In Uzo Njoku’s world, colour is an anchor, a memory, a rhythm carried from lived on streets and global canvases. The Nigerian-American artist’s works, whether sprawling across a wall or wrapped around a body, translate fleeting surroundings into something enduring, revealing the pattern and rhythm in art that holds both place and spirit. From early recollections of a Nigerian household alive with pride, to New York’s relentless churn of opportunity and reinvention, her practice is a negotiation between roots and routes. We caught up with the artist to talk about the alchemy of colour, the cities that shape her, and how storytelling unfolds when a painting begins to breathe.
hube: Growing up in Lagos, a city rich with rhythm and visual culture, how did your early environment shape not just your aesthetic, but your relationship to storytelling through art? And now that you’re based elsewhere, how does that influence remain, consciously or subconsciously, in your practice?
Uzo Njoku: I wouldn’t say I grew up in Lagos, since I moved to America when I was seven. But what kept me connected to those early memories and to my culture was the way my parents carried their Nigerian identity with pride. As a child, I saw many immigrant kids teased or bullied for being African, but in my household there was never shame; instead, there was a constant reinforcement of who we were. That foundation shaped the way I approach storytelling through art: with a strong sense of where I come from, even when I’m working in other contexts. Over the past two decades, watching Nigerians rise on the global stage in art, music, and fashion has been incredibly affirming. It reminds me that my work, no matter where it’s made, is part of a much larger cultural narrative. Even now, living outside Nigeria, that influence shows up in my practice; sometimes consciously, in the patterns and palettes I choose, and sometimes subconsciously, in the rhythms, confidence, and spirit that underlie the work.
h: You studied Studio Art in Virginia. What led you to eventually settle in New York? You studied Studio Art in Virginia and now live in New York. What drew you to NY, and how has it challenged or expanded your identity as an artist?
UZ: After college, I found myself in Maryland without a clear plan for my future. I had applied to the New York Academy of Art, but at the time I wasn’t sure if I’d get in or even be able to afford it, so New York wasn’t on my mind. I worked as a nanny and at Michael’s Art & Craft, and since I couldn’t afford a studio, I began teaching myself digital art. When the pandemic hit and we went into lockdown, I started creating memes and artwork that went viral on social media. Riding that momentum, I released a collection of prints that instantly took off, which allowed me to expand, hire staff, and develop more products. Almost a year later, I was accepted into the New York Academy of Art on a full scholarship, and around the same time, galleries began inviting me to exhibit in New York. That’s what ultimately drew me here; both the opportunity to study formally and the chance to step fully into being a professional artist.
Living and working in New York has been both grounding and challenging. The city constantly pushes me to refine my voice while also reminding me of the importance of resilience. There’s an energy here that makes you bolder, but it also demands clarity; you have to know who you are as an artist, or you’ll get lost in the noise. For me, that challenge has expanded my identity, giving me the confidence to balance both my fine art practice and my role as a creative entrepreneur.
h: Your portraits feel deeply intuitive, almost like they’re in conversation with the viewer. What’s your internal process when translating a person’s spirit into form and colour?
UZ: My process is very instinctive. I’m constantly collecting colour palettes from the world around me; I might stop someone on the street because their nail polish catches my eye, and that color will spark an entire composition. Other times I’ll pull from the playful hues of ’90s children’s books when I want to create a sense of nostalgia. For me, colour is never just decorative; it carries memory, emotion, and personality. When I paint portraits, I often give my subjects a strong, steady gaze; something that pulls the viewer in immediately. I want the eyes to hold you, then let your attention wander across the patterns and colours of the canvas, before drawing you back again to that intimate connection. It’s in that back-and-forth, between colour and gaze, that I try to translate a person’s spirit onto the canvas.
h: When painting a neighborhood—a scene so layered and in flux—how do you decide what to distill or exaggerate? Are you documenting or imagining?
