Everyone has a swim story. Yet too often, those told by Black protagonists end in tragedy. Without requisite access and teachers, many simply never learned. And when tested, the only outcome was to pass or fail, swim or sink.
Over the past decade, my artistic practice has sought to excavate a different kind of swim story. Triumphant stories of swimmers and lifeguards from Accra, Abuja, Lagos, Dakar, Philadelphia, and Harlem. Stories that transcend survival—stories of community, learning, teaching, togetherness, and play. In capturing representative group and individual portraits, my paintings have transitioned from abstraction to realism, spilled into poems and performances, and been experienced through documentary film and immersive installations. Each perspective adds a layer to the evolving narrative.
I call myself a multidisciplinary artist, though I have a particular penchant for drawing, colorfully. Often, I find myself on the floor, ink pen pressed to paper, journaling my thoughts visually. When I torch sections of my canvas with fire, I reflect on childhood memories in post-genocide Rwanda and marvel at how much Rwanda’s story has transformed in my lifetime. In the portraits of my muses, I project my own histories, hopes, and reminders. Much of my practice revolves around what Chinese artist and activist Ai Weiwei refers to as “patriotic worrying,” particularly about Nigeria. In Synchronized Swimmers, the aesthetics of orientation and alignment—or their absence—echo the musings of my mind. I think of Chinua Achebe’s "falling apart" of structures. The tension between order and entropy, the past and future of a nation. As Nigeria reclaims its post-colonial, post-war narrative, I wonder: do we return to ancestral culture, or do we borrow wisdom from other nations?
When I began my art career over a decade ago, I investigated the structure of Nigeria’s educational system through art, with the belief that to do things differently, we must first see them differently. On a personal level, my works often revisit my own educational journey—examining whether I am creating the change I wish to see in myself and in my broader community of artists, citizens, and diasporic family. Using swimming as a metaphor for education and personal growth as a pillar for community building, my works continue to ask: what would it take for us all to swim, to win?
More recently, my work has evolved to explore the broader interplay between identity, resilience, and collective healing. Building on themes of education and community, I now delve into how historical narratives, cultural memory, and personal histories shape our capacity for collaboration and progress. This evolution reflects my deepening interest in fostering dialogue and connection—locally and globally—through both individual and collective stories of triumph.
Modupeola, 2025
