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The Rite of Severing, 2026
Ink, acrylic, oil pastels, screeded linen cut outs on canvas
3 x 4ft

_____________

In these works, figures move through a world in quiet transformation, each figure carrying her own rhythm of sowing, protecting, risking, and harvesting.
The greens around them are the pulse of change itself, at once tender and relentless.
The scenes echo stories told by ancestors, where the passage from one season to the next is both a trial and a promise.

There is no certainty in the turning of days, yet the act of tending, venturing and of trusting the unseen, carries its own reward. These beings inhabit that threshold, negotiating the tension between fear and growth also between restraint and joy.

This collection focuses more on journey than arrival: the almost invisible labor of becoming, the quiet courage in choices that shift a life’s course and the moments when change ripens into beauty.
There is also a quiet pull towards folklore as an underlying intention where transformation is often tied to simple, repeated acts. In this context, happiness is not an outcome, and so the story is not of arrival but of passage, something that appears within the cycle itself.
A kind of happiness lives there.

I’ve been thinking about how stories are carried, lost, and reshaped over time, and how I might contribute to that continuity. These pieces feel like small offerings toward creating new visual languages that still echo something inherited that can be received and reinterpreted by a newer generation.
_________________

#ayanfeolarinde #collageart #contemporaryart #scribble #jagaism

The Rite of Severing, 2026
Ink, acrylic, oil pastels, screeded linen cut outs on canvas
3 x 4ft

_____________

In these works, figures move through a world in quiet transformation, each figure carrying her own rhythm of sowing, protecting, risking, and harvesting.
The greens around them are the pulse of change itself, at once tender and relentless.
The scenes echo stories told by ancestors, where the passage from one season to the next is both a trial and a promise.

There is no certainty in the turning of days, yet the act of tending, venturing and of trusting the unseen, carries its own reward. These beings inhabit that threshold, negotiating the tension between fear and growth also between restraint and joy.

This collection focuses more on journey than arrival: the almost invisible labor of becoming, the quiet courage in choices that shift a life’s course and the moments when change ripens into beauty.
There is also a quiet pull towards folklore as an underlying intention where transformation is often tied to simple, repeated acts. In this context, happiness is not an outcome, and so the story is not of arrival but of passage, something that appears within the cycle itself.
A kind of happiness lives there.

I’ve been thinking about how stories are carried, lost, and reshaped over time, and how I might contribute to that continuity. These pieces feel like small offerings toward creating new visual languages that still echo something inherited that can be received and reinterpreted by a newer generation.
_________________

#ayanfeolarinde #collageart #contemporaryart #scribble #jagaism

The Rite of Severing, 2026
Ink, acrylic, oil pastels, screeded linen cut outs on canvas
3 x 4ft

_____________

In these works, figures move through a world in quiet transformation, each figure carrying her own rhythm of sowing, protecting, risking, and harvesting.
The greens around them are the pulse of change itself, at once tender and relentless.
The scenes echo stories told by ancestors, where the passage from one season to the next is both a trial and a promise.

There is no certainty in the turning of days, yet the act of tending, venturing and of trusting the unseen, carries its own reward. These beings inhabit that threshold, negotiating the tension between fear and growth also between restraint and joy.

This collection focuses more on journey than arrival: the almost invisible labor of becoming, the quiet courage in choices that shift a life’s course and the moments when change ripens into beauty.
There is also a quiet pull towards folklore as an underlying intention where transformation is often tied to simple, repeated acts. In this context, happiness is not an outcome, and so the story is not of arrival but of passage, something that appears within the cycle itself.
A kind of happiness lives there.

I’ve been thinking about how stories are carried, lost, and reshaped over time, and how I might contribute to that continuity. These pieces feel like small offerings toward creating new visual languages that still echo something inherited that can be received and reinterpreted by a newer generation.
_________________

#ayanfeolarinde #collageart #contemporaryart #scribble #jagaism

The Rite of Severing, 2026
Ink, acrylic, oil pastels, screeded linen cut outs on canvas
3 x 4ft

_____________

In these works, figures move through a world in quiet transformation, each figure carrying her own rhythm of sowing, protecting, risking, and harvesting.
The greens around them are the pulse of change itself, at once tender and relentless.
The scenes echo stories told by ancestors, where the passage from one season to the next is both a trial and a promise.

There is no certainty in the turning of days, yet the act of tending, venturing and of trusting the unseen, carries its own reward. These beings inhabit that threshold, negotiating the tension between fear and growth also between restraint and joy.

This collection focuses more on journey than arrival: the almost invisible labor of becoming, the quiet courage in choices that shift a life’s course and the moments when change ripens into beauty.
There is also a quiet pull towards folklore as an underlying intention where transformation is often tied to simple, repeated acts. In this context, happiness is not an outcome, and so the story is not of arrival but of passage, something that appears within the cycle itself.
A kind of happiness lives there.

I’ve been thinking about how stories are carried, lost, and reshaped over time, and how I might contribute to that continuity. These pieces feel like small offerings toward creating new visual languages that still echo something inherited that can be received and reinterpreted by a newer generation.
_________________

#ayanfeolarinde #collageart #contemporaryart #scribble #jagaism

The Rite of Severing, 2026
Ink, acrylic, oil pastels, screeded linen cut outs on canvas
3 x 4ft

_____________

In these works, figures move through a world in quiet transformation, each figure carrying her own rhythm of sowing, protecting, risking, and harvesting.
The greens around them are the pulse of change itself, at once tender and relentless.
The scenes echo stories told by ancestors, where the passage from one season to the next is both a trial and a promise.

There is no certainty in the turning of days, yet the act of tending, venturing and of trusting the unseen, carries its own reward. These beings inhabit that threshold, negotiating the tension between fear and growth also between restraint and joy.

This collection focuses more on journey than arrival: the almost invisible labor of becoming, the quiet courage in choices that shift a life’s course and the moments when change ripens into beauty.
There is also a quiet pull towards folklore as an underlying intention where transformation is often tied to simple, repeated acts. In this context, happiness is not an outcome, and so the story is not of arrival but of passage, something that appears within the cycle itself.
A kind of happiness lives there.

I’ve been thinking about how stories are carried, lost, and reshaped over time, and how I might contribute to that continuity. These pieces feel like small offerings toward creating new visual languages that still echo something inherited that can be received and reinterpreted by a newer generation.
_________________

#ayanfeolarinde #collageart #contemporaryart #scribble #jagaism

The Rite of Severing, 2026
Ink, acrylic, oil pastels, screeded linen cut outs on canvas
3 x 4ft

_____________

In these works, figures move through a world in quiet transformation, each figure carrying her own rhythm of sowing, protecting, risking, and harvesting.
The greens around them are the pulse of change itself, at once tender and relentless.
The scenes echo stories told by ancestors, where the passage from one season to the next is both a trial and a promise.

There is no certainty in the turning of days, yet the act of tending, venturing and of trusting the unseen, carries its own reward. These beings inhabit that threshold, negotiating the tension between fear and growth also between restraint and joy.

This collection focuses more on journey than arrival: the almost invisible labor of becoming, the quiet courage in choices that shift a life’s course and the moments when change ripens into beauty.
There is also a quiet pull towards folklore as an underlying intention where transformation is often tied to simple, repeated acts. In this context, happiness is not an outcome, and so the story is not of arrival but of passage, something that appears within the cycle itself.
A kind of happiness lives there.

I’ve been thinking about how stories are carried, lost, and reshaped over time, and how I might contribute to that continuity. These pieces feel like small offerings toward creating new visual languages that still echo something inherited that can be received and reinterpreted by a newer generation.
_________________

#ayanfeolarinde #collageart #contemporaryart #scribble #jagaism

The Rite of Severing, 2026
Ink, acrylic, oil pastels, screeded linen cut outs on canvas
3 x 4ft

_____________

In these works, figures move through a world in quiet transformation, each figure carrying her own rhythm of sowing, protecting, risking, and harvesting.
The greens around them are the pulse of change itself, at once tender and relentless.
The scenes echo stories told by ancestors, where the passage from one season to the next is both a trial and a promise.

There is no certainty in the turning of days, yet the act of tending, venturing and of trusting the unseen, carries its own reward. These beings inhabit that threshold, negotiating the tension between fear and growth also between restraint and joy.

This collection focuses more on journey than arrival: the almost invisible labor of becoming, the quiet courage in choices that shift a life’s course and the moments when change ripens into beauty.
There is also a quiet pull towards folklore as an underlying intention where transformation is often tied to simple, repeated acts. In this context, happiness is not an outcome, and so the story is not of arrival but of passage, something that appears within the cycle itself.
A kind of happiness lives there.

I’ve been thinking about how stories are carried, lost, and reshaped over time, and how I might contribute to that continuity. These pieces feel like small offerings toward creating new visual languages that still echo something inherited that can be received and reinterpreted by a newer generation.
_________________

#ayanfeolarinde #collageart #contemporaryart #scribble #jagaism

The Rite of Severing, 2026
Ink, acrylic, oil pastels, screeded linen cut outs on canvas
3 x 4ft

_____________

In these works, figures move through a world in quiet transformation, each figure carrying her own rhythm of sowing, protecting, risking, and harvesting.
The greens around them are the pulse of change itself, at once tender and relentless.
The scenes echo stories told by ancestors, where the passage from one season to the next is both a trial and a promise.

There is no certainty in the turning of days, yet the act of tending, venturing and of trusting the unseen, carries its own reward. These beings inhabit that threshold, negotiating the tension between fear and growth also between restraint and joy.

This collection focuses more on journey than arrival: the almost invisible labor of becoming, the quiet courage in choices that shift a life’s course and the moments when change ripens into beauty.
There is also a quiet pull towards folklore as an underlying intention where transformation is often tied to simple, repeated acts. In this context, happiness is not an outcome, and so the story is not of arrival but of passage, something that appears within the cycle itself.
A kind of happiness lives there.

I’ve been thinking about how stories are carried, lost, and reshaped over time, and how I might contribute to that continuity. These pieces feel like small offerings toward creating new visual languages that still echo something inherited that can be received and reinterpreted by a newer generation.
_________________

#ayanfeolarinde #collageart #contemporaryart #scribble #jagaism

The Rite of Severing, 2026
Ink, acrylic, oil pastels, screeded linen cut outs on canvas
3 x 4ft

_____________

In these works, figures move through a world in quiet transformation, each figure carrying her own rhythm of sowing, protecting, risking, and harvesting.
The greens around them are the pulse of change itself, at once tender and relentless.
The scenes echo stories told by ancestors, where the passage from one season to the next is both a trial and a promise.

There is no certainty in the turning of days, yet the act of tending, venturing and of trusting the unseen, carries its own reward. These beings inhabit that threshold, negotiating the tension between fear and growth also between restraint and joy.

