Establishing an art practice: Adjani Okpu Egbe on the work and journey that led to recognition
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As the UK marks 20 years of the Artist’s Resale Right (ARR), we’re speaking with artists about the ongoing life of a single artwork, how it was made, where it has travelled, and how ARR keeps that relationship alive.
This conversation with Adjani Okpu-Egbe explores the ways community, lived experience, material improvisation and research shape his approach and how ARR supports the practical aspects of making.
For someone seeing Self Portrait, Born into Patriarchy Raised by Women, how would you describe your use of materials, processes and the composition?
The materials are ones I’ve had in storage and in my studio for a very long time. I didn’t plan to make this work using them, but artists often hoard materials because they eventually come in handy.
I was looking at the role women have played, especially African women, and more specifically, women from the Southern parts of Cameroon I come from. This includes my mother, my big sisters, nieces, aunts, and my friends’ mothers. I was looking at the domestic and other income generating work they do that is hardly recognised, and how that work has contributed to giving us the discipline that made us the men we are today, and how it contributed to nation building.
The abstracted central figure could represent me, my uncle, my elder or younger brothers, my nephews or my friends. We all share similar stories. It was mostly our mothers, aunts, and sisters who intentionally ensured we would become better people. So, the abstracted central figure is a representation of all of us. I am not undermining or dismissing the important role of men, but the women were simply more reliable.
I asked myself what materials I could use to reflect this. One of the materials is traditional hand-woven raffia tote bags which are historically products of division of labour, made and sold by both men and women, predominantly from the Northwest Region of Cameroon. Most of these craftsmen and women equally made significant financial, moral, intellectual and physical contributions to the enactment of multipartyism and the democratisation process in Cameroon in the early 90s, although the men get all the credits at the end while the contribution of the women is undermined or erased.
Thinking about the labour of women, their sacrifices, industriousness and courage, I felt this was an appropriate material to use, especially because, culturally, these bags are often carried by men.
You’ll also see yellow strings in the work. To me, these represent sun rays. In my lived experience, these women were the light. Not just because they were mothers or caregivers, but because they don’t get celebrated for what they do. The first rain is symbolically celebrated and so is the rising sun, but the women who toil daily under the rain and sun, the women who do the groundwork behind most public and private ceremonies, are oftentimes relegated to invisibility, while men often get praise even when they haven’t fully earned it. The Cameroon system has improved significantly in the empowering of women through education, self-determination and employability, but more still needs to be done, especially in rural areas.
These thoughts contributed to shape the work at all stages of its progress. I also featured the book cover and an extracted page of Things Fall Apart - one of the most famous books in African literature, written by late Nigerian academic and most respected serial author, Chinua Achebe and first published by Heinemann, London, in June 1958. I read it when I was around 11 or 12, it was a compulsory study in Year 7 and it left a lasting impact on me and many other students in Cameroon and Nigeria.
Set in a dominant patriarchal society amidst the perils of colonialism, Okonkwo, an influential traditional leader of a fictional Igbo clan in Nigeria, opposed colonial rule and Christianity. In the process, he inadvertently opens a window for us to analyse the perception of women, especially through his second wife Ekwefi, his daughter Ezinma and their relationship with the widowed Priestess, Chielo: three women, each from a different generation with exceptional leadership qualities. I strongly believe that women not being encouraged, equipped and supported to fully explore their potentials and contribute to communities is a disservice to everyone.
I used the book partly for its thematic relevance and partly because I liked the colour of its back cover that fitted in perfectly with the colour composition of the work. Cantering a dominant abstracted male representation, peripheral collages of female figures in the backdrop of a story laden by the labour of women, is quite literal.
The work is meant to shed light and celebrate the role of women. It is an intentional documentation of historical inequities, a reflection of a patriarchal society grappling with change at an age where globally, through violence, legislative rollbacks and institutional restrictions, there’s a noticeable increase in pushbacks against the emancipation of women, especially in authoritarian regimes.
There’s also a collage of a smaller painting I originally intended to make as the entire artwork, but once I finished the study it didn’t fit materially. It was going to be a painting, not a mixed-media piece. So, I added it as a material because it was available, I liked the contrasting material texture yet blending colours and it also serves as an archive, something I can revisit later, irrespective of the path that the art piece would take in the future. This process compels me to maintain the artwork in my thoughts and leave open windows that are healthy for brainstorming, making it easier to use our creativity.
