SOLDIER’s first solo exhibition in Lagos questions what it means to be nourished

In SOLDIER’s world, a tin, a sachet, or a stock cube is never just a tin, a sachet, or a stock cube. They are traces of collective memory, symbols of survival, and maze-like mirrors reflecting the twists and fractures of society. His first solo exhibition in Lagos, NOURISHMENT, transforms these everyday objects into an emotional archive of corruption and embodied history. Drawing on humanitarian aid flights during the Biafran War and the arrival of foreign brands like Maggi and Peak, SOLDIER traces the loops and contradictions of national identity in a society fractured by inequality and capitalism.

The show brings together painting, installation, sound, and archival material, presenting the ordinary in a new light — asking how daily objects carry political weight, testify to social realities, and hold poetry in their familiar outlines. Outside the gallery, his camo-and-poppy mural coils around The Federal Palace, reclaiming a pattern that once drew police harassment and government vandalism of Soldier’s work, turning camouflage into a symbol of resistance and resilience.

From redefining Nigeria’s skate scene to being sponsored by Skepta to study in the UK, showing at Saatchi, and co-designing for Marni, SOLDIER has always charted his own path. In NOURISHMENT, logos, symbols, and patterns become his portals – an intimate map of personal memory and political contradiction. We spoke with him to explore how he sees the world and what feeds it.

Could you tell us more about the origin of your name, Soldier? I’ve read that it comes from the connection to wearing camouflage as resistance – could you expand on what that print and its implications mean to you?
The starting points of my name were from the idea of rebelliousness and protection. I would look back at one of my formative memories of when I was around 7-8, and my sister had this blouse with a leopard print on it. I used to wear it and think it gave me special abilities like speed, and we used to jump from chair to chair in my living room. You fast-forward to me skateboarding in Lagos, wearing camouflage and coming across some military men and realising really quickly that civilians couldn’t wear camouflage. Which you could link back to that leopard print. It’s making me think of the ideas of patterns and where they come from. Military patterns take inspiration from nature, but unlike nature, where animals put on these patterns to survive, in military warfare, you put on these patterns to destroy. The name came from the idea of taking something that, I would say, human beings have turned perverse and making it beautiful. As almost a stance against the ideal of warfare, or rules, or governments. Not necessarily sounding too anarchist. 

Never too anarchist, ha-ha! How do you feel bringing to life your first solo exhibition in Nigeria? I would imagine it’s quite a monumental moment to bring your work back to the motherland.
It feels right, you know? It was meant to happen a long time ago. I think in itself it’s quite poetic. I obviously draw inspiration from my time and my upbringing from Lagos, Nigeria.

Could you tell us about the visual motifs and symbols that you explore in the body of work for NOURISHMENT?
The visual motifs are based on the way I normally see my work as a painter-sculptor-artist, which is that I use things that are given to me and are already there. Some of my past paintings are based on family pictures, or my experiences, which is me interacting with certain aspects of culture that already exist and creating work from that. I do the same with this body of work where I scrutinise what’s meant to be food or what’s meant to be deemed as nourishment by the current systems of capitalism that reside in Nigeria. When you think about Nigeria, you think of a country that should be based on agriculture. Nigeria is like a paradise where we have almost all forms of raw material. But then due to circumstances or incidents that happen, such as a war, things like food and agriculture stop being at the forefront of feeding and nourishment, which opens up space for all sorts of relief food to come in. These come in tins and sachets, and they’re never made by Nigerians in most cases. I think it was quite interesting to see how that plays a big part in our economy and also in the lives of many Nigerians, like me. You see all these brands and you have this nostalgic feeling, but there’s also something quite sinister about having all these hyper-processed things every day as a day-to-day meal. 

You’re also unveiling the camo-and-poppy mural around the Federal Palace. Could you tell us about the significance of this work for you?
I moved to England when I was 18-19, and as part of a rite of passage of moving from another country, you want to learn the history, culture, arts, and crafts. I came across Remembrance Day, which has the poppy flower. I was struck by the fact that a simple flower could represent fallen soldiers. At the same time, when you think of the poppy, I made a through-line with the war on drugs and opioids because the poppy flower itself is used to get certain types of drugs. So, I was interested in how one symbol could mean two or three things across different cultures or ideas. I made the body of work which was called The Remembrance Painting, highlighting an outsider’s view on what it means to be remembered and, also to show a through-line between two cultures or two ideas: one being remembrance for fallen soldiers and another being the war on drugs, which has impacted many lives. 

What are you hoping people will take away from this exhibition?
I want to find an inviting way to educate people on what it means to be fed, and I think the major problem about food is not only just in Nigeria, but in the world around us. Again, we’re in a very capitalist society, which leads mostly with the idea of getting people to pay for things that are not of the best quality. This trickles down to food, and very harmful things that present themselves in very shiny ways. Like Coca-Cola has copious amounts of sugar, but there is a team that helps with branding and logos, and that helps people remember the brand. It’s also the idea of culture or economics turning dangerous things into popular or welcoming products. Like packaging dangerous objects in a very beautiful, colorful way. These paintings are meant to feel like there’s a deeper meaning in those logos. Like when you check the back of all these products, you probably find chemicals you’re not meant to take more than like three times in your lifetime, but you look past that just based on the branding. 

What can you tell us about the current art scene and youth culture in Lagos? And how has your relationship to it changed since moving to London and having some distance from it?
I think the current art scene is changing. I feel the world in general is changing. But if we pinpoint Lagos, I feel it’s changing incredibly fast. Everyone is waking up with the rise of the Internet. People are learning new things, and by going to a country like England and traveling around, you start learning different ways people approach art. It gave me a freer perspective as to what could be considered a painting. I think many people have that perception of African arts in a way where you know there’s a celebration of figuration. But with what I gathered from the Western world, I feel like you could present any object and find a way to make that art in itself. You know, as a Nigerian who’s left home and explored the world and is coming back, I have a new way of seeing things, and I think I want to bring that forward into my work.