I have begun a new series. Perhaps it is not truly new at all. My work rarely stops to breathe. Each piece feels like it belongs to a larger continuum, threads weaving into one another and refusing to be contained.

This series, titled The Mask (for now) was ignited by my search for self. In the midst of my creative monologue I returned to Tate Modern to revisit the Nigeria Modernism exhibition. With fresh eyes I allowed myself to be drawn in differently and to listen more deeply.

African art has always carried a certain mystery for me. As a Black woman with Western upbringing and African heritage I often feel the split and the schism of identity shaped by environment. At first I tried to make Black versions of existing art as a way to see myself and to claim visibility and representation. But I soon realised the blind spot.

We have always been here.

Masks, bronzes and wooden sculptures have always existed. They inspired the so called great Western artists yet I had forgotten to return to the source. My source. Creation itself. What comes easily I had made hard.

And so The Mask emerged. It is a journey of unmasking. Not only literal masks but also the emotional, mental and spiritual ones we wear.

Part Self

A stylised close-up of a hand with elongated fingers and red-tipped nails rests on a dark surface. Painted in warm tones of orange, brown and yellow, the hand evokes intimacy and ritual.

Expressive brushstrokes and subtle adornments suggest the daily performance of identity. This piece is part of The Mask series, exploring emotional and spiritual unmasking through layered symbolism and texture.

Part Self explores the subtle masks I adorn each day to step into the world as Esther. It is the version of me that leaves the bedroom and enters shared space carrying a cheerful smile, a confident demeanour and a carefully curated self.

The eyeliner winged with precision. The contour, bronze highlight and blush flawlessly applied. Nails painted black this week and deep red last week. Earrings and rings chosen to frame my hands and ears. I sigh, lift my shoulders, fix my gaze forward and walk out the door…

These adornments are not superficial. They are armour, ritual and performance. They are the mask of selfhood I have learned to wear. Yet beneath them lies the question. What happens when the mask slips. When the adornments are stripped away.

Part Self is my attempt to hold that tension. To honour both the mask and the unmasking. To acknowledge the daily performance and the deeper truth.