You’ve spoken about artists having an inherent social contract. In what ways does this work embodies that belief, and what responses do you hope it might spark?
I think it’s disingenuous for us, consciously or subconsciously, to see ourselves as gifted artists without acknowledging what informs our work, because the true gift here, is in our foundations. We didn’t come from nowhere; we come from communities bigger than ourselves and our immediate families. Directly and indirectly, these communities nurtured and inspired us, giving us the ideas we then turn into cultural value such as literature, painting, sculpture, music, film, etc. If we have platforms, it’s only right to look back to the communities that nurtured us and shine light on their issues. We should celebrate the good while also critiquing and identifying what needs improvement. This isn’t optional, it’s inherent and incumbent to us as artists, as public intellectuals, to proactively dedicate aspects of our work towards that.
Research plays a big part in your practice. How does this research, alongside lived experience, and intuition come together when you create a work?
There’s a balance. I’ve always made art, but before studying art academically, I wondered why I needed art school. I thought I could just make art for myself. I had a good academic background already, my first degree was in History and Archaeology, with emphasis on African history, world affairs, historiography, history of political thought and Egyptology, so I had strong critical thinking skills that’s indispensable for independent decision making.
Going back into education facilitated my research and gave me a community to grow within. Now I can choose when to rely on intuition and when to ground my work in academic research. When I make work about specific social issues, research helps prevent misinterpretation and strengthens the message, Born into Patriarchy, Raised by Women is a timely and befitting example.
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When did you decide you wanted to be an artist?
I’ve always made art, but not as an ‘artist.’ I was also a young footballer in Cameroon with real prospects, scouts wanted me to join the national football academy. But my father refused, which was devastating. I still remember the day Che Simon, a former Cameroonian international goalkeeper who was my under 14 coach at Green Eagles Football Club in Kumba, came to break the news to my dad. My dad was furious and aggressively scolded him: ‘Disappear from here right now, my friend.’
Because I couldn’t pursue football, I made drawings of footballers, I admired such as Roger Milla, Abega Theophie, Thomas Nkono aka the Black Spider, Maradona, Pelé, Enzo Francescoli, etc. I made hundreds of drawings. I wasn’t supposed to be drawing; I was supposed to be doing Maths. When people walked in unexpectedly, I’d scribble improvised mathematical equations over the drawings to avoid punishment. That’s why some of my earlier works have improvised mathematical equations and symbols scribbled on them.
I didn’t think of myself as an artist until about 2002, and it only became a career in 2013 after my first gallery curated solo exhibition in then Knight Webb Gallery on Atlantic Road in Brixton. Art became a refuge after I was medically discharged from the British Army due to injuries and mental health challenges that I am still dealing with to date, despite officially leaving the army in 2012. Art was and remains therapeutic.
Things changed when the BBC invited me to be part of the Queen’s Diamond Jubilee Pageant on the River Thames, and after that, my work was exposed and as such, gained a following, and attracted collectors. I never imagined becoming a professional artist, it just happened, however, I come from a creative family; my mom was a self-taught tailor who made our outfits, and my big brother was a locally renowned metal designer, welder, automobile spare parts fabricator who undertook industrial and domestic work.
I lived with him from the age of 14 until I went to university, and while at his, I used to sneak into his design book and design window protectors and gates that he would later fabricate without noticing that I did it - I cherished those moments, but unfortunately, he died without ever knowing that. I’d intended to tell him one day in person, that would never happen now and it’s a prominent regret in my story, especially as we were quite close. My big sister who now lives in Nebraska, USA is a bedsheet designer, a knitter and embroiderer who is still active.
I must add that I’d my first ever art exhibition in 2008 or 2009 in my military base at Dalton Barracks, Abingdon, Oxfordshire. It was on an ‘Open Day’ event where members of the public were invited to our military base for community bonding and to familiarise themselves with our jobs. My art was not for sale in this exhibition, but it helped raise funds for the ‘Help for Heroes’ charity through voluntary donations by members of the public including the Lord Mayor of Oxford. Long story short, it was organised by ‘Order’ from my then Commanding Officer, LT. Colonel Amison.