This collection focuses more on journey than arrival: the almost invisible labor of becoming, the quiet courage in choices that shift a life’s course and the moments when change ripens into beauty.
There is also a quiet pull towards folklore as an underlying intention where transformation is often tied to simple, repeated acts. In this context, happiness is not an outcome, and so the story is not of arrival but of passage, something that appears within the cycle itself.
A kind of happiness lives there.

I’ve been thinking about how stories are carried, lost, and reshaped over time, and how I might contribute to that continuity. These pieces feel like small offerings toward creating new visual languages that still echo something inherited that can be received and reinterpreted by a newer generation.
_________________

#ayanfeolarinde #collageart #contemporaryart #scribble #jagaism

The Rite of Severing, 2026
Ink, acrylic, oil pastels, screeded linen cut outs on canvas
3 x 4ft

_____________

In these works, figures move through a world in quiet transformation, each figure carrying her own rhythm of sowing, protecting, risking, and harvesting.
The greens around them are the pulse of change itself, at once tender and relentless.
The scenes echo stories told by ancestors, where the passage from one season to the next is both a trial and a promise.

There is no certainty in the turning of days, yet the act of tending, venturing and of trusting the unseen, carries its own reward. These beings inhabit that threshold, negotiating the tension between fear and growth also between restraint and joy.

This collection focuses more on journey than arrival: the almost invisible labor of becoming, the quiet courage in choices that shift a life’s course and the moments when change ripens into beauty.
There is also a quiet pull towards folklore as an underlying intention where transformation is often tied to simple, repeated acts. In this context, happiness is not an outcome, and so the story is not of arrival but of passage, something that appears within the cycle itself.
A kind of happiness lives there.

I’ve been thinking about how stories are carried, lost, and reshaped over time, and how I might contribute to that continuity. These pieces feel like small offerings toward creating new visual languages that still echo something inherited that can be received and reinterpreted by a newer generation.
_________________

#ayanfeolarinde #collageart #contemporaryart #scribble #jagaism

The Rite of Severing, 2026
Ink, acrylic, oil pastels, screeded linen cut outs on canvas
3 x 4ft

_____________

In these works, figures move through a world in quiet transformation, each figure carrying her own rhythm of sowing, protecting, risking, and harvesting.
The greens around them are the pulse of change itself, at once tender and relentless.
The scenes echo stories told by ancestors, where the passage from one season to the next is both a trial and a promise.

There is no certainty in the turning of days, yet the act of tending, venturing and of trusting the unseen, carries its own reward. These beings inhabit that threshold, negotiating the tension between fear and growth also between restraint and joy.

This collection focuses more on journey than arrival: the almost invisible labor of becoming, the quiet courage in choices that shift a life’s course and the moments when change ripens into beauty.
There is also a quiet pull towards folklore as an underlying intention where transformation is often tied to simple, repeated acts. In this context, happiness is not an outcome, and so the story is not of arrival but of passage, something that appears within the cycle itself.
A kind of happiness lives there.

I’ve been thinking about how stories are carried, lost, and reshaped over time, and how I might contribute to that continuity. These pieces feel like small offerings toward creating new visual languages that still echo something inherited that can be received and reinterpreted by a newer generation.
_________________

#ayanfeolarinde #collageart #contemporaryart #scribble #jagaism

Feels like a breath of fresh air

“Another day” by @thee_sehb 🎶

#ayanfeolarinde #contemporaryart #jagaism #reel #collageart

👩🏿‍🎨🎨👨🏿‍🎨 | Lagos nights. getting our hands dirty. me and my twin - @ayanfee__ at her studio

The Seedkeeper, 2026
Ink, acrylic, oil pastels, screeded linen cut outs, painted canvas on linen
4 x 5ft

_______________

In these works, figures move through a world in quiet transformation, each figure carrying her own rhythm of sowing, protecting, risking, and harvesting.
The greens around them are the pulse of change itself, at once tender and relentless.
The scenes echo stories told by ancestors, where the passage from one season to the next is both a trial and a promise.

There is no certainty in the turning of days, yet the act of tending, venturing and of trusting the unseen, carries its own reward. These beings inhabit that threshold, negotiating the tension between fear and growth also between restraint and joy.

This collection focuses more on journey than arrival: the almost invisible labor of becoming, the quiet courage in choices that shift a life’s course and the moments when change ripens into beauty.
There is also a quiet pull towards folklore as an underlying intention where transformation is often tied to simple, repeated acts. In this context, happiness is not an outcome, and so the story is not of arrival but of passage, something that appears within the cycle itself.
A kind of happiness lives there.

I’ve been thinking about how stories are carried, lost, and reshaped over time, and how I might contribute to that continuity. These pieces feel like small offerings toward creating new visual languages that still echo something inherited that can be received and reinterpreted by a newer generation.
_________________

Currently on view @o.da_art
Exhibition closes 25th of April

#ayanfeolarinde #contemporaryartwork #collage #scribble #contemporaryart

The Seedkeeper, 2026
Ink, acrylic, oil pastels, screeded linen cut outs, painted canvas on linen
4 x 5ft

_______________

In these works, figures move through a world in quiet transformation, each figure carrying her own rhythm of sowing, protecting, risking, and harvesting.
The greens around them are the pulse of change itself, at once tender and relentless.
The scenes echo stories told by ancestors, where the passage from one season to the next is both a trial and a promise.

There is no certainty in the turning of days, yet the act of tending, venturing and of trusting the unseen, carries its own reward. These beings inhabit that threshold, negotiating the tension between fear and growth also between restraint and joy.

This collection focuses more on journey than arrival: the almost invisible labor of becoming, the quiet courage in choices that shift a life’s course and the moments when change ripens into beauty.
There is also a quiet pull towards folklore as an underlying intention where transformation is often tied to simple, repeated acts. In this context, happiness is not an outcome, and so the story is not of arrival but of passage, something that appears within the cycle itself.
A kind of happiness lives there.

I’ve been thinking about how stories are carried, lost, and reshaped over time, and how I might contribute to that continuity. These pieces feel like small offerings toward creating new visual languages that still echo something inherited that can be received and reinterpreted by a newer generation.
_________________

Currently on view @o.da_art
Exhibition closes 25th of April

#ayanfeolarinde #contemporaryartwork #collage #scribble #contemporaryart

The Seedkeeper, 2026
Ink, acrylic, oil pastels, screeded linen cut outs, painted canvas on linen
4 x 5ft

_______________

In these works, figures move through a world in quiet transformation, each figure carrying her own rhythm of sowing, protecting, risking, and harvesting.
The greens around them are the pulse of change itself, at once tender and relentless.
The scenes echo stories told by ancestors, where the passage from one season to the next is both a trial and a promise.

There is no certainty in the turning of days, yet the act of tending, venturing and of trusting the unseen, carries its own reward. These beings inhabit that threshold, negotiating the tension between fear and growth also between restraint and joy.

This collection focuses more on journey than arrival: the almost invisible labor of becoming, the quiet courage in choices that shift a life’s course and the moments when change ripens into beauty.
There is also a quiet pull towards folklore as an underlying intention where transformation is often tied to simple, repeated acts. In this context, happiness is not an outcome, and so the story is not of arrival but of passage, something that appears within the cycle itself.
A kind of happiness lives there.

I’ve been thinking about how stories are carried, lost, and reshaped over time, and how I might contribute to that continuity. These pieces feel like small offerings toward creating new visual languages that still echo something inherited that can be received and reinterpreted by a newer generation.
_________________

Currently on view @o.da_art
Exhibition closes 25th of April

#ayanfeolarinde #contemporaryartwork #collage #scribble #contemporaryart

The Seedkeeper, 2026
Ink, acrylic, oil pastels, screeded linen cut outs, painted canvas on linen
4 x 5ft

_______________

In these works, figures move through a world in quiet transformation, each figure carrying her own rhythm of sowing, protecting, risking, and harvesting.
The greens around them are the pulse of change itself, at once tender and relentless.
The scenes echo stories told by ancestors, where the passage from one season to the next is both a trial and a promise.

There is no certainty in the turning of days, yet the act of tending, venturing and of trusting the unseen, carries its own reward. These beings inhabit that threshold, negotiating the tension between fear and growth also between restraint and joy.

This collection focuses more on journey than arrival: the almost invisible labor of becoming, the quiet courage in choices that shift a life’s course and the moments when change ripens into beauty.
There is also a quiet pull towards folklore as an underlying intention where transformation is often tied to simple, repeated acts. In this context, happiness is not an outcome, and so the story is not of arrival but of passage, something that appears within the cycle itself.
A kind of happiness lives there.

I’ve been thinking about how stories are carried, lost, and reshaped over time, and how I might contribute to that continuity. These pieces feel like small offerings toward creating new visual languages that still echo something inherited that can be received and reinterpreted by a newer generation.
_________________

Currently on view @o.da_art
Exhibition closes 25th of April

#ayanfeolarinde #contemporaryartwork #collage #scribble #contemporaryart

The Seedkeeper, 2026
Ink, acrylic, oil pastels, screeded linen cut outs, painted canvas on linen
4 x 5ft

_______________

In these works, figures move through a world in quiet transformation, each figure carrying her own rhythm of sowing, protecting, risking, and harvesting.
The greens around them are the pulse of change itself, at once tender and relentless.
The scenes echo stories told by ancestors, where the passage from one season to the next is both a trial and a promise.

There is no certainty in the turning of days, yet the act of tending, venturing and of trusting the unseen, carries its own reward. These beings inhabit that threshold, negotiating the tension between fear and growth also between restraint and joy.

This collection focuses more on journey than arrival: the almost invisible labor of becoming, the quiet courage in choices that shift a life’s course and the moments when change ripens into beauty.
There is also a quiet pull towards folklore as an underlying intention where transformation is often tied to simple, repeated acts. In this context, happiness is not an outcome, and so the story is not of arrival but of passage, something that appears within the cycle itself.
A kind of happiness lives there.

I’ve been thinking about how stories are carried, lost, and reshaped over time, and how I might contribute to that continuity. These pieces feel like small offerings toward creating new visual languages that still echo something inherited that can be received and reinterpreted by a newer generation.
_________________

Currently on view @o.da_art
Exhibition closes 25th of April

#ayanfeolarinde #contemporaryartwork #collage #scribble #contemporaryart

The Seedkeeper, 2026
Ink, acrylic, oil pastels, screeded linen cut outs, painted canvas on linen
4 x 5ft

_______________

In these works, figures move through a world in quiet transformation, each figure carrying her own rhythm of sowing, protecting, risking, and harvesting.
The greens around them are the pulse of change itself, at once tender and relentless.
The scenes echo stories told by ancestors, where the passage from one season to the next is both a trial and a promise.

There is no certainty in the turning of days, yet the act of tending, venturing and of trusting the unseen, carries its own reward. These beings inhabit that threshold, negotiating the tension between fear and growth also between restraint and joy.

This collection focuses more on journey than arrival: the almost invisible labor of becoming, the quiet courage in choices that shift a life’s course and the moments when change ripens into beauty.
There is also a quiet pull towards folklore as an underlying intention where transformation is often tied to simple, repeated acts. In this context, happiness is not an outcome, and so the story is not of arrival but of passage, something that appears within the cycle itself.
A kind of happiness lives there.

