talent alone is often not sufficient; it simply explains, in many instances, the ease with which relatively remarkable feats are achieved. Where the goal is to remain relevant in your field and maintain constant agency, you also must stay abreast of trends and developments in your field. This is the mantra. In my own case, I’ve had to prioritize. Before I retired, and as a professor of art and art history, I always subordinated my studio paintings to my other academic concentrations during the fall and spring semesters. Undertaking the necessary research for writing an essay, a book, or getting things in sync for attendance and presentation at conferences is much more time-consuming than painting away in the studio, with Miles Davis, Dave Brubeck, John Coltrane, or Fela in the background. Writing or preparing for classes, with all the necessary attention to details which power point presentations entail, did not lend themselves to painting except in the summer. It is an entirely different matter now that I’m enjoying a second retirement. The priority has shifted to full-scale studio practice, with writing and other scholarly commitments receiving relatively less time.
“The notion of visual artists being the least inclined to criticize the established order may be unfair as it assumes that a substantial percentage of Nigerian movies, music, or books are critical of the government…“
Prof, please forgive my ignorance. I read somewhere –and until now I’d thought I got the material from one of your texts) that Ola Oloidi, with his work on Aina Onobolu, was the first Nigerian art historian to work outside the strictures of traditional art and engage fully the works of contemporary artists. But in a Wikipedia bio of your work/life, there’s a sentence that says that your doctoral dissertation, Trends in Contemporary Nigerian Art (Indiana University, 1983), which focuses on the art of Bruce Onobrakpeya and Twins Seven Seven, “was the first ever to dwell solely on contemporary Nigerian art”. Which of the narratives is correct?
“When we started dating in 1972, she knew nothing about art other than that she marveled at my handwriting when she first saw my love letter from Zaria. But she has always been involved in my work, even at those testing periods in our marriage when her unsolicited critiques of my work tested the limits of my”
Ola Oloidi, of blessed memory, was a sound scholar and outstanding art historian and critic who exerted a profound influence not only on his students, but also on his peers. As I indicated earlier, our friendship dates to our years at the College of Technology. We reconnected again in 1976 when the Society of Nigerian Artists had its conference at the University of Nigeria, Nsukka, where Oloidi was teaching. He was a serious and dedicated scholar of the history of modern art in Nigeria and we owe so much to him for his knowledge of the history of modern Nigerian art. He utilized all the intellectual wisdom and academic resources that the late Uche Okeke afforded him as his doctoral supervisor at UNN. The nation and generations of artists and art historians are in debt to Oloidi for his pioneering work on many of the pioneers of modern art in Nigeria. His passing has denied us the benefit of his invaluable contributions to our collective history. When I was president of the Society of Nigerian Artists, Oloidi was one of my most dependable allies. He was always prompt at our meetings, and his perspectives were always lucid and forceful. As to who did what and when, that is immaterial. My 1983 dissertation focused solely on contemporary Nigerian art, while Oloidi’s was on modern Nigerian art. That’s a minor descriptive ascription that does not delimit areas that we could explore. For example, my latest book, Akinola Lasekan: Cartooning, Art, and Nationalism at the Dawn of a New Nigeria deals with a pioneer modernist and cartoonist. Conversely, Oloidi was equally comfortable writing about contemporary Nigerian artists. Indeed, his critical presentation on Uche Okeke at Rasheed Gbadamosi’s Grillo Pavilion in 2012 remains one of the most incisive eruditions on the master.
Anyone who grew up in Nigeria and engaged in appreciation of culture production at the time I did (my generation of observers), would not fail to notice that artists often talk about alienation and the loneliness that comes with artistic production. There is the sense that the artist’s family was always singularly disinterested in his passion. It was with that in mind that I read your piece on your website about a chance encounter with an art exhibition (Richard Humbleton’s The Shadowman) in London, when you and your wife were actually meant to be headed somewhere else. Is your family integrated into your art practice? Do they feel included? Do they want to? Are you comfortable with their level of involvement? Would you rather leave them out of it?
I doubt whether there is a universally embraced protocol regarding how artists should accommodate or integrate their families into their practice. There are a variety of lores or conspiracy theories concerning the relationship between specific artists and their families. These are not any different from extrapolating idiosyncratic predispositions of a handful of artists to every artist. To twist a popular metaphor, I’ll say that you should not judge an artist by his outlook. Some artists wear a beard, others don’t. Some artists are more loyal to their families than others.
In my case, my family is fully involved and invested in my work. In the fifty years that I have been married, my wife’s involvement in my art has grown. When we started dating in 1972, she knew nothing about art other than that she marveled at my handwriting when she first saw my love letter from Zaria. But she has always been involved in my work, even at those testing periods in our marriage when her unsolicited critiques of my work tested the limits of my patience as an artist working on a painting in my studio on Adepele St., Ikeja. “Can you make the figure prettier?” “Em…well, I have not finished it.” Eventually, she began to appreciate my style and understand the reasons why I don’t paint landscapes, for instance. Today, the leaf used to wrap the (locally manufactured) soap has been integrated into the body of the soap. My wife is the best critic of my work. The same goes for my children. They are my sounding board. Today in the age of technology, I constantly share work in progress with them and regularly solicit their input or unstinted opinions.
