Ayobola Kekere-Ekun

"There are few things as glaring as dishonest work. If you don’t value your point of view, no one else will. There’s something very humbling or rewarding in people whom I’ve never met, finding a connection with what I have to say."

"I feel like men take up enough space in the world, she explained. I don’t feel like they need to take up enough space in my head as well."

"You can tell a lot from a person’s eyes. The eyes offer a mutual vulnerability."

"I had just found a way to paint without painting."

"So I went right back out, and I bought a bunch of paper. Then I cut them up and I just kept rolling them and gluing them to a board just to see what happened. It became a really intense, passionate affair that just morphed into something loving and stable."

"The work can be difficult to define – is it a craft or an art? It’s something a suburban mum in Arkansas would use to make cards."

"But I don’t treat it like a craft. I treat it no differently than if I was sculpting or making an installation. It’s just another way to tell the story."

"Creating an artwork this way can take her anywhere from two weeks to seven months, depending on the size and scope of the piece. The process usually starts with a sketch, before eventually becoming a “skeleton” of its future incarnation."

"I find a good way to describe it is that I’m building a jigsaw puzzle, but I can see where it ends, I just call it lines on steroids."

"I think I was drowning because I’ve spent my entire life internalizing everything that has ever happened to me."

"I think therapy 100% saved my life."

"There used to be this very stereotypical perception of what Nigerian arts could look like. If it was more abstract, they would be some masks. If it was more figurative, there would be a market scene, or a lady fetching water. Now, there’s a lot more nuance."

"All artists should stay true to themselves."

"There are few things as glaring as dishonest work. If you don’t value your point of view, no one else will."

"There’s something very humbling or rewarding in people whom I’ve never met, finding a connection with what I have to say."

"Yes! It’s so much better being able to actually speak to another person. I guess I could have answered your questions via email, but I think school has kind of fucked writing up for me a little bit. The process of writing my thesis has soured a lot of things for me. So like, writing doesn't feel as pleasurable anymore, because my brain always processes it as a work activity now. Even when it's not work."

"I find myself gravitating towards what I call ‘bubble-gum books’. Nothing heavy, nothing super intellectual. Nothing that won a prize, or was, you know, shortlisted for some prestigious award. I want like the smarmy historical romances."

"You have to wrench that power back! Otherwise it’ll ruin reading for you. So I've read everything Susan Elizabeth Phillips has written. Julia Quinn. Julia London. Almost all the Julias really. They tend to have nice books. Courtney Milan, Gaelen Foley, Jennifer Ashley. The list is long. There's so many of them. And then I tend to fall down rabbit holes because they’re usually a series of books. So I’ll read one book, wonder what happened to a particular character, and then find out they have their own book and immediately start reading that. It’s the best thing, really."

"My PHD is art and design. Academically, I’m more of a graphic designer. My research is exploring place branding, in Lagos. So I'm basically exploring how the state government in like the last decade has co-opted certain architectural and cultural monuments as signifiers for the state. But I'm arguing that they carry unexamined histories that kind of complicate their use. You know, it's as if you are trying to position yourself as a super modern, inclusive type state, but you're using a symbol that is actually really classist and patriarchal and really quite problematic. There's just this ironic tension in there. And that's sort of what my research is examining."

"I like what you've done. And for someone so young, you've done some really interesting things. I think you have a really bright future. Success like friends. Why wouldn't I want to get on that train?!"

"I think of my career as an open world video game with a hint of chess. If you were to strip it down to its absolute core, it really is a series of validations. The quality and nature of validation you want/need depends on what arena of the art world you're interested in playing in. But it's the kind of space where you just need a few yeses. Just a couple of yeses. The hard part is getting them in the first place. When you have the right yeses, you'll be fine. It's like needing someone to jumpstart your car."

"I think we do live in a fucked-up world, but it can also be a pretty cool world. I think we also underestimate people's capacity to be kind and generous, sometimes. And then also, don't underestimate the value that you bring as well to the table."

"Like, it’s not an easy career. I could have been an accountant. It would have sucked and I’d be bored and miserable! It would probably be easier. But here I am."

"Yes… I mean, the first piece I made was for my first degree. We didn't have like a final exhibition. Not in the traditional sense where everyone had their own individual exhibitions. We had a group exhibition where you had to contribute. The piece you put in was supposed to be the accumulation of the four years you had spent doing the degree, which now I think about it, that’s a lot of pressure!"

"So I had actually started making a piece. I was making this giant 50-year calendar thingie, but I was struggling with the technical realities of making it happen. I realised I needed to switch gears or I was going to fail the term. Anyway. So, one day, some dude gave me a flyer when I was walking back to my flat, and I had rolled it up into like a coil. And when I dropped it, it landed on its edge. You know in the movies when time kind of stops. And you can see something for more than what it is. I just remember thinking. If there was lots of this, on like a surface and secured, I wonder what it would look like."