I’ve been thinking about how stories are carried, lost, and reshaped over time, and how I might contribute to that continuity. These pieces feel like small offerings toward creating new visual languages that still echo something inherited that can be received and reinterpreted by a newer generation.
_________________

Currently on view @o.da_art
Exhibition closes 25th of April

#ayanfeolarinde #contemporaryartwork #collage #scribble #contemporaryart

The Seedkeeper, 2026
Ink, acrylic, oil pastels, screeded linen cut outs, painted canvas on linen
4 x 5ft

_______________

In these works, figures move through a world in quiet transformation, each figure carrying her own rhythm of sowing, protecting, risking, and harvesting.
The greens around them are the pulse of change itself, at once tender and relentless.
The scenes echo stories told by ancestors, where the passage from one season to the next is both a trial and a promise.

There is no certainty in the turning of days, yet the act of tending, venturing and of trusting the unseen, carries its own reward. These beings inhabit that threshold, negotiating the tension between fear and growth also between restraint and joy.

This collection focuses more on journey than arrival: the almost invisible labor of becoming, the quiet courage in choices that shift a life’s course and the moments when change ripens into beauty.
There is also a quiet pull towards folklore as an underlying intention where transformation is often tied to simple, repeated acts. In this context, happiness is not an outcome, and so the story is not of arrival but of passage, something that appears within the cycle itself.
A kind of happiness lives there.

I’ve been thinking about how stories are carried, lost, and reshaped over time, and how I might contribute to that continuity. These pieces feel like small offerings toward creating new visual languages that still echo something inherited that can be received and reinterpreted by a newer generation.
_________________

Currently on view @o.da_art
Exhibition closes 25th of April

#ayanfeolarinde #contemporaryartwork #collage #scribble #contemporaryart

The Seedkeeper, 2026
Ink, acrylic, oil pastels, screeded linen cut outs, painted canvas on linen
4 x 5ft

_______________

In these works, figures move through a world in quiet transformation, each figure carrying her own rhythm of sowing, protecting, risking, and harvesting.
The greens around them are the pulse of change itself, at once tender and relentless.
The scenes echo stories told by ancestors, where the passage from one season to the next is both a trial and a promise.

There is no certainty in the turning of days, yet the act of tending, venturing and of trusting the unseen, carries its own reward. These beings inhabit that threshold, negotiating the tension between fear and growth also between restraint and joy.

This collection focuses more on journey than arrival: the almost invisible labor of becoming, the quiet courage in choices that shift a life’s course and the moments when change ripens into beauty.
There is also a quiet pull towards folklore as an underlying intention where transformation is often tied to simple, repeated acts. In this context, happiness is not an outcome, and so the story is not of arrival but of passage, something that appears within the cycle itself.
A kind of happiness lives there.

I’ve been thinking about how stories are carried, lost, and reshaped over time, and how I might contribute to that continuity. These pieces feel like small offerings toward creating new visual languages that still echo something inherited that can be received and reinterpreted by a newer generation.
_________________

Currently on view @o.da_art
Exhibition closes 25th of April

#ayanfeolarinde #contemporaryartwork #collage #scribble #contemporaryart

The Seedkeeper, 2026
Ink, acrylic, oil pastels, screeded linen cut outs, painted canvas on linen
4 x 5ft

_______________

In these works, figures move through a world in quiet transformation, each figure carrying her own rhythm of sowing, protecting, risking, and harvesting.
The greens around them are the pulse of change itself, at once tender and relentless.
The scenes echo stories told by ancestors, where the passage from one season to the next is both a trial and a promise.

There is no certainty in the turning of days, yet the act of tending, venturing and of trusting the unseen, carries its own reward. These beings inhabit that threshold, negotiating the tension between fear and growth also between restraint and joy.

This collection focuses more on journey than arrival: the almost invisible labor of becoming, the quiet courage in choices that shift a life’s course and the moments when change ripens into beauty.
There is also a quiet pull towards folklore as an underlying intention where transformation is often tied to simple, repeated acts. In this context, happiness is not an outcome, and so the story is not of arrival but of passage, something that appears within the cycle itself.
A kind of happiness lives there.

I’ve been thinking about how stories are carried, lost, and reshaped over time, and how I might contribute to that continuity. These pieces feel like small offerings toward creating new visual languages that still echo something inherited that can be received and reinterpreted by a newer generation.
_________________

Currently on view @o.da_art
Exhibition closes 25th of April

#ayanfeolarinde #contemporaryartwork #collage #scribble #contemporaryart

Ayanfe Olarinde is intuitive and clear about what is authentic to her. Olarinde depicts change as uncomfortable but promises happiness on the other side.

Happiness, in this context, is approached from the perspective of growth and transformation: joy is not immediately evident but is implied as the necessary aftermath.

Happy continues.

The exhibition remains on view through April 25th.
Tuesdays – Saturdays | 11am – 6pm

You can also explore the works via the link in our bio.

#exhibitions #contemporaryafricanart #odaart #happy

Before it made sense…

Before it made sense…

Before it made sense…

Before it made sense…

Before it made sense…

Before it made sense…

Before it made sense…

Before it made sense…

Before it made sense…

Before it made sense…

Before it made sense…

Before it made sense…

Before it made sense…

Before it made sense…

Before it made sense…

Before it made sense…

Before it made sense…

Before it made sense…

Before it made sense…

The Vigil (Metamorphosis)
Ink, acrylic, oil pastels, screeded linen cut outs on canvas
3 x 4ft
2026
_____________

In these works, figures move through a world in quiet transformation, each figure carrying her own rhythm of sowing, protecting, risking, and harvesting.
The greens around them are the pulse of change itself, at once tender and relentless.
The scenes echo stories told by ancestors, where the passage from one season to the next is both a trial and a promise.

There is no certainty in the turning of days, yet the act of tending, venturing and of trusting the unseen, carries its own reward. These beings inhabit that threshold, negotiating the tension between fear and growth also between restraint and joy.

This collection focuses more on journey than arrival: the almost invisible labor of becoming, the quiet courage in choices that shift a life’s course and the moments when change ripens into beauty.
There is also a quiet pull towards folklore as an underlying intention where transformation is often tied to simple, repeated acts. In this context, happiness is not an outcome, and so the story is not of arrival but of passage, something that appears within the cycle itself.
A kind of happiness lives there.

I’ve been thinking about how stories are carried, lost, and reshaped over time, and how I might contribute to that continuity. These pieces feel like small offerings toward creating new visual languages that still echo something inherited that can be received and reinterpreted by a newer generation.
_________________

Currently on view @o.da_art

#ayanfeolarinde #contemporaryartwork #collage #scribble #jagaism

The Vigil (Metamorphosis)
Ink, acrylic, oil pastels, screeded linen cut outs on canvas
3 x 4ft
2026
_____________

In these works, figures move through a world in quiet transformation, each figure carrying her own rhythm of sowing, protecting, risking, and harvesting.
The greens around them are the pulse of change itself, at once tender and relentless.
The scenes echo stories told by ancestors, where the passage from one season to the next is both a trial and a promise.

There is no certainty in the turning of days, yet the act of tending, venturing and of trusting the unseen, carries its own reward. These beings inhabit that threshold, negotiating the tension between fear and growth also between restraint and joy.

This collection focuses more on journey than arrival: the almost invisible labor of becoming, the quiet courage in choices that shift a life’s course and the moments when change ripens into beauty.
There is also a quiet pull towards folklore as an underlying intention where transformation is often tied to simple, repeated acts. In this context, happiness is not an outcome, and so the story is not of arrival but of passage, something that appears within the cycle itself.
A kind of happiness lives there.

I’ve been thinking about how stories are carried, lost, and reshaped over time, and how I might contribute to that continuity. These pieces feel like small offerings toward creating new visual languages that still echo something inherited that can be received and reinterpreted by a newer generation.
_________________

Currently on view @o.da_art

#ayanfeolarinde #contemporaryartwork #collage #scribble #jagaism

The Vigil (Metamorphosis)
Ink, acrylic, oil pastels, screeded linen cut outs on canvas
3 x 4ft
2026
_____________

In these works, figures move through a world in quiet transformation, each figure carrying her own rhythm of sowing, protecting, risking, and harvesting.
The greens around them are the pulse of change itself, at once tender and relentless.
The scenes echo stories told by ancestors, where the passage from one season to the next is both a trial and a promise.

There is no certainty in the turning of days, yet the act of tending, venturing and of trusting the unseen, carries its own reward. These beings inhabit that threshold, negotiating the tension between fear and growth also between restraint and joy.

This collection focuses more on journey than arrival: the almost invisible labor of becoming, the quiet courage in choices that shift a life’s course and the moments when change ripens into beauty.
There is also a quiet pull towards folklore as an underlying intention where transformation is often tied to simple, repeated acts. In this context, happiness is not an outcome, and so the story is not of arrival but of passage, something that appears within the cycle itself.
A kind of happiness lives there.

I’ve been thinking about how stories are carried, lost, and reshaped over time, and how I might contribute to that continuity. These pieces feel like small offerings toward creating new visual languages that still echo something inherited that can be received and reinterpreted by a newer generation.
_________________

Currently on view @o.da_art

#ayanfeolarinde #contemporaryartwork #collage #scribble #jagaism

The Vigil (Metamorphosis)
Ink, acrylic, oil pastels, screeded linen cut outs on canvas
3 x 4ft
2026
_____________

In these works, figures move through a world in quiet transformation, each figure carrying her own rhythm of sowing, protecting, risking, and harvesting.
The greens around them are the pulse of change itself, at once tender and relentless.
The scenes echo stories told by ancestors, where the passage from one season to the next is both a trial and a promise.

There is no certainty in the turning of days, yet the act of tending, venturing and of trusting the unseen, carries its own reward. These beings inhabit that threshold, negotiating the tension between fear and growth also between restraint and joy.

This collection focuses more on journey than arrival: the almost invisible labor of becoming, the quiet courage in choices that shift a life’s course and the moments when change ripens into beauty.
There is also a quiet pull towards folklore as an underlying intention where transformation is often tied to simple, repeated acts. In this context, happiness is not an outcome, and so the story is not of arrival but of passage, something that appears within the cycle itself.
A kind of happiness lives there.

I’ve been thinking about how stories are carried, lost, and reshaped over time, and how I might contribute to that continuity. These pieces feel like small offerings toward creating new visual languages that still echo something inherited that can be received and reinterpreted by a newer generation.
_________________

Currently on view @o.da_art

#ayanfeolarinde #contemporaryartwork #collage #scribble #jagaism

The Vigil (Metamorphosis)
Ink, acrylic, oil pastels, screeded linen cut outs on canvas
3 x 4ft
2026
_____________

In these works, figures move through a world in quiet transformation, each figure carrying her own rhythm of sowing, protecting, risking, and harvesting.
The greens around them are the pulse of change itself, at once tender and relentless.
The scenes echo stories told by ancestors, where the passage from one season to the next is both a trial and a promise.

