Laolu Senbanjo, also known as “Laolu NYC”, is a Brooklyn based Nigerian visual artist and musician. His main artistic medium is the skin; he is best known for his body-painting featured in Beyoncé’s Grammy Award-winning visual album, Lemonade.” In addition to Beyoncé, he counts artists including Alicia Keys, Swiss Beatz, Seun Kuti, Tony Allen, Alek Wek, and Danielle Brooks among his collaborators. The former human rights attorney applies his mantra, “Everything is My Canvas,” to mural designs, fashion partnerships, live art events and installations, and now to the new limited-edition Belvedere Vodka bottle. He has also worked with Nike, Equinox, American luxury Fitness Company. He speaks with Omolara Akintoye.
Tell us about your recent collaboration with Belvedere Vodka?
Belvedere approached me to design a limited edition bottle that would demonstrate their values regarding revealing inner beauty. This resonated so much with me as the Sacred Art of the Ori is about letting the inner you shine through. One of the things you will notice about the bottle is the patterns that are symbolic of the extra care put in to making the vodka. The Vodka making tradition in Poland spans six centuries and I indicated that with hearts to represent passion. The vodka is made with just rye and pure water and you will see the triangles representing balance. You will also see the waves on the bottle and spirals representing beauty in infinity. We are hoping that you will enjoy the vodka and continue to enjoy the bottle as a piece of art on your shelf.
What is the inspiration behind the Belvedere bottle design?
As an artist I get to share my soul with people around me, my environment and the world and I am able to channel my experiences like my journey as a human rights attorney and as a Nigerian. The Belvedere bottle design came from that inspiration as well as doing a lot of research about what Belvedere is at its core, like the rye and the pristine water. The bottle is an amazing blend of my art and bringing to life what Belvedere stands for – and I get to be a part of giving back to society, which means a lot to me.
You moved to New York City in 2013. How did you go from lawyer-turned-artist to landing crazy commissions with Nike, Beyoncé and others?
Things didn’t happen immediately, and it was difficult acclimating to the culture and pace of New York City. I joined fellow musicians in Brooklyn to form a band and consistently created artwork to post on my digital platforms and website. My father would call just to make sure I was alive or say, “When you’re done with this art craze, let us know.” I experienced a series of minor successes and failures until Nike handpicked me as a Master of Air to create a T-shirt and sneaker design for AIR MAX CON 2016. I was the only black and Nigerian amongst the team of masters, so when the announcement went live, Nigerian media ran with the story.
My brother called to congratulate me, and said that our father was bragging about me to everyone. “That’s my son,” he’d say. I knew that was going to happen.
What was it like collaborating with Nike?
It was cool, and I wish I could do an entire line with them. Both of my custom designs sold out! I’m currently working on a project with Nike South Africa, but I can’t say much else about that project. One thing about working with a brand like Nike is there’s more bureaucracy in the decision-making process, but I still felt like I maintained creative freedom. For one, they approached me because of my Afromysterics style, so they knew what they were getting. Brands come to you because they see something special or something they would like to capitalize on. And, for me, it’s a blessing to be in a unique space talking about our culture, our themes, and putting Afromysterics at the forefront.
How did Beyoncé find you, and what was it like collaborating on her visual album, Lemonade?
I was surprised when Beyoncé’s team contacted me, but at the same time I wasn’t. What I do, very few people can. When they called, I was hired on the spot, and there was no recommendation, interview, trial run or anything. They found me through social media, and checked all my stuff on YouTube, Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter to be sure I was actually the guy doing what I was doing.
Beyoncé shared her vision with me for the song, Sorry, and told me she admired my work. Then, she simply said, “Do you.” I’ve never been more proud of myself, and just brought my A-game. The cameramen were congratulating me after the shoot, and I didn’t see how much airtime my art received until Lemonade debuted in April 2016. It’s amazing for someone to see what you do, and put it in on that kind of stage. Now, people everywhere in the world have seen my art, and I get emails from people in Australia, Japan, the U.S. and other countries who are inspired by my work.
Tell us about your growing up, your parents, and fond memories among others
I was born and raised in Ilorin, Nigeria by Yoruba parents. My father was a lawyer, and my mother was a nurse. I grew up performing in my church’s choir. While in school I had a music group called Light and
Fire which performed original songs and covers.
I feel like I had a charmed life, growing up at a time when I could play with friends out in the field, swim in rivers and eat delicious fresh fish.
I studied law at Nigeria’s University of Ilorin and, despite wanting to drop out during his second year of law school; I obtained my degree in 2005. I worked as a human rights lawyer for five years, during my final three years; I worked at the National Human Rights Commission as a senior legal officer focusing on women and children’s rights. I travelled to different parts of Northern Nigeria visiting schools and villages to educate men and women about why children should be in school. I knew if I pursued a career in the arts, I would have to live with the fact that some people in my hometown might never talk to me again. Despite this, in 2010 I quit my job as a lawyer and started the Laolu Senbanjo Art Gallery in Abuja, Nigeria. I later moved to Brooklyn, New York in August 2013 to pursue art as career.
Tell us your notable experience as an activist?
When I was little, I used to superimpose patterns and designs on white marble floors, they looked real to me and I later realized I was the only one who saw them. I was always an artist and it was a relief to come back to it by way of leaving my law practice.
I worked in Northern Nigeria where some communities continue the practice of marrying off young girls, some as young as seven. My work involved representing the cases of these young girls and allowing them to be spared this injustice as well as an opportunity to go to school. It was a pretty challenging move when I decided to quit law for art.