"And so I started experimenting. I didn't know what I was doing with that first piece, I just knew it was gonna go really well or really badly. And so I started it in school, then we went on holiday and got kicked out of student housing. I had to go home and take the piece home because I wasn't done with it. And my parents were just obsessed! I would like walk into my little makeshift studio in some corner of the living room, and my dad would be there or my mum would be there just looking at it. You know? And the question was always the same. How? How did you start? How did you know?"

"The highest praise my Mum’s ever giving anything is “this is nice”. But she was just so taken by this new work! And I think I think that was what signalled to me that maybe this really was something special. I knew I had found something very interesting that I enjoyed and I was curious about but I think the reaction my parents had made it externally real, you know, as opposed to just internally."

"Before that my work was purely design. It was purely, you know, marketing and advertising 100%. Being a studio artist was never something that had been on my radar. My plan had been to finish school, start working in an ad agency, take over the world. But everything completely shifted when I finished the first piece."

"I don't know what would have happened if I had never gotten that flyer. I don't know what would have happened if I had folded instead of rolling it. You know, it was a really, really really random discovery!"

"I do not. She legally belonged to the school, because she was an exam piece. So technically, she wasn't mine. So I never got to actually keep her."

"Maximalist. Playful. The other one that's coming to me is deceptive, but I don't want to say deceptive. It's apt but the connotations aren't quite appropriate. Because my work is like a bait and switch, it really kind of tricks you. I'm gonna say layered instead. Final answer, layered."

"My day starts with me my calendar, my to do list, and my emails, always. They’re so essential to me because I forget things. It's the only way to keep track of my life as a whole. So the calendar helps me figure out if I have any specific appointments or commitments that I need to get on. If I have any deadlines coming up, that I need to keep an eye on, meetings… Stuff like that. To Do List, it's like the more nitty gritty stuff like… oh I'm out of a blue in particular or there's a sale at my favourite shop I need to check out today. You know stuff like that. And then my emails. I have a love hate relationship with my emails!"

"I started actually taking pictures on my work because I was frustrated with how other people took pictures of my work. I used to hire photographers to document my work, but they weren't seeing it the way I saw it. It was the most frustrating thing and I said, you know what, to hell with this, and I bought a camera. I read the manual. I learned how to use it. And then I started taking my own pictures. But even then, it's frustrating. It's impossible to like fully translated what the work is really like in person to images, but I try. I really try. It's just trying to like just to convey a sense of that three dimensionality and how there's just so much more going on. Everything changes when you adjust your perspective just a little."

"I think the worst thing I learned how to do is how to snooze my emails because I do it way too often. But whenever I haven't gotten an email in like two hours, I'll send an email to myself to make sure it works!"

"Oh I know! If it’s gonna be like an admin day then I'm updating my mailing list, updating my archive, working on proposals, searching for new opportunities, updating my artist statement, figuring out if I'm ready to tweak my website again, doing my books… all the things that come up basically running a business really."

"I did not! When I watch stuff, I'm so not a critic. Like for me to say a movie is bad, it was horrendously bad. I don't watch movies tv to critique them to death. I just I want to be somewhere else. I'm not looking for like, plot holes or implausible things. I actively shut down my brain from looking for twists and stuff. I rarely see what's coming. And I love it that way."

"In the evenings, I tend to read. I enjoy doing random research, like really random research. The last thing I searched last night was if you could take your multivitamins at night! I take walks. I walk every evening. And my new life's mission is to befriend all my neighbours’ cat. It's going pretty well. I have four favourites so far and I’ve named them all, Louise, Toothless, Void and Chonky. I also watch movies, series, you know, normal deactivate your brain type stuff."

"When I was younger, my dream was always to live a life where I would wake up, and do whatever I wanted. And for the most part, I'm already living that life. I think that's a big part of what keeps my life going. It's a big part of what drives my practice. I'm doing exactly what I wanted to do, how I want to do it. I'm saying exactly what I want to say how I want to say it without compromising my vision or intention. It's something to be grateful for. I would say that freedom, that sense of freedom, is my fuel. Freedom to explore the world on my own terms."

"It’s a weird one. It's work, but it's not. I really had to separate parts of myself to deal with different parts of my practice. Because while my work is quite literally my life, and whether or not that is healthy, that's a different conversation entirely. I suppose, if a lawyer told me their work was their life, I feel sorry for them. So whether or not that's healthy is a different conversation. But my work is my life. Every decision I have made in my personal life, since 2014, has been in service of the practice. I've had to learn to separate a side of myself that understands it's not just an expression of my being, it is quite literally my career. It's my job."