There is no certainty in the turning of days, yet the act of tending, venturing and of trusting the unseen, carries its own reward. These beings inhabit that threshold, negotiating the tension between fear and growth also between restraint and joy.

This collection focuses more on journey than arrival: the almost invisible labor of becoming, the quiet courage in choices that shift a life’s course and the moments when change ripens into beauty.
There is also a quiet pull towards folklore as an underlying intention where transformation is often tied to simple, repeated acts. In this context, happiness is not an outcome, and so the story is not of arrival but of passage, something that appears within the cycle itself.
A kind of happiness lives there.

I’ve been thinking about how stories are carried, lost, and reshaped over time, and how I might contribute to that continuity. These pieces feel like small offerings toward creating new visual languages that still echo something inherited that can be received and reinterpreted by a newer generation.
_________________

Currently on view @o.da_art

#ayanfeolarinde #contemporaryartwork #collage #scribble #jagaism

The Vigil (Metamorphosis)
Ink, acrylic, oil pastels, screeded linen cut outs on canvas
3 x 4ft
2026
_____________

In these works, figures move through a world in quiet transformation, each figure carrying her own rhythm of sowing, protecting, risking, and harvesting.
The greens around them are the pulse of change itself, at once tender and relentless.
The scenes echo stories told by ancestors, where the passage from one season to the next is both a trial and a promise.

There is no certainty in the turning of days, yet the act of tending, venturing and of trusting the unseen, carries its own reward. These beings inhabit that threshold, negotiating the tension between fear and growth also between restraint and joy.

This collection focuses more on journey than arrival: the almost invisible labor of becoming, the quiet courage in choices that shift a life’s course and the moments when change ripens into beauty.
There is also a quiet pull towards folklore as an underlying intention where transformation is often tied to simple, repeated acts. In this context, happiness is not an outcome, and so the story is not of arrival but of passage, something that appears within the cycle itself.
A kind of happiness lives there.

I’ve been thinking about how stories are carried, lost, and reshaped over time, and how I might contribute to that continuity. These pieces feel like small offerings toward creating new visual languages that still echo something inherited that can be received and reinterpreted by a newer generation.
_________________

Currently on view @o.da_art

#ayanfeolarinde #contemporaryartwork #collage #scribble #jagaism

The Vigil (Metamorphosis)
Ink, acrylic, oil pastels, screeded linen cut outs on canvas
3 x 4ft
2026
_____________

In these works, figures move through a world in quiet transformation, each figure carrying her own rhythm of sowing, protecting, risking, and harvesting.
The greens around them are the pulse of change itself, at once tender and relentless.
The scenes echo stories told by ancestors, where the passage from one season to the next is both a trial and a promise.

There is no certainty in the turning of days, yet the act of tending, venturing and of trusting the unseen, carries its own reward. These beings inhabit that threshold, negotiating the tension between fear and growth also between restraint and joy.

This collection focuses more on journey than arrival: the almost invisible labor of becoming, the quiet courage in choices that shift a life’s course and the moments when change ripens into beauty.
There is also a quiet pull towards folklore as an underlying intention where transformation is often tied to simple, repeated acts. In this context, happiness is not an outcome, and so the story is not of arrival but of passage, something that appears within the cycle itself.
A kind of happiness lives there.

I’ve been thinking about how stories are carried, lost, and reshaped over time, and how I might contribute to that continuity. These pieces feel like small offerings toward creating new visual languages that still echo something inherited that can be received and reinterpreted by a newer generation.
_________________

Currently on view @o.da_art

#ayanfeolarinde #contemporaryartwork #collage #scribble #jagaism

The Vigil (Metamorphosis)
Ink, acrylic, oil pastels, screeded linen cut outs on canvas
3 x 4ft
2026
_____________

In these works, figures move through a world in quiet transformation, each figure carrying her own rhythm of sowing, protecting, risking, and harvesting.
The greens around them are the pulse of change itself, at once tender and relentless.
The scenes echo stories told by ancestors, where the passage from one season to the next is both a trial and a promise.

There is no certainty in the turning of days, yet the act of tending, venturing and of trusting the unseen, carries its own reward. These beings inhabit that threshold, negotiating the tension between fear and growth also between restraint and joy.

This collection focuses more on journey than arrival: the almost invisible labor of becoming, the quiet courage in choices that shift a life’s course and the moments when change ripens into beauty.
There is also a quiet pull towards folklore as an underlying intention where transformation is often tied to simple, repeated acts. In this context, happiness is not an outcome, and so the story is not of arrival but of passage, something that appears within the cycle itself.
A kind of happiness lives there.

I’ve been thinking about how stories are carried, lost, and reshaped over time, and how I might contribute to that continuity. These pieces feel like small offerings toward creating new visual languages that still echo something inherited that can be received and reinterpreted by a newer generation.
_________________

Currently on view @o.da_art

#ayanfeolarinde #contemporaryartwork #collage #scribble #jagaism

The Vigil (Metamorphosis)
Ink, acrylic, oil pastels, screeded linen cut outs on canvas
3 x 4ft
2026
_____________

In these works, figures move through a world in quiet transformation, each figure carrying her own rhythm of sowing, protecting, risking, and harvesting.
The greens around them are the pulse of change itself, at once tender and relentless.
The scenes echo stories told by ancestors, where the passage from one season to the next is both a trial and a promise.

There is no certainty in the turning of days, yet the act of tending, venturing and of trusting the unseen, carries its own reward. These beings inhabit that threshold, negotiating the tension between fear and growth also between restraint and joy.

This collection focuses more on journey than arrival: the almost invisible labor of becoming, the quiet courage in choices that shift a life’s course and the moments when change ripens into beauty.
There is also a quiet pull towards folklore as an underlying intention where transformation is often tied to simple, repeated acts. In this context, happiness is not an outcome, and so the story is not of arrival but of passage, something that appears within the cycle itself.
A kind of happiness lives there.

I’ve been thinking about how stories are carried, lost, and reshaped over time, and how I might contribute to that continuity. These pieces feel like small offerings toward creating new visual languages that still echo something inherited that can be received and reinterpreted by a newer generation.
_________________

Currently on view @o.da_art

#ayanfeolarinde #contemporaryartwork #collage #scribble #jagaism

Some things I made at the Harmattan Workshop

Theworkshop earlier this year came at a time when I really needed to be around process again.
Making, playing with materials and figuring things out without overthinking it. It was less about producing perfect works and more about staying open, asking questions, and letting things develop naturally. The environment itself made that easier for me. It felt very grounding and calm. Being close to nature helped my mind in a way I hadn’t felt in a while, and I found myself more present with the work and with everything around me.

What made the experience more meaningful was the presence of our facilitator @chris.klay
He met us with a kind of patience that’s rare. There was no hierarchy in the way he taught cause he saw us as equals (students), he listened deeply, and gave direction without ever imposing. He created space for us to find our own voices, while still guiding us with intention and care. You could feel that he genuinely wanted us to grow, as ceramists.

I left the workshop feeling both full and empty. I was full from everything I had taken in and empty in a way that made space for something new. It shifted how I approach making, and reminded me of the value of slowing down and really listening.

Some things I made at the Harmattan Workshop

Theworkshop earlier this year came at a time when I really needed to be around process again.
Making, playing with materials and figuring things out without overthinking it. It was less about producing perfect works and more about staying open, asking questions, and letting things develop naturally. The environment itself made that easier for me. It felt very grounding and calm. Being close to nature helped my mind in a way I hadn’t felt in a while, and I found myself more present with the work and with everything around me.

What made the experience more meaningful was the presence of our facilitator @chris.klay
He met us with a kind of patience that’s rare. There was no hierarchy in the way he taught cause he saw us as equals (students), he listened deeply, and gave direction without ever imposing. He created space for us to find our own voices, while still guiding us with intention and care. You could feel that he genuinely wanted us to grow, as ceramists.

I left the workshop feeling both full and empty. I was full from everything I had taken in and empty in a way that made space for something new. It shifted how I approach making, and reminded me of the value of slowing down and really listening.

Some things I made at the Harmattan Workshop

Theworkshop earlier this year came at a time when I really needed to be around process again.
Making, playing with materials and figuring things out without overthinking it. It was less about producing perfect works and more about staying open, asking questions, and letting things develop naturally. The environment itself made that easier for me. It felt very grounding and calm. Being close to nature helped my mind in a way I hadn’t felt in a while, and I found myself more present with the work and with everything around me.

What made the experience more meaningful was the presence of our facilitator @chris.klay
He met us with a kind of patience that’s rare. There was no hierarchy in the way he taught cause he saw us as equals (students), he listened deeply, and gave direction without ever imposing. He created space for us to find our own voices, while still guiding us with intention and care. You could feel that he genuinely wanted us to grow, as ceramists.

I left the workshop feeling both full and empty. I was full from everything I had taken in and empty in a way that made space for something new. It shifted how I approach making, and reminded me of the value of slowing down and really listening.

Some things I made at the Harmattan Workshop

Theworkshop earlier this year came at a time when I really needed to be around process again.
Making, playing with materials and figuring things out without overthinking it. It was less about producing perfect works and more about staying open, asking questions, and letting things develop naturally. The environment itself made that easier for me. It felt very grounding and calm. Being close to nature helped my mind in a way I hadn’t felt in a while, and I found myself more present with the work and with everything around me.

What made the experience more meaningful was the presence of our facilitator @chris.klay
He met us with a kind of patience that’s rare. There was no hierarchy in the way he taught cause he saw us as equals (students), he listened deeply, and gave direction without ever imposing. He created space for us to find our own voices, while still guiding us with intention and care. You could feel that he genuinely wanted us to grow, as ceramists.

I left the workshop feeling both full and empty. I was full from everything I had taken in and empty in a way that made space for something new. It shifted how I approach making, and reminded me of the value of slowing down and really listening.

Some things I made at the Harmattan Workshop

Theworkshop earlier this year came at a time when I really needed to be around process again.
Making, playing with materials and figuring things out without overthinking it. It was less about producing perfect works and more about staying open, asking questions, and letting things develop naturally. The environment itself made that easier for me. It felt very grounding and calm. Being close to nature helped my mind in a way I hadn’t felt in a while, and I found myself more present with the work and with everything around me.

What made the experience more meaningful was the presence of our facilitator @chris.klay
He met us with a kind of patience that’s rare. There was no hierarchy in the way he taught cause he saw us as equals (students), he listened deeply, and gave direction without ever imposing. He created space for us to find our own voices, while still guiding us with intention and care. You could feel that he genuinely wanted us to grow, as ceramists.

I left the workshop feeling both full and empty. I was full from everything I had taken in and empty in a way that made space for something new. It shifted how I approach making, and reminded me of the value of slowing down and really listening.

