Prof. Dele Jegede is a Nigerian-American painter, art historian, cartoonist, curator, art critic, art administrator and teacher.

He was born 1945 in Ikere-Ekiti, Ekiti State, Nigeria. Jegede earned his first degree in Fine Arts (with First Class Hons, majoring in Painting) from the Ahmadu Bello University, Zaria, Nigeria, in 1973.

From 1979 to 1983, he studied art history under Roy Sieber at Indiana University, Bloomington, Indiana, where he received his MA and PhD degrees. He was a Senior Post-Doctoral Fellow at the Smithsonian Institution in Washington, DC, (1995). He taught at Spelman College, Atlanta as Visiting Fulbright Scholar (1987–1988), when he curated the exhibition, ‘Art by Metamorphosis’.

Listed in Kelly and Stanley’s “Nigerian Artists: A Who’s Who & Bibliography”, Jegede was Professor and Chair of the Department of Art, Indiana State University, Terre Haute (2002–2005) and Professor of Art at Miami University in Oxford, Ohio (2005–2010). He retired as Professor Emeritus in May 2015.

Prof. Jegede is recipient of the Distinguished Africanist Award of the University of Texas. He is currently the Chairman, board of trustees of the Cartoonists Association of Nigeria (CARTAN).

In this interview to celebrate his 80th birthday, Prof Jegede speaks with OSA MBONU-AMADI on broad issues pertaining to his art, philosophy and career as an artist and academic:

Everyone prays to live long, but nobody likes old age. At 80, do you feel such conflicting desires? What philosophy have you for resolution of such conflict?

Permit me to question the premise of your question. The notion that everyone prays to live long remains just that: a prayer, which is not often granted to all supplicants. Similarly, the thesis that nobody likes old age is contentious. I for one do. Never mind that your legs may not always agree with your body’s plans on occasions. And senior moments—those occasions when you must jolt your temporarily frozen brain into action—may become more frequent. Paradoxical as it may be, living and dying are two parts of the same coin. They constitute the dualism of existence. All humans are designed to, and certainly will, die at some point. This is part of the cycle of life, from the cradle to the grave. Thus, when you analyze things critically, you’ll find no conflict. While many may pray to live long, not everybody will. Most cultures in Africa ascribe wisdom to old age. Most cultures revere old age and accord respect to the elderly. But these cultures also accommodate the inevitability of premature death. So, inexorably, the beginning is joined to the end of this cycle. The renowned poet, T. S. Eliot, simplifies all I’ve been laboring to say in one of his poems, “In my beginning is my end.”

Unfortunately, it is beyond my capacity as a mere mortal to propose ways to resolve this paradox. And I doubt that anyone has a solution to such an existential dichotomy. What we should be concerned with is the quality of life that is our lot. Why, for example, is Nigeria still mired in the quagmire of poverty more than two generations after independence? Why do our growth indices continue to decline? Life expectancy in Nigeria today is a mere 55 years, nearly ten years below the African average. Successive administrations in Nigeria since independence have yet to find the right blend of democratic panacea for the assortment of ailments sickening the nation. Nigerian politicians (bless their wily, mischievous, and gluttonous hearts) seem to specialize in conjuring the most septic form of government for its people. In the Second Republic, did they not travel abroad to find solutions to—ahem—mosquito infestations in their domains? Ultimately, they realized that it was much easier and much more profitable to their deep pockets to bring Americana to Nigeria: why not run the American presidential system? There! We imported the frills and fanfare of Americanism but circumvented its ethos and disciplinary tropes. Instead of solid guardrails to promote honesty and integrity, and disincentivize corruption, we installed spurious flails. We even invented fallacious “doctrines”—of necessity, immunity, and imperviousness—to boot. The results today are unmistakable. All you need do is check EFCC’s list of former governors and political operatives whose cases are still pending. The bone tied around the political dog is no longer a forbidden meal; the dog has procured the services of other dogs and they have found a way to crack and savor the proverbial bone.