"So I think the issue starts to come up when you’re not honest with yourself about those distinctions and how you are willing to engage with them. What your limitations are, as well. And you know, how you can correct for them. It's a weird business. It's a weird business, but even at my most bogged down, miserable, you know, even when I'm stretched thin, and I've scheduled one too many things, I have one too many deadlines. I can't, I cannot literally think of anything else I'd rather be doing. Like I literally cannot picture myself doing anything. What on earth would I be doing?"

"Yes. Your degrees are printed on it. Money is printed on it. It’s what you’d distract a toddler with or wedge a table with. You know, it's so universal it’s a great Trojan horse quite frankly. Because everyone is familiar with it in some form, or the other. But it's boring and universal enough that you never actually give it a second thought."

"What unifies them? I think it's subverting expectation, you know, it's that bait and switch, The physicality, the visual nature or visual identity of my work. It's like a bit of a trick. Because you see the work in one way; they are pretty bright, colourful, it's just a pretty picture. It's just something fun to look at. And the more you engage with it. That is when you start to realise I'm not necessarily saying anything happy, or pleasant, or fun, you know."

"There's also the use of material, which confuses people at first. What on earth is it? Because you're not quite sure what you're looking at, and that curiosity compels you to dig a little deeper, and just try to make sense of what you're seeing. It forces you to reconsider what you think you know, about the material, because, I mean, it's just, it's like the blandest materials, you know. It's just there, you know. You don't really think about it, and you don't really think about what it could do. And so when you see it used in such an unusual way, it does kind of trigger reconsiderations of what you think you know, and how you think you know, it. This feeds into everything."

"It's a bait and switch. Yes. I think it's a bit like going to therapy. And when you have your aha moments, it’s followed by Oh my God! What else? What else have I been missing? It’s kind of like that. I think from time to time, everyone should be encouraged to reconsider what they think they know. We are trained, especially in the world we live in now, we are trained to come to swift conclusions without being very critical of how we got there."

"The process tends to be pretty similar. For different pieces, it starts with like resolving the idea, and how the idea kind of translates to a physical piece. Sometimes I sketch. I find myself sketching more often these days. Sometimes you just need help figuring out how the forms will interrupt space. But I don't start to anything until the piece is clear. It has to be as clear as possible. I would say, like maybe 70 80%, clear, the remaining 20% tends to resolve itself. It's like I'm building a jigsaw puzzle, where I'm the only one who can see the end image, and then I have to translate it for everyone else. There's not a lot of room for error, so I need to know exactly where I'm going. Otherwise, I can't take anyone else with me."

"Sometimes I think about pieces for months or years before I actually do anything about them. But once the idea is resolved, then I get to my favourite part, which is the planning. And that's basically where I decide everything about the physicality of the work. Colours, what papers to use, grammage fabrics, texture, what details need to come in, what tools, what materials. And then I start building what I call the skeleton, which is the initial outline. The first layer of colours, outlines for figures, that sort of thing. And if I am not excited about the skeleton, I don't continue. It's not gonna go well. Fortunately, that doesn't happen very often, because it's kind of sad when it does. But I've also learned the hard way there's no point forcing the work. It’s a waste of time, and it does a disservice to me and the work really. It's unkind to try to force something to be."

"There is. There's always a chance I might never see them again. And I do have quite a few pieces that I haven’t seen since they left. And I do think about them, like are they happy?"

"I don't revisit it. Not with the original intention anyway. If I go back to it, it's because it's moved to like the experimentation corner of my studio and I test things out on it. But I don't revisit it with the original intention of making that piece. It's either it just wasn't ready to be or just didn't want to exist in that form. Yeah. So yeah, when the skeleton is done, and I'm happy with it, I move on to what I call the meditative bit, which is basically just finishing the work. It's like the difference between like, a new relationship and marrying someone. At that point, I know you. I know your dodgy habits. I can predict what you would do if a squirrel wandered into the bathroom. You know, I know you. It's that process of just existing together and finishing the piece. I love you, but there are little to no surprises left at that point. So it's a different kind of love. It's like more steady and tolerant. It sounds really weird. Like I'm talking about a person, but it really is what it feels like."

"I dream about them. And I just wonder if they're fine. And if they're happy and well. There's always a sadness when you let work go. But it's something I also had to make peace with early on, because I knew I wanted to have certain conversations with my work. It's counterproductive to only talk to yourself about certain things, the conversation has to go beyond me. You can't engage people if you're not going to talk to them. You have to let the work go because, at some point, it's kind of cruel. When the work is done, they become beings in their own right. And I don't think I would want to be trapped with my maker for my entire life."

"Also, I mean, at the risk of psychoanalysing that's also a way to protect yourself, and your ability to make more work. At the risk of sounding cliché, there’s a price to pay for creating. It is a give and take, but I think its human nature and dwell on what you've lost. But I do think the work definitely gives back to you, at least it does to me."