Mayowa Nwadike

You describe yourself as a storyteller whose paintings are built around carefully constructed narratives layered with symbolism. How do you decide which stories are ready to move from concept into paint?

MAYOWA NWADIKE: Some ideas come from conversations I'm having with people. Some come from questions and personal thoughts weighing on my mind, while others arise from making use of the resources available to me at the time.

I have a lot of ideas at any given moment, but I need to feel fully present and able to execute them according to my vision. If I can't do that, I'd rather wait and work on something I can truly connect with and do justice to in that moment.

You work primarily with acrylic and charcoal, intentionally balancing the darkness of charcoal with the brilliance of acrylic. How does this contrast help you communicate emotional and social complexity?

MN: The interaction between both mediums reflects life and power dynamics in general. One medium can easily overpower the other, but creating a balance between them and exploring how they can coexist mirrors most social interactions.

Each medium has its own temperament. The different shades within them teach me about their emotional layers.

It's like a dance. By creating balance between them, they come together to tell a story. It reflects human nature. We have to play to our different strengths and leave room for others to play to theirs as well.

In both the Chàlé and Saraounia series, masculinity is portrayed as learned, inherited, and socially reinforced. How do you see gender roles being passed down across generations?

MN: There are different ways these ideas are formed. There's the active and the passive. Some things aren't explicitly told to you, but you observe them through how people interact and what you are exposed to. Your brain learns to think, "Oh, that's normal." On the other hand, the active comes from direct instruction. For example, being constantly told, "Boys don't cry," or "Boys must be protectors and providers." Through these two avenues, it's reinforced that you need to be mature, tough, unemotional, or whatever other gender-based expectations are imposed.

With most societal definitions for gender, there is hardly any opportunity for individual choice. These expectations are almost automatically assigned at birth, leaving little room for evolution or revision to align with our everyday needs.

You incorporate African symbols and tales to root your subjects in both place and spirituality. How do you choose which symbols carry the emotional and spiritual weight of a given work?

MN: First, I ask myself: What is the conversation I'm trying to have? What story do I want to tell?

Before I decided to become a symbolic artist, I made sure to research what it truly means to infuse symbols, both literally and figuratively, into a painting. I've seen works that rely so heavily on literal symbols that they lose their impact. Each symbol that exists today, much like words in a language, carries its own meaning. But when symbols become crowded, overused, or misplaced, they can lose their significance or communicate something entirely different from what was intended. Sometimes less is more.

Once I decide on the story I want to tell, I then research the symbols that align with that narrative.

Many people assume that using symbolism in art requires physical inscriptions of those symbols. While there is space for that in certain works, not every piece requires it. I believe subject placement, color palette, composition, positioning, and lighting all function symbolically as well.

I'm not saying it's wrong to use literal symbols in an artwork, nor am I criticizing artists who do. My earlier works included such inscriptions, so I have explored that approach myself. Over time, however, I've learned how to express symbolism in more subtle ways, while also incorporating references that resonate with the present day. The role of an artist is to reflect the times.

The theme Sacred Roots explores inherited spiritual narratives. How do African stories and symbols function as a form of ancestral memory within your paintings?

MN: Symbols are a reflection of language, and language is a reflection of history. By spending time with these symbols, I catch a glimpse of how my ancestors thought, communicated, explored their environment, and passed on knowledge through the stories they told.

Through researching African symbolism, I am, in a sense, spending time with my ancestors without them being physically present. You can't truly engage with something without being present with it and sitting with it. Over time, it gradually becomes a part of you.

It's like interacting with someone every day. You ask more questions, you observe their natural behaviors, and you learn who they are. You begin to see more of yourself in them, and more of them in you.

You've said that African symbols help bridge gaps between the "old world" and modern society. What spiritual or cultural disconnects are you most interested in addressing through your work?

MN: Across different variations of spirituality and culture, what can bring us together? What unites us?

Much of my work is about building a bridge between my experience growing up in Africa and my current lived experience as an African in the diaspora. Even when it may seem like we are detached from one another, the mother never forgets her child. We share more similarities than we often recognize, and there is so much we can exchange and learn from each other.

My work serves as a reminder that this disconnect should not exist in the first place.

This issue explores how inherited spiritual narratives can both guide and hinder contemporary life. How do you see traditional gender expectations functioning in this dual way within African cultures?

MN: I've seen many people turn a blind eye to the ever-evolving concept of gender and remove themselves from the responsibility of facilitating these conversations. It can feel easier to dismiss it as a foreign or Western concept, but the truth is that it isn't. And just because something is generally accepted as the norm does not make it right.

While traditional gender roles may offer a linear way for some to create "structure," gender and identity are not linear concepts. Imposing rigid roles on everyone in a constantly evolving world simply does not work. African societies need to create more space for people to explore the identities they wish to inhabit. Doing so will strengthen our sense of community. It may not be what we have always known or felt comfortable with, but it offers an opportunity to learn, grow, and create a more inclusive society.

Many of your works suggest an inner emotional life shaped by forces larger than the individual. How do spirituality and symbolism help you express what cannot be spoken directly?

MN: When logic fails us, we often turn to faith and spirituality to find answers. Even when those answers don't fully make sense, we accept them without question.

This is how it plays out in my work. When I don't have the answers, that's what I lean on.

You've described art as a tool for social transformation and narrative shifting. What responsibilities do you believe artists hold when addressing deeply ingrained cultural systems?

MN: Speak the truth and be honest, to the best of your abilities. That is the only responsibility an artist has. We aren't politicians, historians, or salespeople. Do your research, take your time, bring your unique perspective, and don't give people half-baked ideas.

Looking ahead, as you continue to explore African stories, spirituality, and gender, what questions feel most urgent for you to address in your future work?

MN: It's hard for me to say because it's constantly evolving. The ideas of gender over the last ten years won't be the same in the next ten years, just as they aren't the same as they were in the 1990s or 2000s.

The questions will continue to evolve as the times evolve. But whatever those questions may be, I will earnestly and honestly seek the answers. Stick around and find out.