It had a major impact on my creative journey. I was later made an unofficial regimental photographer on tour duties. When I left the Army, my work and interview was published in ‘Soldier’, official magazine of the British Army and it was the first time I was featured in an institutional publication. My former commanding officer doesn’t know yet, how his decisions impacted me, and that needs to change soon. Gratitude is Important and I’ll need someone to help reconnect us, so that I can thank him in person. Maybe DACS has some government connections that might be helpful here?
What does it feel like to see your work move from the studio into the market and then to resell?
It still feels strange, like it chased me. I didn’t pursue being an artist; the work insisted on being made. I’m learning to accept it and now that I have an established practice, I’m focused on both what art can be and what it can do for myself and others. I dearly appreciate every opportunity and every individual and institution that has supported and continue to support my work thus far.
If I had a million pounds today for example, I wouldn’t sell my work, I’d build an institution to host them for public viewing and educational purposes, etc. I would build a school in Cameroon where children can learn freely with access to art, play and experimentation because that’s where it is needed most. It goes without saying; education is crucial, and many of the opportunities I’ve had come not just from my art but from my education. Education is an investment for life, seconded only by the virtue of kindness and the two together, unleash unlimited potentials in children and young people. Both STEM and STEAM require equal investment curriculum development.
How do royalties support your practice?
Every penny counts. I use royalties mostly for materials, which are extremely expensive. I mostly find unconventional support systems in construction sites and skips in and out of London, like door panels, discarded wooden boards, scrap metals, etc, but often they’re too heavy, bulky and thus costly to transport, so I end up buying some of the materials instead and have them delivered.
The relationship with DACS also feels caring, like someone wants me to maximise the benefit of my talent. It’s not just about money; it’s about being supported ethically, respectfully and professionally and those are values I would never equate to money, they are priceless. The visibility through attending DACS events and meeting policymakers also goes a long way in added value. Government policies are at the core of the sustainability of artists, arts and culture in general, and those who make the work cannot be rendered bystanders, they may also have policy-informing contributions to make, in ways that reflect the diversity of the rich British creative ecosystem.
If you came across this work in 10–20 years, perhaps in auction, what would you hope it says about this time? And what change would you hope to see?
I’m here and benefiting from several freedoms because many before me boldly stood up against injustice. It’s important to speak up against things that hold us back and promote what moves us forward.
Hope is essential, despair leaves us with nothing. But hope should also be a verb, something we create. The Windrush generation created hope and influenced policies that I benefit from today. Whatever path it takes, I want my work and story to create hope too.
I don’t see my work as an end in itself. I see it as something that can inspire others. Something that can spark a researcher’s hypothesis, a random person’s attention, a filmmaker’s interest, children’s curiosity, etc. With this work, I want to trigger anyone who comes across it to reflect about the important roles in society that women like my mother played, despite extremely limited resources at their disposal. The work should be seen as a something that enriches our understanding of culture beyond demographical constructs. What art can be is as crucial as what it can do.
At the G20 summit In Hamburg in 2017, the French president Emmanuel Macron controversially suggested that Africa’s developmental challenges are ‘civilisational,’ because women have too many children. There is so much that’s wrong with that statement, at the base of it are wilful ignorance, patronising colonial mentality, and misogynoir. Women aren’t struggling because they have children, they’re struggling mainly because they’re not paid equitably for their labour. Of course, more children require more resources, but the socio-psychological, economic, historical and political influences shaping behaviours cannot be oversimplified as such by a privileged powerful leader whose country has contributed to the problem and benefitted enormously from colonisation and continue to do so through neocolonialism. And for a man of his statue to do so in ways that are victim-shaming is shameful and unacceptable.
My mother worked 45 years as a labourer for the Cameroon Development Cooperation, C.D.C and was paid less than £25 a month, working long days and then farming her own land after. She and many other women contributed enormously but were exploited. Their hardship wasn’t due to motherhood, they loved being mothers. Their hardship was and is predominantly due to inequity deeply rooted in colonial and neocolonial bilateral trade agreements, monetary policies, unfair world trade exigencies and patriarchal excesses in Cameroon – a dangerous concoction shoved down the throat of women. Mothers bear the brunt.
About the artist
Born in Kumba, Cameroon in 1979 and now living and working in London, Adjani Okpu‑Egbe is a community and socio‑politically engaged artist, scholar, public intellectual and activist. His work is recognised for its layered visual language and abstracted figures, developed through a multifaceted and interdisciplinary practice.