Some things I made at the Harmattan Workshop

Theworkshop earlier this year came at a time when I really needed to be around process again.
Making, playing with materials and figuring things out without overthinking it. It was less about producing perfect works and more about staying open, asking questions, and letting things develop naturally. The environment itself made that easier for me. It felt very grounding and calm. Being close to nature helped my mind in a way I hadn’t felt in a while, and I found myself more present with the work and with everything around me.

What made the experience more meaningful was the presence of our facilitator @chris.klay
He met us with a kind of patience that’s rare. There was no hierarchy in the way he taught cause he saw us as equals (students), he listened deeply, and gave direction without ever imposing. He created space for us to find our own voices, while still guiding us with intention and care. You could feel that he genuinely wanted us to grow, as ceramists.

I left the workshop feeling both full and empty. I was full from everything I had taken in and empty in a way that made space for something new. It shifted how I approach making, and reminded me of the value of slowing down and really listening.

Some things I made at the Harmattan Workshop

Theworkshop earlier this year came at a time when I really needed to be around process again.
Making, playing with materials and figuring things out without overthinking it. It was less about producing perfect works and more about staying open, asking questions, and letting things develop naturally. The environment itself made that easier for me. It felt very grounding and calm. Being close to nature helped my mind in a way I hadn’t felt in a while, and I found myself more present with the work and with everything around me.

What made the experience more meaningful was the presence of our facilitator @chris.klay
He met us with a kind of patience that’s rare. There was no hierarchy in the way he taught cause he saw us as equals (students), he listened deeply, and gave direction without ever imposing. He created space for us to find our own voices, while still guiding us with intention and care. You could feel that he genuinely wanted us to grow, as ceramists.

I left the workshop feeling both full and empty. I was full from everything I had taken in and empty in a way that made space for something new. It shifted how I approach making, and reminded me of the value of slowing down and really listening.

Some things I made at the Harmattan Workshop

Theworkshop earlier this year came at a time when I really needed to be around process again.
Making, playing with materials and figuring things out without overthinking it. It was less about producing perfect works and more about staying open, asking questions, and letting things develop naturally. The environment itself made that easier for me. It felt very grounding and calm. Being close to nature helped my mind in a way I hadn’t felt in a while, and I found myself more present with the work and with everything around me.

What made the experience more meaningful was the presence of our facilitator @chris.klay
He met us with a kind of patience that’s rare. There was no hierarchy in the way he taught cause he saw us as equals (students), he listened deeply, and gave direction without ever imposing. He created space for us to find our own voices, while still guiding us with intention and care. You could feel that he genuinely wanted us to grow, as ceramists.

I left the workshop feeling both full and empty. I was full from everything I had taken in and empty in a way that made space for something new. It shifted how I approach making, and reminded me of the value of slowing down and really listening.

Some things I made at the Harmattan Workshop

Theworkshop earlier this year came at a time when I really needed to be around process again.
Making, playing with materials and figuring things out without overthinking it. It was less about producing perfect works and more about staying open, asking questions, and letting things develop naturally. The environment itself made that easier for me. It felt very grounding and calm. Being close to nature helped my mind in a way I hadn’t felt in a while, and I found myself more present with the work and with everything around me.

What made the experience more meaningful was the presence of our facilitator @chris.klay
He met us with a kind of patience that’s rare. There was no hierarchy in the way he taught cause he saw us as equals (students), he listened deeply, and gave direction without ever imposing. He created space for us to find our own voices, while still guiding us with intention and care. You could feel that he genuinely wanted us to grow, as ceramists.

I left the workshop feeling both full and empty. I was full from everything I had taken in and empty in a way that made space for something new. It shifted how I approach making, and reminded me of the value of slowing down and really listening.

Some things I made at the Harmattan Workshop

Theworkshop earlier this year came at a time when I really needed to be around process again.
Making, playing with materials and figuring things out without overthinking it. It was less about producing perfect works and more about staying open, asking questions, and letting things develop naturally. The environment itself made that easier for me. It felt very grounding and calm. Being close to nature helped my mind in a way I hadn’t felt in a while, and I found myself more present with the work and with everything around me.

What made the experience more meaningful was the presence of our facilitator @chris.klay
He met us with a kind of patience that’s rare. There was no hierarchy in the way he taught cause he saw us as equals (students), he listened deeply, and gave direction without ever imposing. He created space for us to find our own voices, while still guiding us with intention and care. You could feel that he genuinely wanted us to grow, as ceramists.

I left the workshop feeling both full and empty. I was full from everything I had taken in and empty in a way that made space for something new. It shifted how I approach making, and reminded me of the value of slowing down and really listening.

Some things I made at the Harmattan Workshop

Theworkshop earlier this year came at a time when I really needed to be around process again.
Making, playing with materials and figuring things out without overthinking it. It was less about producing perfect works and more about staying open, asking questions, and letting things develop naturally. The environment itself made that easier for me. It felt very grounding and calm. Being close to nature helped my mind in a way I hadn’t felt in a while, and I found myself more present with the work and with everything around me.

What made the experience more meaningful was the presence of our facilitator @chris.klay
He met us with a kind of patience that’s rare. There was no hierarchy in the way he taught cause he saw us as equals (students), he listened deeply, and gave direction without ever imposing. He created space for us to find our own voices, while still guiding us with intention and care. You could feel that he genuinely wanted us to grow, as ceramists.

I left the workshop feeling both full and empty. I was full from everything I had taken in and empty in a way that made space for something new. It shifted how I approach making, and reminded me of the value of slowing down and really listening.

Some things I made at the Harmattan Workshop

Theworkshop earlier this year came at a time when I really needed to be around process again.
Making, playing with materials and figuring things out without overthinking it. It was less about producing perfect works and more about staying open, asking questions, and letting things develop naturally. The environment itself made that easier for me. It felt very grounding and calm. Being close to nature helped my mind in a way I hadn’t felt in a while, and I found myself more present with the work and with everything around me.

What made the experience more meaningful was the presence of our facilitator @chris.klay
He met us with a kind of patience that’s rare. There was no hierarchy in the way he taught cause he saw us as equals (students), he listened deeply, and gave direction without ever imposing. He created space for us to find our own voices, while still guiding us with intention and care. You could feel that he genuinely wanted us to grow, as ceramists.

I left the workshop feeling both full and empty. I was full from everything I had taken in and empty in a way that made space for something new. It shifted how I approach making, and reminded me of the value of slowing down and really listening.

Some things I made at the Harmattan Workshop

Theworkshop earlier this year came at a time when I really needed to be around process again.
Making, playing with materials and figuring things out without overthinking it. It was less about producing perfect works and more about staying open, asking questions, and letting things develop naturally. The environment itself made that easier for me. It felt very grounding and calm. Being close to nature helped my mind in a way I hadn’t felt in a while, and I found myself more present with the work and with everything around me.

What made the experience more meaningful was the presence of our facilitator @chris.klay
He met us with a kind of patience that’s rare. There was no hierarchy in the way he taught cause he saw us as equals (students), he listened deeply, and gave direction without ever imposing. He created space for us to find our own voices, while still guiding us with intention and care. You could feel that he genuinely wanted us to grow, as ceramists.

I left the workshop feeling both full and empty. I was full from everything I had taken in and empty in a way that made space for something new. It shifted how I approach making, and reminded me of the value of slowing down and really listening.

Some things I made at the Harmattan Workshop

Theworkshop earlier this year came at a time when I really needed to be around process again.
Making, playing with materials and figuring things out without overthinking it. It was less about producing perfect works and more about staying open, asking questions, and letting things develop naturally. The environment itself made that easier for me. It felt very grounding and calm. Being close to nature helped my mind in a way I hadn’t felt in a while, and I found myself more present with the work and with everything around me.

What made the experience more meaningful was the presence of our facilitator @chris.klay
He met us with a kind of patience that’s rare. There was no hierarchy in the way he taught cause he saw us as equals (students), he listened deeply, and gave direction without ever imposing. He created space for us to find our own voices, while still guiding us with intention and care. You could feel that he genuinely wanted us to grow, as ceramists.

I left the workshop feeling both full and empty. I was full from everything I had taken in and empty in a way that made space for something new. It shifted how I approach making, and reminded me of the value of slowing down and really listening.

Some things I made at the Harmattan Workshop

Theworkshop earlier this year came at a time when I really needed to be around process again.
Making, playing with materials and figuring things out without overthinking it. It was less about producing perfect works and more about staying open, asking questions, and letting things develop naturally. The environment itself made that easier for me. It felt very grounding and calm. Being close to nature helped my mind in a way I hadn’t felt in a while, and I found myself more present with the work and with everything around me.

What made the experience more meaningful was the presence of our facilitator @chris.klay
He met us with a kind of patience that’s rare. There was no hierarchy in the way he taught cause he saw us as equals (students), he listened deeply, and gave direction without ever imposing. He created space for us to find our own voices, while still guiding us with intention and care. You could feel that he genuinely wanted us to grow, as ceramists.

I left the workshop feeling both full and empty. I was full from everything I had taken in and empty in a way that made space for something new. It shifted how I approach making, and reminded me of the value of slowing down and really listening.

Some things I made at the Harmattan Workshop

Theworkshop earlier this year came at a time when I really needed to be around process again.
Making, playing with materials and figuring things out without overthinking it. It was less about producing perfect works and more about staying open, asking questions, and letting things develop naturally. The environment itself made that easier for me. It felt very grounding and calm. Being close to nature helped my mind in a way I hadn’t felt in a while, and I found myself more present with the work and with everything around me.

What made the experience more meaningful was the presence of our facilitator @chris.klay
He met us with a kind of patience that’s rare. There was no hierarchy in the way he taught cause he saw us as equals (students), he listened deeply, and gave direction without ever imposing. He created space for us to find our own voices, while still guiding us with intention and care. You could feel that he genuinely wanted us to grow, as ceramists.

I left the workshop feeling both full and empty. I was full from everything I had taken in and empty in a way that made space for something new. It shifted how I approach making, and reminded me of the value of slowing down and really listening.

Some things I made at the Harmattan Workshop

Theworkshop earlier this year came at a time when I really needed to be around process again.
Making, playing with materials and figuring things out without overthinking it. It was less about producing perfect works and more about staying open, asking questions, and letting things develop naturally. The environment itself made that easier for me. It felt very grounding and calm. Being close to nature helped my mind in a way I hadn’t felt in a while, and I found myself more present with the work and with everything around me.

What made the experience more meaningful was the presence of our facilitator @chris.klay
He met us with a kind of patience that’s rare. There was no hierarchy in the way he taught cause he saw us as equals (students), he listened deeply, and gave direction without ever imposing. He created space for us to find our own voices, while still guiding us with intention and care. You could feel that he genuinely wanted us to grow, as ceramists.

I left the workshop feeling both full and empty. I was full from everything I had taken in and empty in a way that made space for something new. It shifted how I approach making, and reminded me of the value of slowing down and really listening.