Every artist has thematic preoccupation – a recurring or central theme or set of themes the artist consistently focuses on or is deeply concerned with in his work. What would you say is your thematic preoccupation as an artist?

Conscientious artists are driven by their internal clocks and muses. There is an impulsiveness to continue honing their craft. Observers or critics may perceive a thematic strain in the oeuvre of such artists over time. But this does not mean that the artists began with a slate of specious themes or hackneyed memes. This is not to deny that through introspection and research, artists do come up with themes that best represent their creative guts. Oftentimes, though, it is an artist’s style and idiosyncrasies that serve as unmistakable gestures synonymizing such an artist. Here are a few examples. For those who are familiar with her, the work of Nike Okundaye instantly brings up fields of blue àdìrẹ with geometric patterns. At the mention of Bruce Onobrakpeya, your mind’s eye shifts to bedazzling prints and bas-relief installations. With this formula, you can try figuring out what impressions are invoked by the works of Yusuf Grillo or Kolade Oshinowo, for example. Try to extend this to Van Gogh. And Picasso. Alberto Giacometti. You got the drift. In all these instances, it is not the theme or subject matter, but the style, that represents the artists. This formula also holds up when applied to music. A Sunny Ade; an Ebenezer Obey; a Fela Anikulapo-Kuti; a Davido; Miles Davis; Herb Alpert; Louis Armstrong: name them. Once you are familiar with the work or music of an artist, you will most likely figure them out even if you have never seen or heard the work. That is style for you.

So, by way of answering your question about my thematic preoccupation as an artist, I provided you with the code and principles that you could apply to my work as a painter. Now, let me give you the last clue to the code: familiarity. All this matters only if you are familiar with the works of the artists under consideration.

In a recent interview, you spoke about the Chibok Girls imbroglio, Boko Haram, and Internally Displaced Persons in Nigeria, which are some of the issues you addressed in your 2016 solo exhibition at Terra Kulture. Those of us who still live in Nigeria know that 2016 Nigeria is far better than the Nigeria of today. At 80, have you retired from addressing the problems of your homeland through art, even at a time you’re needed most?

The simple answer here is no. The artist fails the percipience test who refuses to commit his or her art to a purpose. Art is a vehicle. What’s your destination? What do you communicate with it?

You also spoke about your recent body of thematized work that deals with protestations triggered by the murder of George Floyd in 2020. That was during the first coming of Donald Trump, and we all know Trump’s attitude towards the murder of Floyd and the Black Lives Matter protests. On January 6, 2021, Trump facilitated an insurrection in the U.S that almost ditched democracy. Could you have imagined then that Trump would be returned to power by Americans, and how are you responding to this development with your art?

Your question reminds me of the quaint saying credited to the famous American baseball player, Yogi Berra: “The future ain’t what it used to be.” As recently as a decade ago, civility and deference were a normative component of politicking in the U.S. The proclivity to reject election results even before any ballots were cast (which is the specialty of the Nigerian political class) was a rare feature in the American electoral process. When we cast our ballots during the 2000 election cycle, we were optimistic that our candidate, Al Gore, would be the next president. The Supreme Court ruled otherwise and Al Gore conceded, all within five weeks. And the nation’s interrupted programs resumed; things went on as usual. A memorable moment that highlighted the spirited competitiveness in American politics came during the McCain-Obama campaign in 2008 when McCain had to defend the identity and integrity of Obama by telling an ill-informed supporter during a campaign stop that Obama was not an Arab. Parenthetically, American campaigns never fail to throw up hordes of nincompoops. Somebody wearing a red MAGA hat might be quick to tell you to “go back to where you came from.” The only problem is that you are from the American state called Hawaii, which the T-shirt you are wearing is celebrating. But poor Karen, she has no idea where Hawaii is, or what its flag looks like. So, she concludes that you must be an “illegal alien.”
Politically, the Obama era represented the American future that Yogi Berra lamented. The incursion of Trump into the political arena in 2016 marked the beginning of a new, disruptive strain of politics in America, the like of which left rational human beings, regardless of party affiliation, flummoxed. For Democrats, in particular, Trump’s first coming was traumatic. All you needed to know about the character of the new president-to-be—crudity, sauciness, misogyny, vulgarity, irreverence, braggadocio, and unprecedented brazenness at fabricating lies and peddling falsehood—all this and more was on display during his debate with Hilary Clinton. Yet, he won. And no one went to court. Clinton conceded. But when Trump lost his re-election bid in 2020, he took the nation to the pits of hell, culminating in the January 6, 2021 assault on the Capitol, an unmistakable coup attempt.

