Instagram Story Viewer
View Instagram Stories Anonymously
ayanfee__
Ayanfe Olarinde
Unclogging my thoughts, one painting at a time…
LET THE KID PAINT
📧 helloayanfe@gmail.com
The Rite of Severing, 2026
Ink, acrylic, oil pastels, screeded linen cut outs on canvas
3 x 4ft
_____________
In these works, figures move through a world in quiet transformation, each figure carrying her own rhythm of sowing, protecting, risking, and harvesting.
The greens around them are the pulse of change itself, at once tender and relentless.
The scenes echo stories told by ancestors, where the passage from one season to the next is both a trial and a promise.
There is no certainty in the turning of days, yet the act of tending, venturing and of trusting the unseen, carries its own reward. These beings inhabit that threshold, negotiating the tension between fear and growth also between restraint and joy.
This collection focuses more on journey than arrival: the almost invisible labor of becoming, the quiet courage in choices that shift a life’s course and the moments when change ripens into beauty.
There is also a quiet pull towards folklore as an underlying intention where transformation is often tied to simple, repeated acts. In this context, happiness is not an outcome, and so the story is not of arrival but of passage, something that appears within the cycle itself.
A kind of happiness lives there.
I’ve been thinking about how stories are carried, lost, and reshaped over time, and how I might contribute to that continuity. These pieces feel like small offerings toward creating new visual languages that still echo something inherited that can be received and reinterpreted by a newer generation.
_________________
#ayanfeolarinde #collageart #contemporaryart #scribble #jagaism
The Rite of Severing, 2026
Ink, acrylic, oil pastels, screeded linen cut outs on canvas
3 x 4ft
_____________
In these works, figures move through a world in quiet transformation, each figure carrying her own rhythm of sowing, protecting, risking, and harvesting.
The greens around them are the pulse of change itself, at once tender and relentless.
The scenes echo stories told by ancestors, where the passage from one season to the next is both a trial and a promise.
There is no certainty in the turning of days, yet the act of tending, venturing and of trusting the unseen, carries its own reward. These beings inhabit that threshold, negotiating the tension between fear and growth also between restraint and joy.
This collection focuses more on journey than arrival: the almost invisible labor of becoming, the quiet courage in choices that shift a life’s course and the moments when change ripens into beauty.
There is also a quiet pull towards folklore as an underlying intention where transformation is often tied to simple, repeated acts. In this context, happiness is not an outcome, and so the story is not of arrival but of passage, something that appears within the cycle itself.
A kind of happiness lives there.
I’ve been thinking about how stories are carried, lost, and reshaped over time, and how I might contribute to that continuity. These pieces feel like small offerings toward creating new visual languages that still echo something inherited that can be received and reinterpreted by a newer generation.
_________________
#ayanfeolarinde #collageart #contemporaryart #scribble #jagaism
The Rite of Severing, 2026
Ink, acrylic, oil pastels, screeded linen cut outs on canvas
3 x 4ft
_____________
In these works, figures move through a world in quiet transformation, each figure carrying her own rhythm of sowing, protecting, risking, and harvesting.
The greens around them are the pulse of change itself, at once tender and relentless.
The scenes echo stories told by ancestors, where the passage from one season to the next is both a trial and a promise.
There is no certainty in the turning of days, yet the act of tending, venturing and of trusting the unseen, carries its own reward. These beings inhabit that threshold, negotiating the tension between fear and growth also between restraint and joy.
This collection focuses more on journey than arrival: the almost invisible labor of becoming, the quiet courage in choices that shift a life’s course and the moments when change ripens into beauty.
There is also a quiet pull towards folklore as an underlying intention where transformation is often tied to simple, repeated acts. In this context, happiness is not an outcome, and so the story is not of arrival but of passage, something that appears within the cycle itself.
A kind of happiness lives there.
I’ve been thinking about how stories are carried, lost, and reshaped over time, and how I might contribute to that continuity. These pieces feel like small offerings toward creating new visual languages that still echo something inherited that can be received and reinterpreted by a newer generation.
