Mayowa Adekile approaches painting as a spiritual language shaped by heritage, symbolism, and attentiveness to inner life. Rooted in Yoruba cultural traditions, the work treats art not as decoration or spectacle, but as a vessel for memory, presence, and unseen meaning. Through restraint, symbolism, and careful use of absence, painting becomes an act of listening—one that values stillness, dignity, and quiet transformation over immediacy or display.

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How has your upbringing or cultural heritage shaped the themes and techniques you explore in your art today?

I was raised within a cultural and spiritual environment where art, belief, and daily life were not separated. Growing up as a Yoruba man in Nigeria, I was constantly surrounded by symbols, rituals, proverbs, and visual traditions that carried meaning beyond aesthetics. In Yoruba culture, objects are rarely just objects—they are vessels of memory, identity, and spiritual significance. This understanding deeply shaped how I see and make art today. My upbringing taught me that the visible world is only one layer of reality. There is always something beneath—ancestral presence, spiritual meaning, emotional weight. This belief naturally led me to focus on the soul rather than the physical body in my work. I became interested not in how people appear, but in what they carry within them. This is why I often use negative space to suggest the soul, while rendering clothing, environment, and symbols in positive space. The absence becomes presence.

Christianity also plays an important role in my life and practice. My faith shaped my understanding of humility, sacrifice, compassion, and inner transformation. These ideas appear quietly in my work through gestures of care, stillness, and spiritual attentiveness rather than overt religious imagery. I am interested in faith as lived experience rather than doctrine. Technically, my heritage influenced my use of symbolism and narrative. Beads, animals, textiles, moonlight, and natural elements appear not as decoration but as carriers of meaning. They reference protection, watchfulness, vulnerability, and grace. My color choices—often restrained and contemplative—reflect a desire for calm and reflection rather than spectacle.

Ultimately, my upbringing gave me permission to see art as a spiritual language. It taught me that painting can be a form of listening, remembering, and honoring unseen truths.

Does spirituality or a connection to something larger than yourself influence your creative process?

Spirituality is central to my creative process. I do not see it as an added layer or theme, but as the foundation from which my work emerges. My belief that human beings are composed of body, soul, and spirit informs how I approach both subject matter and technique. When I paint, I am not only concerned with form or composition; I am attentive to presence, silence, and inner life. Often, my process begins with contemplation rather than imagery. I spend time reflecting, praying, or sitting with an idea before I ever touch the canvas. This helps me approach the work with humility, allowing the painting to unfold rather than forcing it into existence. I see myself less as a controller and more as a witness to what wants to emerge. Spirituality also influences my pacing. I am drawn to quiet moments—acts of kindness, waiting, protection, and care—because I believe these are sacred gestures in a noisy world. In a time driven by urgency and performance, choosing stillness feels both spiritual and resistant.

The use of light in my work is deeply symbolic. Moonlight, for example, represents guidance without force, illumination without exposure. It mirrors how I experience spirituality—not as something loud or overwhelming, but as something gentle, constant, and watchful. Ultimately, my connection to something larger than myself keeps my work grounded. It reminds me that art is not just about self-expression, but about service—creating spaces where viewers can pause, reflect, and reconnect with their inner selves.

How do you think your art engages with contemporary social or political issues?

My work engages with social and political issues quietly rather than directly. I am less interested in protest imagery and more concerned with dignity, visibility, and inner humanity. In societies where people are often reduced to numbers, labor, or stereotypes, choosing to emphasize the soul becomes a subtle political act. My earlier works depicting figures in rags and tatters reflected lived realities of struggle, class disparity, and survival. However, these images were not meant to sensationalize hardship. Instead, they focused on resilience and transition—the movement from struggle toward grace. This narrative counters dominant representations that frame African lives only through lack or despair.

By painting moments of care, stillness, and humility, I challenge systems that prioritize speed, productivity, and consumption. These systems often leave little room for vulnerability or reflection. In this sense, my work resists contemporary pressures by slowing the viewer down and insisting on empathy. Cultural representation is also political. By integrating Yoruba symbols and Christian spirituality without explanation or apology, I assert their relevance within global contemporary art. I reject the idea that spirituality or tradition is outdated or incompatible with intellectual rigor. My work does not offer solutions or slogans. Instead, it asks viewers to reconsider what they value—what they see, what they ignore, and how they relate to others. That quiet questioning is where its socio-political power lies.

Can you take us through the evolution of an artwork, from that first spark of inspiration to finished piece? 