UZ: Even when I begin from a real place, I rarely paint it exactly as it is. I like to exaggerate certain colours, patterns, or gestures to heighten the emotion of the scene. In that sense, I’m imagining as much as I’m documenting by taking fragments of reality and reshaping them into something that feels both familiar and dreamlike. For me, the goal isn’t just to record what’s there, but to translate the atmosphere and energy of a neighborhood in a way that lingers with the viewer long after they’ve left the canvas.
h: Color plays a starring role in your work, not just as decoration, but as emotion, narrative, and structure. How do you arrive at a palette? Is it instinctive, symbolic, or both?
UZ: Before I know my subject, I build my colour palette first. I heavily refer to the Interaction of Color by Josef Albers. “In visual perception a colour is almost never seen as it really is—as it physically is. This fact makes color the most relative medium in art.” Albers’ approach insists that color is not static but relational, and its emotional effect arises through juxtaposition, proportion, and context. He wanted artists and viewers to understand that the same hue could feel warm or cool, aggressive or calm, depending on its interaction with neighboring colours and that this flux is where art derives its power to shape emotion.
h: You move easily between canvas, fashion, and functional design. How do these shifts in medium affect your visual language?
UZ: Moving between canvas, fashion, and functional design feels very natural to me because at the core, it’s all storytelling through pattern, colour, and form. Each medium challenges me to think differently; on canvas, I can be more introspective and layered, while in fashion and design I have to consider movement, touch, and how the work interacts with daily life. Those shifts keep my visual language alive; what I learn in one space often flows into the others. For example, a motif I paint might later find its way into a textile, or a colour palette I explore in clothing might return to the canvas with new meaning. Working across mediums pushes me to see my practice as expansive rather than confined, and it allows my art to live not just on walls, but in the world, people move through every day.
h: What does “home” mean to you now, as someone with roots in Nigeria, training in Virginia, and a practice in New York?
UZ: Home, for me, isn’t a fixed destination but a tapestry woven from all the places and experiences that have shaped me. My roots in Nigeria, my training in Virginia, and my practice in New York each bring their own cultural nuances, rhythms, and relationships that stay with me wherever I go. Rather than belonging to one place, I carry pieces of each, and together they form a sense of home that is fluid, layered, and always evolving; a journey of continuous self-discovery.
h: Who are the artists, past or present, who feel like kindred spirits to you? Not just in style, but in purpose or energy?
UZ: David Hockney has always felt like a kindred spirit because of his constant evolution. He never confined himself to a single medium or style, and that openness reminds me that growth as an artist comes through experimentation and reinvention. I also admire Alexander Calder, not just for his work but for the way he lived. He wore many hats (artist, host, entertainer) and his home itself became an extension of his creative spirit. That sense of generosity and playfulness, of building community through art, resonates deeply with me and continues to influence how I think about my own practice.
h: What does a typical studio day look like for you? Are there rituals that help you enter the creative headspace?
UZ: A typical studio day for me is rarely just about painting. I might be working on a canvas, creating digital commissions, designing fabrics and products, or managing the logistics of an upcoming exhibition, my website, and the business side of things. My practice moves across so many areas that I’ve learned not to rely on strict rituals, but instead on consistency. I aim to push everything forward by at least ten percent each day. The progress might feel small in the moment, but over time it accumulates into something substantial. That approach keeps me grounded and helps me balance both the creative and practical sides of my work
h: Is there a single artwork that you return to when you feel creatively lost or ungrounded? What does it offer you?
UZ: I do have one artwork of my own that I always return to, called Marcus Garvey Park. It captures people enjoying the park in vivid colours, set against the quiet backdrop of a neighborhood slowly being gentrified. For me, it’s deeply nostalgic; it takes me back to a time when my biggest concern was swinging high enough on the swings. Whenever life or my career starts to feel overwhelming, that painting offers me an escape. It reminds me of joy in its simplest form, and of the importance of holding onto that sense of play even in the midst of adult chaos.
Photography courtesy of UZO NJOKU
Words: JULIA SILVERBERG