How, then, did Americans decide to bring him back for what promises to be a much more grandiose rehash of Trump 1.0? That is the ugliness of democracy. Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me. That is the case with America. Those who think democracy is without its pangs and national hemorrhaging should ask the thousands of federal workers who Trump summarily fired; they should talk to the leadership of universities whose federal funding has been canceled. How about USAID, Gaza, Greenland, Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion (DEI), which has become the bugbear of the new administration’s unhidden racism? Ah! I almost forgot the new buzzword in the global arena: tariff! While he did not cause it, his handling of COVID-19 during his first presidency highlighted the degree of prebendal political gamesmanship that Trump personifies. Here was a person who never missed a chance to stoke the fractured lines of hate and national acrimony.

As an artist, these are the putrid streams that I have aestheticized. After my 2016 exhibition at Terra Kulture in Lagos, I determined that although Nigeria will never cease to excite my imagination as a conscientious artist, I have more than enough in my locale to animate my canvases. From the daylight murder of George Floyd in Minnesota and the sprawling throngs of protesters on public squares, streets, and intersections, to the January 6, 2021 attack on lawmakers by Trump’s MAGA crowd, there is a surfeit of incidents and events clamoring to be memorialized in my art.

Prof Sir, would it be correct to interpret as abstract paintings, your statement that ‘currently, (you’re) fixated on non-figurative aesthetics: exploring the properties of color to create non-particularistic images that inspire hope’?

Yes, indeed. An abstract art, regardless of the medium—sculpture, painting, photography, print, textiles, ceramics, photography, or the materials deployed in producing these, be they oil, acrylic, watercolor, and others—is an art that does not represent reality. Abstract art is also known as non-objective, non-representational, or non-figurative. All of this simply means that such an art may be a deliberate visual distortion of known reality or work that is fully independent of any objective reality.
Digital art and the advent of Artificial Intelligence have revolutionized creativity and caused a lot of disruptions and concerns in the world today as well as amongst artists. What future do you think conventional artists like you have amid these disruptive technologies — AI and digital art?

I can say here that concerning the rumored disruptions that AI will unleash on art, I have seen the future of art, and it is bright. Let’s put it this way: technology and art have always had this coquettish relationship. It is a relationship that has also provoked a mixture of adversarial and celebratory reactions in equal measure among their supporters. But in the end, the relationship between art and technology has historically turned out to be beneficial for humanity. The operational word here is adaptation. Remember when photography first made its debut in mid-19th century France? Well, it provoked uncomplimentary reactions from some artists of the time, particularly painters, who believed that photography posed an unwelcome challenge. But it was Felix Nadar, a cartoonist, who embraced the new art of photography and elevated it to commanding heights (pun intended) in society. Today, everybody who has a functional phone—the Agege bread seller, the vulcanizer, your newspaper vendor, the okada rider, even your Bar Beach pastor (God is Good), and NEPA operator among others—is a photographer. The ubiquitousness of technology is so pervasive it is almost total. Have you ever left your phone unattended with your toddler? Perhaps you have come across that dog on social media who struts for the camera? With the capacity to adapt and re-contextualize, AI will become a handy item in the tool kit of artists.


https://www.vanguardngr.com/2025/04/prof-dele-jegede-80-we-should-be-concerned-with-quality-of-life-not-age-dele-jegede/