Some things I made at the Harmattan Workshop

Theworkshop earlier this year came at a time when I really needed to be around process again.
Making, playing with materials and figuring things out without overthinking it. It was less about producing perfect works and more about staying open, asking questions, and letting things develop naturally. The environment itself made that easier for me. It felt very grounding and calm. Being close to nature helped my mind in a way I hadn’t felt in a while, and I found myself more present with the work and with everything around me.

What made the experience more meaningful was the presence of our facilitator @chris.klay
He met us with a kind of patience that’s rare. There was no hierarchy in the way he taught cause he saw us as equals (students), he listened deeply, and gave direction without ever imposing. He created space for us to find our own voices, while still guiding us with intention and care. You could feel that he genuinely wanted us to grow, as ceramists.

I left the workshop feeling both full and empty. I was full from everything I had taken in and empty in a way that made space for something new. It shifted how I approach making, and reminded me of the value of slowing down and really listening.

Some things I made at the Harmattan Workshop

Theworkshop earlier this year came at a time when I really needed to be around process again.
Making, playing with materials and figuring things out without overthinking it. It was less about producing perfect works and more about staying open, asking questions, and letting things develop naturally. The environment itself made that easier for me. It felt very grounding and calm. Being close to nature helped my mind in a way I hadn’t felt in a while, and I found myself more present with the work and with everything around me.

What made the experience more meaningful was the presence of our facilitator @chris.klay
He met us with a kind of patience that’s rare. There was no hierarchy in the way he taught cause he saw us as equals (students), he listened deeply, and gave direction without ever imposing. He created space for us to find our own voices, while still guiding us with intention and care. You could feel that he genuinely wanted us to grow, as ceramists.

I left the workshop feeling both full and empty. I was full from everything I had taken in and empty in a way that made space for something new. It shifted how I approach making, and reminded me of the value of slowing down and really listening.

Some things I made at the Harmattan Workshop

Theworkshop earlier this year came at a time when I really needed to be around process again.
Making, playing with materials and figuring things out without overthinking it. It was less about producing perfect works and more about staying open, asking questions, and letting things develop naturally. The environment itself made that easier for me. It felt very grounding and calm. Being close to nature helped my mind in a way I hadn’t felt in a while, and I found myself more present with the work and with everything around me.

What made the experience more meaningful was the presence of our facilitator @chris.klay
He met us with a kind of patience that’s rare. There was no hierarchy in the way he taught cause he saw us as equals (students), he listened deeply, and gave direction without ever imposing. He created space for us to find our own voices, while still guiding us with intention and care. You could feel that he genuinely wanted us to grow, as ceramists.

I left the workshop feeling both full and empty. I was full from everything I had taken in and empty in a way that made space for something new. It shifted how I approach making, and reminded me of the value of slowing down and really listening.

HAPPY - Ayanfe Olarinde

Ayanfe Olarinde (1996) is a self-taught multidisciplinary visual artist whose practice spans drawing, painting, sculpture, photography, collage, sound, and digital media. A graduate of the University of Lagos with a BSc BSc in Microbiology (2018), Olarinde built an artistic language rooted in lived experience, improvisation, and the expressive force of instinct.

Her journey into art began with scribbling, raw, impulsive marks born from moments of restlessness, introspection, or emotional overflow. What began as a spontaneous childhood gesture evolved into a defining visual language: a physical release, a grounding ritual, and a method of processing the internal noise of a neurodivergent mind. For Olarinde, scribbling is a psychological and emotional practice, an intimate tool for navigating thoughts, isolating from overwhelming environments, and accessing deeper layers of selfhood.

Across mediums, her work is driven by an ongoing exploration of identity, self-image, mental landscapes, vulnerability, and the fluid nature of becoming. She approaches art as both mirror and map. An evolving documentation of an inner journey that resists linearity. Her pieces often sit in the tension between chaos and control, clarity and fragmentation, presence and dissociation, reflecting how she experiences, interprets, and processes the world…

———

Opening: Saturday, April 4th 2026 | 1:00 - 6:00 PM
Address: 10 Sir Samuel Manuwa Street, Victoria Island, Lagos.

#exhibitions #contemporaryafricanart #odaart #happy

HAPPY - Ayanfe Olarinde

Ayanfe Olarinde (1996) is a self-taught multidisciplinary visual artist whose practice spans drawing, painting, sculpture, photography, collage, sound, and digital media. A graduate of the University of Lagos with a BSc BSc in Microbiology (2018), Olarinde built an artistic language rooted in lived experience, improvisation, and the expressive force of instinct.

Her journey into art began with scribbling, raw, impulsive marks born from moments of restlessness, introspection, or emotional overflow. What began as a spontaneous childhood gesture evolved into a defining visual language: a physical release, a grounding ritual, and a method of processing the internal noise of a neurodivergent mind. For Olarinde, scribbling is a psychological and emotional practice, an intimate tool for navigating thoughts, isolating from overwhelming environments, and accessing deeper layers of selfhood.

Across mediums, her work is driven by an ongoing exploration of identity, self-image, mental landscapes, vulnerability, and the fluid nature of becoming. She approaches art as both mirror and map. An evolving documentation of an inner journey that resists linearity. Her pieces often sit in the tension between chaos and control, clarity and fragmentation, presence and dissociation, reflecting how she experiences, interprets, and processes the world…

———

Opening: Saturday, April 4th 2026 | 1:00 - 6:00 PM
Address: 10 Sir Samuel Manuwa Street, Victoria Island, Lagos.

#exhibitions #contemporaryafricanart #odaart #happy

HAPPY - Ayanfe Olarinde

Ayanfe Olarinde (1996) is a self-taught multidisciplinary visual artist whose practice spans drawing, painting, sculpture, photography, collage, sound, and digital media. A graduate of the University of Lagos with a BSc BSc in Microbiology (2018), Olarinde built an artistic language rooted in lived experience, improvisation, and the expressive force of instinct.

Her journey into art began with scribbling, raw, impulsive marks born from moments of restlessness, introspection, or emotional overflow. What began as a spontaneous childhood gesture evolved into a defining visual language: a physical release, a grounding ritual, and a method of processing the internal noise of a neurodivergent mind. For Olarinde, scribbling is a psychological and emotional practice, an intimate tool for navigating thoughts, isolating from overwhelming environments, and accessing deeper layers of selfhood.

Across mediums, her work is driven by an ongoing exploration of identity, self-image, mental landscapes, vulnerability, and the fluid nature of becoming. She approaches art as both mirror and map. An evolving documentation of an inner journey that resists linearity. Her pieces often sit in the tension between chaos and control, clarity and fragmentation, presence and dissociation, reflecting how she experiences, interprets, and processes the world…

———

Opening: Saturday, April 4th 2026 | 1:00 - 6:00 PM
Address: 10 Sir Samuel Manuwa Street, Victoria Island, Lagos.

#exhibitions #contemporaryafricanart #odaart #happy

HAPPY - Ayanfe Olarinde

Ayanfe Olarinde (1996) is a self-taught multidisciplinary visual artist whose practice spans drawing, painting, sculpture, photography, collage, sound, and digital media. A graduate of the University of Lagos with a BSc BSc in Microbiology (2018), Olarinde built an artistic language rooted in lived experience, improvisation, and the expressive force of instinct.

Her journey into art began with scribbling, raw, impulsive marks born from moments of restlessness, introspection, or emotional overflow. What began as a spontaneous childhood gesture evolved into a defining visual language: a physical release, a grounding ritual, and a method of processing the internal noise of a neurodivergent mind. For Olarinde, scribbling is a psychological and emotional practice, an intimate tool for navigating thoughts, isolating from overwhelming environments, and accessing deeper layers of selfhood.

Across mediums, her work is driven by an ongoing exploration of identity, self-image, mental landscapes, vulnerability, and the fluid nature of becoming. She approaches art as both mirror and map. An evolving documentation of an inner journey that resists linearity. Her pieces often sit in the tension between chaos and control, clarity and fragmentation, presence and dissociation, reflecting how she experiences, interprets, and processes the world…

———

Opening: Saturday, April 4th 2026 | 1:00 - 6:00 PM
Address: 10 Sir Samuel Manuwa Street, Victoria Island, Lagos.

#exhibitions #contemporaryafricanart #odaart #happy

HAPPY - Ayanfe Olarinde

Ayanfe Olarinde (1996) is a self-taught multidisciplinary visual artist whose practice spans drawing, painting, sculpture, photography, collage, sound, and digital media. A graduate of the University of Lagos with a BSc BSc in Microbiology (2018), Olarinde built an artistic language rooted in lived experience, improvisation, and the expressive force of instinct.

Her journey into art began with scribbling, raw, impulsive marks born from moments of restlessness, introspection, or emotional overflow. What began as a spontaneous childhood gesture evolved into a defining visual language: a physical release, a grounding ritual, and a method of processing the internal noise of a neurodivergent mind. For Olarinde, scribbling is a psychological and emotional practice, an intimate tool for navigating thoughts, isolating from overwhelming environments, and accessing deeper layers of selfhood.

Across mediums, her work is driven by an ongoing exploration of identity, self-image, mental landscapes, vulnerability, and the fluid nature of becoming. She approaches art as both mirror and map. An evolving documentation of an inner journey that resists linearity. Her pieces often sit in the tension between chaos and control, clarity and fragmentation, presence and dissociation, reflecting how she experiences, interprets, and processes the world…

———

Opening: Saturday, April 4th 2026 | 1:00 - 6:00 PM
Address: 10 Sir Samuel Manuwa Street, Victoria Island, Lagos.

#exhibitions #contemporaryafricanart #odaart #happy

Throwback to seeing “Aeroplani Odabo I & II” from my Yoruba Folklore series “In The Beginning And So It Goes…” on the walls of Musée Rath, Geneva, Switzerland 🇨🇭
Presented with the @cbh_artcollection at @mahgeneve through @jdmalatgallery
An honor to have been hung alongside such iconic artists.

Exhibition opened October 16- Nov 2025 with the space transformed and photographed by the renowned @pierre.yovanovitch

Throwback to seeing “Aeroplani Odabo I & II” from my Yoruba Folklore series “In The Beginning And So It Goes…” on the walls of Musée Rath, Geneva, Switzerland 🇨🇭
Presented with the @cbh_artcollection at @mahgeneve through @jdmalatgallery
An honor to have been hung alongside such iconic artists.

Exhibition opened October 16- Nov 2025 with the space transformed and photographed by the renowned @pierre.yovanovitch

Throwback to seeing “Aeroplani Odabo I & II” from my Yoruba Folklore series “In The Beginning And So It Goes…” on the walls of Musée Rath, Geneva, Switzerland 🇨🇭
Presented with the @cbh_artcollection at @mahgeneve through @jdmalatgallery
An honor to have been hung alongside such iconic artists.

