To Have and to Hold: Paul Ayihawu

The Kaduna Fashion and Art Festival (KAFART) is back this year for its 6th overall edition and 1st edition as a biennial. The theme is “To Have and to Hold.” We had earlier spoken to the festival director, Ganiyat Sani, about what this edition promises. We spotlight some of the exhibiting artists and designers, asking them questions about their creative origins, their distinct interpretations of the theme, and how their heritage and local communities shape the narratives they choose to preserve against the threat of erasure.

Take us back to where your relationship with art began. What are your earliest memories of making, and who or what first made you feel that creating was something you could do, and perhaps needed to do?

One of my earliest memories of making art was when I drew my aunt fetching water from our neighbours’ tap. I was about five years old, and I remember how excited I was about the drawing. I ran to show my mother, saying, “Mommy, mommy, I drew Aunty fetching water!” I may not have understood what being an artist meant at the time, but I remember the joy of making something and being able to recognise the world around me in it. Looking back, that moment feels like the beginning of my relationship with art. It started with the simple desire to observe, make, and share what I saw.

This year’s theme, “To Have and to Hold,” asks what we choose to hold, what we let go, and the cost of holding on. When you first sat with those words, what did they stir in you, and how do they show up in the work you’re bringing to KAFART?

The theme made me think about the things we carry, both consciously and unconsciously. Some things we hold onto because they give us a sense of identity, while others remain with us because we have not yet understood how to let them go. In my practice, this relates to memory, faith, cultural inheritance, and the histories carried by materials. I often work with discarded materials, but I do not see them as empty or useless. They carry traces of previous lives.

My Christian faith also shapes how I understand holding on. There are things worth holding onto, such as faith, truth, and the knowledge that gives meaning to our lives. There are also things we must allow to change so that renewal can happen. For me, “To Have and to Hold” is about recognising what deserves to be carried forward and understanding that transformation does not always mean forgetting what came before.

Tell us about the piece, or body of work, you’re exhibiting. What is the story behind it, and what do you hope someone feels or understands when they stand in front of it?

Part of the works I will be showing is  Light Bearer and Old Things Have Passed Away. Although they approach different ideas, both works reflect my interest in transformation, faith, and the possibilities held within materials.

Light Bearer explores light as both a physical presence and a spiritual idea. I work with metallic silk and raffia net, bringing together their different textures and qualities through weaving and layering. Nsibidi inscriptions introduce another dimension to the work, connecting the material process to indigenous knowledge and visual communication. I am interested in how light can suggest hope, guidance, and the possibility of seeing things differently.

Old Things Have Passed Away draws on the idea of becoming new. Using materials such as jute sack, wool, acrylic, charcoal, and screen printing, I bring different elements together to create a surface that holds traces of previous processes as metaphor. The work reflects my understanding of renewal as a transformation of what already exists.

I hope viewers approach these works with openness and take time to consider what renewal, faith, and transformation might mean in their own lives.

Take us through how your work comes to life, from the first spark of an idea to the moment you know it’s finished. Which materials, rituals or habits are essential to you, and is there anything about your process that would surprise people?

My creative process often begins during prayer or while I am listening to a sermon. An idea usually comes in fragments rather than all at once. I may hold onto an image or thought for months before it becomes clear enough for me to begin making. When the idea finally takes shape in my mind, the actual making may take days or a few weeks, depending on the work.

I then begin experimenting with materials. I source jute sacks from the market and collect discarded raffia net, while metallic silk gives me another surface to work with. I screen print Nsibidi symbols onto the metallic silk, then layer, weave, and assemble the materials using traditional weaving techniques. I enjoy discovering what happens when materials with different histories and qualities meet.

One thing that might surprise people is how long an artwork can exist in my mind before it appears physically. The making may look like a practical process of cutting, printing, weaving, and joining, but it is also a process of listening, waiting, and responding to ideas as they become clearer.

KAFART asks what endures in the face of erasure and forgetting. Is there a story, tradition, skill or memory from your culture, family or community that you feel is at risk of being lost, and how does your work help you hold onto it?

One of the things I am concerned about is the loss of indigenous knowledge and the ways it is passed from one generation to another. My ongoing research into Nsibidi comes from a desire to engage with an indigenous system of signs and communication as a living visual language, rather than something that belongs only to the past.

I study available archival materials, investigate the meanings and uses of signs, and work on translating selected words and scriptural fragments into Nsibidi. I am also developing a working index of signs that supports this research. Through screen printing, painting, and weaving, I bring these symbols into contemporary artworks, allowing them to enter new conversations while remaining connected to their cultural significance.

My use of traditional weaving techniques is part of this concern as well. I want to explore how knowledge held in making, materials, and embodied skills can continue to be practised and reinterpreted. For me, preserving knowledge does not mean keeping it unchanged. It means creating ways for it to remain relevant, understood, and open to future generations.

What does it mean to you to show your work at KAFART, and how has your community, your city and the way you grew up shaped the way you see and make?

As an artist from Badagry, exhibiting at KAFART is an opportunity to bring my experiences and research into conversation with people from different cultural and artistic backgrounds. I am interested in what happens when works shaped by different places, histories, and ways of knowing meet. Such encounters can challenge how we understand our own practices and help us recognise connections without overlooking our differences.

Badagry has shaped my interest in cultural memory, indigenous knowledge, and the histories embedded in everyday life. My work with Badagry Young Contemporaries has also taught me the importance of creating spaces where artists can share knowledge, learn from one another, and develop their practices within their own communities.

My practice is equally shaped by my faith and my interest in the relationship between the physical and spiritual dimensions of life. These experiences influence the materials I choose, the symbols I investigate, and the questions I bring into my work. I see KAFART as an opportunity to exhibit, to listen, exchange ideas, and learn from the experiences of other artists.

What is the work you haven’t made yet that excites you most, and what do you hope people carry with them after experiencing your work at KAFART?

I am excited about developing larger woven works that bring metallic silk, Nsibidi inscriptions, jute sacks, and raffia net into closer conversation. I want to experiment further with weaving and screen printing, exploring how indigenous signs can inhabit textiles and how these materials can move between painting, tapestry, and installation. I am also interested in studying the similarities and differences between Nsibidi and Adinkra, paying attention to their distinct histories, visual forms, and cultural meanings.

More broadly, I want to continue developing a practice in which research, faith, and material experimentation inform one another. I do not see these as separate concerns. They are different ways through which I try to understand the world and make sense of what we inherit.

After experiencing my work at KAFART, I hope people leave with a sense that what has been discarded, forgotten, or overlooked may still hold value. I also hope the works encourage reflection on faith, memory, and renewal. I want people to consider that becoming something new does not always require abandoning where we come from; sometimes, it means learning to see what we already carry differently.