An artwork usually begins for me with a feeling rather than a clear image. It might be a moment of tenderness, a memory, a spiritual reflection, or a quiet observation. I sit with this feeling until it becomes clear enough to translate visually. I do not rush this stage, because it sets the emotional tone of the work. Once the idea settles, I sketch loosely, allowing room for change. These sketches are not blueprints but conversations. I think about posture, space, and symbolism—what needs to be present and what can remain unseen. This is where decisions about negative and positive space begin to form. When I move to the canvas, I start with broad areas of color and atmosphere. I work intuitively, building layers with oil and acrylic. I allow mistakes to remain visible for a while because they often reveal new directions. Over time, the figure emerges slowly, never fully announced.

Details come last. These include symbolic elements like animals, flowers, or light sources. Each element is added deliberately and only if it serves the emotional and spiritual core of the work. I know a piece is finished when it becomes quiet—when nothing feels excessive or forced. At that point, the work no longer belongs to me alone; it is ready to meet the viewer.

How has your artistic style transformed over the years?

My artistic style has evolved through reflection rather than abrupt change. I began with drawing and painting figures in rags and tatters as a way to express struggle and resilience. These early works were emotionally direct and rooted in lived experience. Over time, I felt the need to move beyond surface narratives of hardship. I became more interested in inner transformation than external conditions. This shift led me to explore symbolism, spirituality, and negative space more deeply. The soul became central, and the body secondary.

My palette also changed. I moved from heavier, earth-bound tones toward cooler, quieter colors that support contemplation. Composition became more restrained, allowing space to breathe. Rather than abandoning my earlier themes, I refined them. Struggle is still present, but now it exists alongside grace, care, and stillness. This evolution reflects my personal growth and deepening faith. My work today feels more intentional, less reactive. I trust silence more. I allow ambiguity. This transformation has helped me remain true to my voice while continuing to grow.

How do you approach criticism from viewers or institutions?

I approach criticism with openness but discernment. I believe not all feedback is meant to be absorbed, but all of it deserves to be listened to respectfully. Early in my career, criticism felt personal. Over time, I learned to separate my identity from my work. Constructive criticism helps me see blind spots and sharpen my intention. Unexpected interpretations often reveal layers I wasn’t consciously aware of, and I value that exchange. It reminds me that art is a dialogue, not a monologue.

However, I am careful not to dilute my voice to satisfy every opinion. Staying grounded in my purpose helps me evaluate criticism without losing direction. Ultimately, criticism has taught me humility and confidence at the same time—humility to learn, confidence to remain faithful to my vision.

How do you think social media is shaping art today?

Social media has made art more visible and accessible, which is a powerful shift. Artists can now reach audiences without traditional gatekeepers. However, this visibility comes with pressure—speed, trends, and constant production. I try to use social media as a window, not a compass. It allows people to encounter my work, but it does not dictate how or why I create. My practice values slowness, which often runs counter to digital culture. The challenge is maintaining depth in a space built for quick consumption. I respond by allowing my work to remain quiet and contemplative, even online. Social media is a tool. Its value depends on how consciously it is used.

If you could communicate one core message through your entire body of work, what would it be?

The core message of my work is that the human soul carries dignity, even in silence, struggle, or obscurity. I want viewers to remember that what is unseen is often what matters most. Through absence, stillness, and gentle symbolism, I invite reflection on inner life. My work encourages slowing down, paying attention, and honoring the humanity in ourselves and others. If viewers leave my work feeling more patient, more compassionate, or more attentive, then the message has been received.

How do you envision the evolution of your work in the coming years?

In the coming years, I see my work becoming more layered and expansive while remaining spiritually grounded. I want to explore scale, deeper narrative complexity, and richer symbolism. I am interested in pushing my technical language while preserving restraint. I also hope to engage broader conversations without losing intimacy. Growth, for me, means depth rather than noise. I want the work to continue listening before speaking.

What kind of legacy do you hope to leave?

I hope to leave a legacy of sincerity. I want my work to be remembered as honest, thoughtful, and rooted in faith and culture. If future artists feel encouraged to trust their inner voice, honor their heritage, and create with integrity because of my work, that would be enough. Ultimately, I want my paintings to remain quiet spaces where the soul can breathe.

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Across themes of spirituality, care, and inner humanity, Mayowa Adekile maintains a practice grounded in sincerity and reflection. Rather than offering declarations or solutions, the work creates space: space for pause, empathy, and recognition of what often remains unseen. Painting remains an offering shaped by culture, discipline, and attentiveness, leaving behind quite images where silence holds weight and the soul is allowed to breathe.