Exhibition opened October 16- Nov 2025 with the space transformed and photographed by the renowned @pierre.yovanovitch

Throwback to seeing “Aeroplani Odabo I & II” from my Yoruba Folklore series “In The Beginning And So It Goes…” on the walls of Musée Rath, Geneva, Switzerland 🇨🇭
Presented with the @cbh_artcollection at @mahgeneve through @jdmalatgallery
An honor to have been hung alongside such iconic artists.

Exhibition opened October 16- Nov 2025 with the space transformed and photographed by the renowned @pierre.yovanovitch

Day 4 at the Harmattan Workshop, Delta state, and I’ve been sitting with memories from my time here last year and even 6 years ago, thinking about how much this place has shaped me.
Last year was when I leaned into pottery and ceramics. Clay is honest to a fault, it doesn’t hide your hesitation or impatience. One wrong move, too much pressure, not enough attention, and it collapses, cracks, warps or blasts. It’s humbling in that way. You’re forced to slow down, to listen and accept that control is only an illusion.

This workshop has been a training for my hands and mind. And being around people with wildly different talents and approaches has stretched me in ways I didn’t expect. It also reminds me that there isn’t one way to make only honest ways.

We made so many mistakes last year. Some pieces broke in the kiln, some survived. At the time it felt very frustrating but now I see those moments as part of the education & cost of learning a skill that refuses shortcuts.

I’m back this year to build on that foundation with more patience, curiosity, and a deeper respect for the process. I can’t wait to see what emerges from this round.

I made amazing pieces in 2025 that I’m yet to put out.
I’ll be sharing updates from this journey this time. I hoarded so much last year.

Day 4 at the Harmattan Workshop, Delta state, and I’ve been sitting with memories from my time here last year and even 6 years ago, thinking about how much this place has shaped me.
Last year was when I leaned into pottery and ceramics. Clay is honest to a fault, it doesn’t hide your hesitation or impatience. One wrong move, too much pressure, not enough attention, and it collapses, cracks, warps or blasts. It’s humbling in that way. You’re forced to slow down, to listen and accept that control is only an illusion.

This workshop has been a training for my hands and mind. And being around people with wildly different talents and approaches has stretched me in ways I didn’t expect. It also reminds me that there isn’t one way to make only honest ways.

We made so many mistakes last year. Some pieces broke in the kiln, some survived. At the time it felt very frustrating but now I see those moments as part of the education & cost of learning a skill that refuses shortcuts.

I’m back this year to build on that foundation with more patience, curiosity, and a deeper respect for the process. I can’t wait to see what emerges from this round.

I made amazing pieces in 2025 that I’m yet to put out.
I’ll be sharing updates from this journey this time. I hoarded so much last year.

Day 4 at the Harmattan Workshop, Delta state, and I’ve been sitting with memories from my time here last year and even 6 years ago, thinking about how much this place has shaped me.
Last year was when I leaned into pottery and ceramics. Clay is honest to a fault, it doesn’t hide your hesitation or impatience. One wrong move, too much pressure, not enough attention, and it collapses, cracks, warps or blasts. It’s humbling in that way. You’re forced to slow down, to listen and accept that control is only an illusion.

This workshop has been a training for my hands and mind. And being around people with wildly different talents and approaches has stretched me in ways I didn’t expect. It also reminds me that there isn’t one way to make only honest ways.

We made so many mistakes last year. Some pieces broke in the kiln, some survived. At the time it felt very frustrating but now I see those moments as part of the education & cost of learning a skill that refuses shortcuts.

I’m back this year to build on that foundation with more patience, curiosity, and a deeper respect for the process. I can’t wait to see what emerges from this round.

I made amazing pieces in 2025 that I’m yet to put out.
I’ll be sharing updates from this journey this time. I hoarded so much last year.

Day 4 at the Harmattan Workshop, Delta state, and I’ve been sitting with memories from my time here last year and even 6 years ago, thinking about how much this place has shaped me.
Last year was when I leaned into pottery and ceramics. Clay is honest to a fault, it doesn’t hide your hesitation or impatience. One wrong move, too much pressure, not enough attention, and it collapses, cracks, warps or blasts. It’s humbling in that way. You’re forced to slow down, to listen and accept that control is only an illusion.

This workshop has been a training for my hands and mind. And being around people with wildly different talents and approaches has stretched me in ways I didn’t expect. It also reminds me that there isn’t one way to make only honest ways.

We made so many mistakes last year. Some pieces broke in the kiln, some survived. At the time it felt very frustrating but now I see those moments as part of the education & cost of learning a skill that refuses shortcuts.

I’m back this year to build on that foundation with more patience, curiosity, and a deeper respect for the process. I can’t wait to see what emerges from this round.

I made amazing pieces in 2025 that I’m yet to put out.
I’ll be sharing updates from this journey this time. I hoarded so much last year.

Day 4 at the Harmattan Workshop, Delta state, and I’ve been sitting with memories from my time here last year and even 6 years ago, thinking about how much this place has shaped me.
Last year was when I leaned into pottery and ceramics. Clay is honest to a fault, it doesn’t hide your hesitation or impatience. One wrong move, too much pressure, not enough attention, and it collapses, cracks, warps or blasts. It’s humbling in that way. You’re forced to slow down, to listen and accept that control is only an illusion.

This workshop has been a training for my hands and mind. And being around people with wildly different talents and approaches has stretched me in ways I didn’t expect. It also reminds me that there isn’t one way to make only honest ways.

We made so many mistakes last year. Some pieces broke in the kiln, some survived. At the time it felt very frustrating but now I see those moments as part of the education & cost of learning a skill that refuses shortcuts.

I’m back this year to build on that foundation with more patience, curiosity, and a deeper respect for the process. I can’t wait to see what emerges from this round.

I made amazing pieces in 2025 that I’m yet to put out.
I’ll be sharing updates from this journey this time. I hoarded so much last year.

Day 4 at the Harmattan Workshop, Delta state, and I’ve been sitting with memories from my time here last year and even 6 years ago, thinking about how much this place has shaped me.
Last year was when I leaned into pottery and ceramics. Clay is honest to a fault, it doesn’t hide your hesitation or impatience. One wrong move, too much pressure, not enough attention, and it collapses, cracks, warps or blasts. It’s humbling in that way. You’re forced to slow down, to listen and accept that control is only an illusion.

This workshop has been a training for my hands and mind. And being around people with wildly different talents and approaches has stretched me in ways I didn’t expect. It also reminds me that there isn’t one way to make only honest ways.

We made so many mistakes last year. Some pieces broke in the kiln, some survived. At the time it felt very frustrating but now I see those moments as part of the education & cost of learning a skill that refuses shortcuts.

I’m back this year to build on that foundation with more patience, curiosity, and a deeper respect for the process. I can’t wait to see what emerges from this round.

I made amazing pieces in 2025 that I’m yet to put out.
I’ll be sharing updates from this journey this time. I hoarded so much last year.

Day 4 at the Harmattan Workshop, Delta state, and I’ve been sitting with memories from my time here last year and even 6 years ago, thinking about how much this place has shaped me.
Last year was when I leaned into pottery and ceramics. Clay is honest to a fault, it doesn’t hide your hesitation or impatience. One wrong move, too much pressure, not enough attention, and it collapses, cracks, warps or blasts. It’s humbling in that way. You’re forced to slow down, to listen and accept that control is only an illusion.

This workshop has been a training for my hands and mind. And being around people with wildly different talents and approaches has stretched me in ways I didn’t expect. It also reminds me that there isn’t one way to make only honest ways.

We made so many mistakes last year. Some pieces broke in the kiln, some survived. At the time it felt very frustrating but now I see those moments as part of the education & cost of learning a skill that refuses shortcuts.

I’m back this year to build on that foundation with more patience, curiosity, and a deeper respect for the process. I can’t wait to see what emerges from this round.

I made amazing pieces in 2025 that I’m yet to put out.
I’ll be sharing updates from this journey this time. I hoarded so much last year.

Day 4 at the Harmattan Workshop, Delta state, and I’ve been sitting with memories from my time here last year and even 6 years ago, thinking about how much this place has shaped me.
Last year was when I leaned into pottery and ceramics. Clay is honest to a fault, it doesn’t hide your hesitation or impatience. One wrong move, too much pressure, not enough attention, and it collapses, cracks, warps or blasts. It’s humbling in that way. You’re forced to slow down, to listen and accept that control is only an illusion.

This workshop has been a training for my hands and mind. And being around people with wildly different talents and approaches has stretched me in ways I didn’t expect. It also reminds me that there isn’t one way to make only honest ways.

We made so many mistakes last year. Some pieces broke in the kiln, some survived. At the time it felt very frustrating but now I see those moments as part of the education & cost of learning a skill that refuses shortcuts.

I’m back this year to build on that foundation with more patience, curiosity, and a deeper respect for the process. I can’t wait to see what emerges from this round.

I made amazing pieces in 2025 that I’m yet to put out.
I’ll be sharing updates from this journey this time. I hoarded so much last year.

Day 4 at the Harmattan Workshop, Delta state, and I’ve been sitting with memories from my time here last year and even 6 years ago, thinking about how much this place has shaped me.
Last year was when I leaned into pottery and ceramics. Clay is honest to a fault, it doesn’t hide your hesitation or impatience. One wrong move, too much pressure, not enough attention, and it collapses, cracks, warps or blasts. It’s humbling in that way. You’re forced to slow down, to listen and accept that control is only an illusion.

This workshop has been a training for my hands and mind. And being around people with wildly different talents and approaches has stretched me in ways I didn’t expect. It also reminds me that there isn’t one way to make only honest ways.

We made so many mistakes last year. Some pieces broke in the kiln, some survived. At the time it felt very frustrating but now I see those moments as part of the education & cost of learning a skill that refuses shortcuts.

I’m back this year to build on that foundation with more patience, curiosity, and a deeper respect for the process. I can’t wait to see what emerges from this round.

I made amazing pieces in 2025 that I’m yet to put out.
I’ll be sharing updates from this journey this time. I hoarded so much last year.

Day 4 at the Harmattan Workshop, Delta state, and I’ve been sitting with memories from my time here last year and even 6 years ago, thinking about how much this place has shaped me.
Last year was when I leaned into pottery and ceramics. Clay is honest to a fault, it doesn’t hide your hesitation or impatience. One wrong move, too much pressure, not enough attention, and it collapses, cracks, warps or blasts. It’s humbling in that way. You’re forced to slow down, to listen and accept that control is only an illusion.

This workshop has been a training for my hands and mind. And being around people with wildly different talents and approaches has stretched me in ways I didn’t expect. It also reminds me that there isn’t one way to make only honest ways.

We made so many mistakes last year. Some pieces broke in the kiln, some survived. At the time it felt very frustrating but now I see those moments as part of the education & cost of learning a skill that refuses shortcuts.

I’m back this year to build on that foundation with more patience, curiosity, and a deeper respect for the process. I can’t wait to see what emerges from this round.

I made amazing pieces in 2025 that I’m yet to put out.
I’ll be sharing updates from this journey this time. I hoarded so much last year.

