Painting Beyond the Self: Móyòsóré Martins on Returning Home, Spiritual Practice and Building an Inner World

As one of the invited artists in the Republic of Sierra Leone Pavilion at the 61st La Biennale di Venezia, Nigerian artist Móyòsóré Martins reflects on artistic vulnerability, returning to Nigeria, and the role of genuine encounters in shaping his creative practice.

16 July 2026

The Republic of Sierra Leone Pavilion, Worlds of Today, brings together artists from Sierra Leone and invited practitioners from across the ECOWAS region for a broader conversation about contemporary artistic practice across West Africa. Among them is Nigerian painter Móyòsóré Martins, whose two large-scale works, Feed the Machine and The Ego, explore consciousness, vulnerability and personal transformation through a richly layered visual language. Living and working in New York while regularly returning to Nigeria, Martins speaks of painting as a process of spiritual transmission shaped by migration, lived experience and an enduring connection to home. In conversation with ART AFRICA, he reflects on artistic discipline, on remaining grounded, and on why expanding one’s inner world begins with engaging deeply with the world itself.

Suzette Bell-Roberts: You describe your paintings as transmissions rather than simply images. Where do these works begin for you?

Móyòsóré Martins: I’m here showing two works. One is Feed the Machine, and the other is The Ego. Both represent my contribution to Sierra Leone’s Worlds of Today. For me, the work begins long before I paint. It’s about understanding the depth of the ego, its vulnerabilities, and learning how to enter a flow state. I believe we’re all vessels receiving something from a greater source. The work is about becoming open enough to receive that transmission and then projecting it into the world. It’s also about constantly working on yourself, rewiring yourself, so you can become the best version of who you are.

Feed the Machine speaks directly to artistic practice. What does the title mean to you?

The machine is the artist. It’s about what you have to feed in order to keep creating. Sometimes you have to feed your ego, but you also have to understand it and move beyond it. There’s discipline involved. There’s vulnerability. The painting reflects all of that. It’s built with oil paint, wax and pigment sticks, and visually it sits somewhere between the grotesque, pop culture and traditional references. That’s intentional because it reflects where I am today, shaped by growing up in Africa, travelling the world and absorbing different cultures. All of those experiences become part of the work.

Your second work, The Ego, seems to approach that subject from another direction. What does that painting hold for you?

The Ego came from a very personal moment. I experienced what I would call a death of the ego. It left me incredibly vulnerable, but it also unlocked another version of myself as an artist. After that experience, I understood things differently. The painting isn’t illustrating that moment; it’s carrying it.

Your visual language continues to evolve, yet certain symbols keep returning. What draws you back to those recurring forms?

I’ve been developing my artistic language for a long time. When people look at my work, they’ll recognise the iconography, the colour palette and the characters I’ve created. You’ll see the exits, the repeated questions, the words like “why” and “now”. They’re all connected. Every painting is another chapter in the same story. The works aren’t identical, but they all belong to the same flow. They grow together.

You live and work in New York, yet you return to Nigeria whenever you can. How does moving between those worlds shape your practice?

Going back to Nigeria grounds me. Two years ago, I returned to do charity work, and it completely reconnected me. I remember smelling the rain again. There were scents I hadn’t experienced in years. Being around children, seeing how far the smallest things could go, reminded me of the value of life. It brought me closer to the divine again. Living in America for so long, it’s easy to forget those things because human beings adapt in order to survive. But in adapting, something can go missing. Going home was a huge recharge for me. When I returned to New York, I couldn’t paint for a while because it had affected me so deeply. I almost had to rewire myself again before I could begin making work.

Your work moves between Africa, Europe and the United States. How has living across these different contexts changed the way you think as an artist?

Migration was a culture shock. I remember arriving in places where I was often the only Black person in the room. It takes time to grow into those experiences. Travelling has changed me because every culture teaches you something. I think artists need to explore the world, not because of success or money, but because it expands their inner world. You develop taste through experience, by meeting people, by understanding different philosophies. That’s how you grow.

There is increasing international attention to contemporary African and Afro-diasporic art. What conversations do you think still need to happen?

There are still many bridges to be built. There are conversations that have to happen from a place of understanding and mutual respect rather than emotion. I think African art is much bigger than many people imagine. There is work to be done both on the continent and internationally if we want those perspectives to meet properly. At the same time, artists also have responsibilities. You have to develop yourself, expose yourself to the world and keep growing your practice. Representation matters, but so does the work itself.

After everything you’ve experienced, what continues to drive your practice, and what keeps you returning to it? As this conversation comes to a close, what continues to drive your practice, and what keeps you returning to it?

I honestly don’t see this as a career. It’s a mission. I believe I was chosen to do this because I can’t imagine doing anything else. I’m not interested in chasing likes or living online. I’m interested in real conversations, studio visits, meeting people, learning from them and working every day. I tell younger artists to take their practice seriously because anything they imagine is possible. The more you experience the world, the more your inner world grows. That’s where the work comes from. You can’t simply copy what you see. You have to bring something of yourself into it. That’s what makes the work alive, and that’s what keeps me going.