What the Richard Humbleton experience in London in 2018 demonstrates is the point that I’ve continued to canvas to young artists everywhere, including my students here: get out and feel the pulse of other artists. Do not confine your creative self to a silo. In this age of the Fourth Industrial Revolution, with the pervasive and unavoidable impact of technology, you can learn so much about the work and perspectives of other artists online. You can participate in insightful conversations through Zoom. And you can savour the exquisite collections of world-class museums from the comfort of your living room. As the Nike shoe ad used to insist, just do it!
There’s so much discussion about dele jegede being a conscious artist who doesn’t draw art for art’s sake. Critics deploy such phrases as creative activism to describe your work. But I have often heard it said that, compared with writers, filmmakers, musicians, etc., visual artists are the least inclined to criticize the established order. Why is this so? And why are you different? Why do you choose not to just draw beautiful things and leave Internally Displaced Policemen alone?
This question cracks me up. Of course, I draw beautiful things. But I cannot leave Internally Displaced Policemen alone until that generation of slovenly, crude, trigger-happy, brazenly corrupt, and ill-bred philistines are thoroughly rehabilitated or withdrawn from our streets. As creatives—in the performing, critical, contemplative, interactive, or visual arts—the sensibilities we cater to vary. In 1986, I released a manifesto alongside Paradise Battered, my solo exhibition at the National Theatre. In retrospect, that was the point of inflection in my professional career as it adumbrated the critical process guiding my creative production.
I have no control over how others perceive or categorize me or my work. It is gratifying, though, that the characterization of my work as creative activism appears to grasp some of the critical issues that have consistently animated my work. I am not advocating that all visual artists be critical of society. There is no way that one can be prescriptive about what topics artists should favour. I paint from the conviction that I do not have an excuse not to use my art as a voice against reprehensible policies and brazen abuses that the political class has normalized. By the way, such abuses are not limited to Nigeria. My recent body of work on Black Lives Matter continues to expose the social paradox inherent in a nation that advertises life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.
The notion of visual artists being the least inclined to criticize the established order may be unfair as it assumes that a substantial percentage of Nigerian movies, music, or books are critical of the government. As any discerning Nigerian would attest, this is far from the truth. I doubt whether there’s any country in the world where creatives thrive criticizing the established order. The only exception to this assumption is in the visual arts—cartooning, to be specific. And we are all witnesses to the disastrous consequences that such a practice could bring on practitioners. During the military regime in Nigeria, cartoonists had to engage in self-censorship to stay afloat. We cannot easily forget the unimaginable carnage that occurred in France in January 2015 when twelve Charlie Hebdo cartoonists were slaughtered by two Islamist gunmen because their cartoons were deemed offensive to the religious sensibilities of others. In Nigeria, there is a thriving and powerful coterie of visual artists who have continually challenged successive governments and inveighed against opaque practices, even during military regimes. The Cartoonists Association of Nigeria (CARTAN), on whose board of trustees I am privileged to serve as chair, has continually used its platform to draw attention to sundry national issues—more than any creative body can match. And there are painters too whose work occasionally attends to some of the insalubrious areas of society.
The literary scholar Biodun Jeyifo once said that there was an advantage in having Nigerian humanities scholars japa-ing to top Universities in the United States, because the exposure and access to funding, help their research into aspects of the Nigerian condition, that would otherwise not have happened if they’ve been stuck in our poorly resourced Universities. Do you agree with that from the point of view of art history?
Jeyifo’s opinion must have been borne out of his observations of the dynamics at play in both countries based on his wealth of experience in universities in Nigeria and the U.S. I will go a step further and submit that his view has a much wider applicability. However, I suspect that he may have revised his view on the japa syndrome given the fetid air that now envelopes the donor country, whose department of education has just been gutted. And we are just at the beginning of the rash of the executive disorder that has afflicted the country.
If there is anything you find most odious or egregious about the practice of art history in Nigeria. What is it? And how can it be purged?
It has been nearly two decades now since the NUC mandated that all university teachers must be armed with doctoral degrees. Many artists responded by diving for their doctorates in art history or studio art. My question is this: Where are Nigeria’s art historians? Where are Nigeria’s visual art critics? Where are the academic journals that should spur intellectual discourse regularly? Ola Oloidi founded the Art Historical Association of Nigeria. His demise should catalyze a fervid growth of art history in our universities. Given the buoyant tempo being experienced around museums and gallery business in Nigeria, the effacement of art history by art historians is disconcerting. Today, there is not a single national edifice dedicated to the visual arts. There is no gallery of modern or contemporary art to go with the status of a country whose arts and artists have earned international acclaim. This is an ideal topic that should agitate the minds of our intellectuals and art historians.
“Who was the first: You or Ola Oloidi?
My 1983 dissertation focused solely on contemporary Nigerian art, while Oloidi’s was on modern Nigerian art. That’s a minor descriptive ascription that does not delimit areas that we could explore.”
Professor Uche Okeke once said that the quality of craftsmanship in contemporary Nigerian art was declining but that the diversity of design experiments was growing. This was about 30 years ago, in the 1990s. Do you think that “senior” artists overstate the idea that basic skills of art-making are challenged?
I do not have the basis to challenge or contradict the proclamations of such a revered artist and mentor as Uche Okeke. Bear in mind, though, that today, the situation must have changed dramatically, just as has the number of departments of art and related practices. A rule of thumb is solid draftsmanship is foundational; if you lack it, you should change your major.
You’ve been 80 years on this earth sir. If there is one thing that you wished you’d done, what is it? And if there’s one thing that you’ve done that you’d rather not have done, what is it?
I would stay the course, all things being equal.