But I knew I had to do it.
How were you able to convince your lawyer father that you are dumping the wig considering your academic family background?
It was not so easy. It was culturally understood that respectable professions were in one of the following fields: law, medicine, or engineering. I am glad that they are now one of my strongest supporters. It took me five years after my journey to the United States to finally have my art show that hard work and talent can make you stand before men and gods. Speaking on the acceptance from my parents, every Nigerian parent just wants to be proud of their child and if that thing is outside their reality, it is hard for them to connect with it. But they see it now because everything is changing, the whole concept of being successful and the method of being successful is changing.
Apart from my father warming up to my art career, my work with Beyoncé has also launched me into global fame.
Apart from convincing your family, what other challenge did you encountered?
One afternoon, my father wanted to show me firsthand how artists in Nigeria live, and he drove me around the slums. “See that artist! Is that how you really want to live?” he asked. This experience messed with my psyche, and I’ll never forget the squalid conditions in which the artists lived. They were completely isolated, and society did not reckon them as people who could stand up for anyone. Whenever I told my father I needed money for art he would say, “Nobody has money for that stuff!” There were moments when I felt very misunderstood and ostracized. It was painful to watch people downplay what I held as my truth. People want to tell you “This is who you are versus who you know you are.” It’s difficult for people to understand,
because you can be a lot of things to different people. However, every time I picked up my pen and sketched anything, it was an act of reassurance that I could do this. This was my survival mechanism.
What is the “Art of Ori” all about and why did you move to New York to pursue a career in art?
The Sacred Art of the Ori grew from a term I coined, Afromysterics to mean the mystery of the African thought pattern. This is in reference to the symbols, the patterns and the myths of the African. I use these patterns and symbols to let us in on Yoruba artistic style, drawing from Yoruba myths and legends. I then translate this on the human body as my canvas and paint these designs on the muse to allow them to have an experience where they encounter a path to their destiny. It is a privilege to be able to present Yoruba Art to the rest of the world and have new audiences receive it the way we do in Nigeria.
What makes your artworks stands out?
I feel that if you remain true to what you are pursuing, listen intently and intuitively to your voice, and you may begin to recognizing your own individuality. Allow for some time to develop yourself. I think this is how art stands out.
With all you presently do, have you got time for the special woman?
Yeah, my woman understands my creative needs and gives me the space I need to create and explore my art.
How does she react when you aren’t around as often and how do you manage to handle the situation?
She’s part of the Laolu.NYC team. Nothing gets done without having a good team.
Who had great influence on you while growing up?
My paternal grandmother. She would recite an Oríki, which is a form of Yoruba poetry consisting of songs of praise. Your name determines your Oríki, and it is believed that if you call someone by their Oríki, it inspires them and evokes innate character traits of fortitude and perseverance. The English translation of mine is: “You are somebody who has what the West doesn’t have.” As a child, I didn’t grasp its meaning, but I always found comfort in her words.
You are also a musician, what is your style of music and tell us about some of your songs.
My musical style is deeply rooted in the traditions of Afrobeat and High Life, mixed with Afro-Soul and Reggae. I blend singing in my native Yoruba language and often translates Yoruba folks songs, proverbs and my oriki into English. I drew influences from Fela Kuti, Sade (singer), Bob Marley, and King Sunny Adé. I also did a song with Jesse Jagz back in the day. I am also big on world music; I recently did an artistic collaboration with South African DJ Black Coffee.
How did you first get started with painting on sneakers?
I’ve always wanted my work to move from just art to fashion. But I never had the resources to be able to actualize it. That’s one of the things moving to New York helped me out with. When I go in an art store, I’m like a kid in the candy store. I buy leather pants. I buy paint for shoes, and I try it out. Just try to bring my ideas that I put on canvas, and put it on shoes. The minute I started doing it, everybody just went crazy.
How do you recreate?
I make music and spend time with my friends. I also like to take time to discover new places in my city and around the world.
Aren’t you worried your art might come off as being sexist given your many illustrations with females?
Well, if anyone sees my art as being sexist, then they do not have love for the female form and the female body and for all the possibilities that come from the female body like giving birth to children, to all of us technically. I choose to show women in their natural form and natural state, showing all their glory, if that comes off as sexist, I really don’t think it does, but just because I show breasts doesn’t make me a sexist.
What’s your take of the Nigerian music industry?
There is a lot of music coming out of Nigeria and we hear it a lot in the diaspora. It is becoming really popular especially that Lagos Afro pop music that people call Afro beats. I never want that music to be confused with Afro beat, Fela and Tony Allen’s genre. However, there’s a lot of amazing independent music being made all over Nigeria that we never hear on the radio. But because it doesn’t fit into that Afro beats sound it doesn’t go beyond the limited audiences.
Is the Nigerian industry maximizing potentials enough and what are your suggestions for further growth?
Definitely not. There should be more diverse genres played on the radio, see their music videos, it’s so limited to only a certain style of music but there’s so much out there. That was one of the reasons I left Nigeria because it was hard to survive as a musician. You would have to work so hard to get your music on the radio. The opportunities are so much more abundant here. There’s a lot more Nneka’s and Asa’s than you ever hear on the radio or see on TV. On ideas for growth in the industry, I guess the people need to believe more in real musicians not just producers. Also, people need to attend actual concerts with live music and not just miming sessions and a dance show. Paying to see these independent musicians sing and perform their own songs in their own language on stage, these things matter and keep our cultures alive.