Day 4 at the Harmattan Workshop, Delta state, and I’ve been sitting with memories from my time here last year and even 6 years ago, thinking about how much this place has shaped me.
Last year was when I leaned into pottery and ceramics. Clay is honest to a fault, it doesn’t hide your hesitation or impatience. One wrong move, too much pressure, not enough attention, and it collapses, cracks, warps or blasts. It’s humbling in that way. You’re forced to slow down, to listen and accept that control is only an illusion.

This workshop has been a training for my hands and mind. And being around people with wildly different talents and approaches has stretched me in ways I didn’t expect. It also reminds me that there isn’t one way to make only honest ways.

We made so many mistakes last year. Some pieces broke in the kiln, some survived. At the time it felt very frustrating but now I see those moments as part of the education & cost of learning a skill that refuses shortcuts.

I’m back this year to build on that foundation with more patience, curiosity, and a deeper respect for the process. I can’t wait to see what emerges from this round.

I made amazing pieces in 2025 that I’m yet to put out.
I’ll be sharing updates from this journey this time. I hoarded so much last year.

Day 4 at the Harmattan Workshop, Delta state, and I’ve been sitting with memories from my time here last year and even 6 years ago, thinking about how much this place has shaped me.
Last year was when I leaned into pottery and ceramics. Clay is honest to a fault, it doesn’t hide your hesitation or impatience. One wrong move, too much pressure, not enough attention, and it collapses, cracks, warps or blasts. It’s humbling in that way. You’re forced to slow down, to listen and accept that control is only an illusion.

This workshop has been a training for my hands and mind. And being around people with wildly different talents and approaches has stretched me in ways I didn’t expect. It also reminds me that there isn’t one way to make only honest ways.

We made so many mistakes last year. Some pieces broke in the kiln, some survived. At the time it felt very frustrating but now I see those moments as part of the education & cost of learning a skill that refuses shortcuts.

I’m back this year to build on that foundation with more patience, curiosity, and a deeper respect for the process. I can’t wait to see what emerges from this round.

I made amazing pieces in 2025 that I’m yet to put out.
I’ll be sharing updates from this journey this time. I hoarded so much last year.

Day 4 at the Harmattan Workshop, Delta state, and I’ve been sitting with memories from my time here last year and even 6 years ago, thinking about how much this place has shaped me.
Last year was when I leaned into pottery and ceramics. Clay is honest to a fault, it doesn’t hide your hesitation or impatience. One wrong move, too much pressure, not enough attention, and it collapses, cracks, warps or blasts. It’s humbling in that way. You’re forced to slow down, to listen and accept that control is only an illusion.

This workshop has been a training for my hands and mind. And being around people with wildly different talents and approaches has stretched me in ways I didn’t expect. It also reminds me that there isn’t one way to make only honest ways.

We made so many mistakes last year. Some pieces broke in the kiln, some survived. At the time it felt very frustrating but now I see those moments as part of the education & cost of learning a skill that refuses shortcuts.

I’m back this year to build on that foundation with more patience, curiosity, and a deeper respect for the process. I can’t wait to see what emerges from this round.

I made amazing pieces in 2025 that I’m yet to put out.
I’ll be sharing updates from this journey this time. I hoarded so much last year.

Day 4 at the Harmattan Workshop, Delta state, and I’ve been sitting with memories from my time here last year and even 6 years ago, thinking about how much this place has shaped me.
Last year was when I leaned into pottery and ceramics. Clay is honest to a fault, it doesn’t hide your hesitation or impatience. One wrong move, too much pressure, not enough attention, and it collapses, cracks, warps or blasts. It’s humbling in that way. You’re forced to slow down, to listen and accept that control is only an illusion.

This workshop has been a training for my hands and mind. And being around people with wildly different talents and approaches has stretched me in ways I didn’t expect. It also reminds me that there isn’t one way to make only honest ways.

We made so many mistakes last year. Some pieces broke in the kiln, some survived. At the time it felt very frustrating but now I see those moments as part of the education & cost of learning a skill that refuses shortcuts.

I’m back this year to build on that foundation with more patience, curiosity, and a deeper respect for the process. I can’t wait to see what emerges from this round.

I made amazing pieces in 2025 that I’m yet to put out.
I’ll be sharing updates from this journey this time. I hoarded so much last year.

Day 4 at the Harmattan Workshop, Delta state, and I’ve been sitting with memories from my time here last year and even 6 years ago, thinking about how much this place has shaped me.
Last year was when I leaned into pottery and ceramics. Clay is honest to a fault, it doesn’t hide your hesitation or impatience. One wrong move, too much pressure, not enough attention, and it collapses, cracks, warps or blasts. It’s humbling in that way. You’re forced to slow down, to listen and accept that control is only an illusion.

This workshop has been a training for my hands and mind. And being around people with wildly different talents and approaches has stretched me in ways I didn’t expect. It also reminds me that there isn’t one way to make only honest ways.

We made so many mistakes last year. Some pieces broke in the kiln, some survived. At the time it felt very frustrating but now I see those moments as part of the education & cost of learning a skill that refuses shortcuts.

I’m back this year to build on that foundation with more patience, curiosity, and a deeper respect for the process. I can’t wait to see what emerges from this round.

I made amazing pieces in 2025 that I’m yet to put out.
I’ll be sharing updates from this journey this time. I hoarded so much last year.

Day 4 at the Harmattan Workshop, Delta state, and I’ve been sitting with memories from my time here last year and even 6 years ago, thinking about how much this place has shaped me.
Last year was when I leaned into pottery and ceramics. Clay is honest to a fault, it doesn’t hide your hesitation or impatience. One wrong move, too much pressure, not enough attention, and it collapses, cracks, warps or blasts. It’s humbling in that way. You’re forced to slow down, to listen and accept that control is only an illusion.

This workshop has been a training for my hands and mind. And being around people with wildly different talents and approaches has stretched me in ways I didn’t expect. It also reminds me that there isn’t one way to make only honest ways.

We made so many mistakes last year. Some pieces broke in the kiln, some survived. At the time it felt very frustrating but now I see those moments as part of the education & cost of learning a skill that refuses shortcuts.

I’m back this year to build on that foundation with more patience, curiosity, and a deeper respect for the process. I can’t wait to see what emerges from this round.

I made amazing pieces in 2025 that I’m yet to put out.
I’ll be sharing updates from this journey this time. I hoarded so much last year.

Day 4 at the Harmattan Workshop, Delta state, and I’ve been sitting with memories from my time here last year and even 6 years ago, thinking about how much this place has shaped me.
Last year was when I leaned into pottery and ceramics. Clay is honest to a fault, it doesn’t hide your hesitation or impatience. One wrong move, too much pressure, not enough attention, and it collapses, cracks, warps or blasts. It’s humbling in that way. You’re forced to slow down, to listen and accept that control is only an illusion.

This workshop has been a training for my hands and mind. And being around people with wildly different talents and approaches has stretched me in ways I didn’t expect. It also reminds me that there isn’t one way to make only honest ways.

We made so many mistakes last year. Some pieces broke in the kiln, some survived. At the time it felt very frustrating but now I see those moments as part of the education & cost of learning a skill that refuses shortcuts.

I’m back this year to build on that foundation with more patience, curiosity, and a deeper respect for the process. I can’t wait to see what emerges from this round.

I made amazing pieces in 2025 that I’m yet to put out.
I’ll be sharing updates from this journey this time. I hoarded so much last year.

Day 4 at the Harmattan Workshop, Delta state, and I’ve been sitting with memories from my time here last year and even 6 years ago, thinking about how much this place has shaped me.
Last year was when I leaned into pottery and ceramics. Clay is honest to a fault, it doesn’t hide your hesitation or impatience. One wrong move, too much pressure, not enough attention, and it collapses, cracks, warps or blasts. It’s humbling in that way. You’re forced to slow down, to listen and accept that control is only an illusion.

This workshop has been a training for my hands and mind. And being around people with wildly different talents and approaches has stretched me in ways I didn’t expect. It also reminds me that there isn’t one way to make only honest ways.

We made so many mistakes last year. Some pieces broke in the kiln, some survived. At the time it felt very frustrating but now I see those moments as part of the education & cost of learning a skill that refuses shortcuts.

I’m back this year to build on that foundation with more patience, curiosity, and a deeper respect for the process. I can’t wait to see what emerges from this round.

I made amazing pieces in 2025 that I’m yet to put out.
I’ll be sharing updates from this journey this time. I hoarded so much last year.

Day 4 at the Harmattan Workshop, Delta state, and I’ve been sitting with memories from my time here last year and even 6 years ago, thinking about how much this place has shaped me.
Last year was when I leaned into pottery and ceramics. Clay is honest to a fault, it doesn’t hide your hesitation or impatience. One wrong move, too much pressure, not enough attention, and it collapses, cracks, warps or blasts. It’s humbling in that way. You’re forced to slow down, to listen and accept that control is only an illusion.

This workshop has been a training for my hands and mind. And being around people with wildly different talents and approaches has stretched me in ways I didn’t expect. It also reminds me that there isn’t one way to make only honest ways.

We made so many mistakes last year. Some pieces broke in the kiln, some survived. At the time it felt very frustrating but now I see those moments as part of the education & cost of learning a skill that refuses shortcuts.

I’m back this year to build on that foundation with more patience, curiosity, and a deeper respect for the process. I can’t wait to see what emerges from this round.

I made amazing pieces in 2025 that I’m yet to put out.
I’ll be sharing updates from this journey this time. I hoarded so much last year.

Day 4 at the Harmattan Workshop, Delta state, and I’ve been sitting with memories from my time here last year and even 6 years ago, thinking about how much this place has shaped me.
Last year was when I leaned into pottery and ceramics. Clay is honest to a fault, it doesn’t hide your hesitation or impatience. One wrong move, too much pressure, not enough attention, and it collapses, cracks, warps or blasts. It’s humbling in that way. You’re forced to slow down, to listen and accept that control is only an illusion.

This workshop has been a training for my hands and mind. And being around people with wildly different talents and approaches has stretched me in ways I didn’t expect. It also reminds me that there isn’t one way to make only honest ways.

We made so many mistakes last year. Some pieces broke in the kiln, some survived. At the time it felt very frustrating but now I see those moments as part of the education & cost of learning a skill that refuses shortcuts.

I’m back this year to build on that foundation with more patience, curiosity, and a deeper respect for the process. I can’t wait to see what emerges from this round.

I made amazing pieces in 2025 that I’m yet to put out.
I’ll be sharing updates from this journey this time. I hoarded so much last year.

1 Guilty habit. 1 Fun fact 🤭

Guilty habit- I leave my brush soaked in water for way too long. Someone tell me it’s not just me?

Fun fact- I like to believe that my old superstars still has soul but my new pair is deffo rewriting that story.

Let me know yours in the comments.

Also, If you’re jealous of my shoes, go catch them at an adidas store near you

🎥 @simeonumez

#adidasLagos #adidasSuperstar #adidasoriginals