_________________
#ayanfeolarinde #collageart #contemporaryart #scribble #jagaism
The Rite of Severing, 2026
Ink, acrylic, oil pastels, screeded linen cut outs on canvas
3 x 4ft
_____________
In these works, figures move through a world in quiet transformation, each figure carrying her own rhythm of sowing, protecting, risking, and harvesting.
The greens around them are the pulse of change itself, at once tender and relentless.
The scenes echo stories told by ancestors, where the passage from one season to the next is both a trial and a promise.
There is no certainty in the turning of days, yet the act of tending, venturing and of trusting the unseen, carries its own reward. These beings inhabit that threshold, negotiating the tension between fear and growth also between restraint and joy.
This collection focuses more on journey than arrival: the almost invisible labor of becoming, the quiet courage in choices that shift a life’s course and the moments when change ripens into beauty.
There is also a quiet pull towards folklore as an underlying intention where transformation is often tied to simple, repeated acts. In this context, happiness is not an outcome, and so the story is not of arrival but of passage, something that appears within the cycle itself.
A kind of happiness lives there.
I’ve been thinking about how stories are carried, lost, and reshaped over time, and how I might contribute to that continuity. These pieces feel like small offerings toward creating new visual languages that still echo something inherited that can be received and reinterpreted by a newer generation.
_________________
#ayanfeolarinde #collageart #contemporaryart #scribble #jagaism
The Rite of Severing, 2026
Ink, acrylic, oil pastels, screeded linen cut outs on canvas
3 x 4ft
_____________
In these works, figures move through a world in quiet transformation, each figure carrying her own rhythm of sowing, protecting, risking, and harvesting.
The greens around them are the pulse of change itself, at once tender and relentless.
The scenes echo stories told by ancestors, where the passage from one season to the next is both a trial and a promise.
There is no certainty in the turning of days, yet the act of tending, venturing and of trusting the unseen, carries its own reward. These beings inhabit that threshold, negotiating the tension between fear and growth also between restraint and joy.
This collection focuses more on journey than arrival: the almost invisible labor of becoming, the quiet courage in choices that shift a life’s course and the moments when change ripens into beauty.
There is also a quiet pull towards folklore as an underlying intention where transformation is often tied to simple, repeated acts. In this context, happiness is not an outcome, and so the story is not of arrival but of passage, something that appears within the cycle itself.
A kind of happiness lives there.
I’ve been thinking about how stories are carried, lost, and reshaped over time, and how I might contribute to that continuity. These pieces feel like small offerings toward creating new visual languages that still echo something inherited that can be received and reinterpreted by a newer generation.
_________________
#ayanfeolarinde #collageart #contemporaryart #scribble #jagaism
The Rite of Severing, 2026
Ink, acrylic, oil pastels, screeded linen cut outs on canvas
3 x 4ft
_____________
In these works, figures move through a world in quiet transformation, each figure carrying her own rhythm of sowing, protecting, risking, and harvesting.
The greens around them are the pulse of change itself, at once tender and relentless.
The scenes echo stories told by ancestors, where the passage from one season to the next is both a trial and a promise.
There is no certainty in the turning of days, yet the act of tending, venturing and of trusting the unseen, carries its own reward. These beings inhabit that threshold, negotiating the tension between fear and growth also between restraint and joy.
This collection focuses more on journey than arrival: the almost invisible labor of becoming, the quiet courage in choices that shift a life’s course and the moments when change ripens into beauty.
There is also a quiet pull towards folklore as an underlying intention where transformation is often tied to simple, repeated acts. In this context, happiness is not an outcome, and so the story is not of arrival but of passage, something that appears within the cycle itself.
A kind of happiness lives there.
I’ve been thinking about how stories are carried, lost, and reshaped over time, and how I might contribute to that continuity. These pieces feel like small offerings toward creating new visual languages that still echo something inherited that can be received and reinterpreted by a newer generation.
_________________
#ayanfeolarinde #collageart #contemporaryart #scribble #jagaism
The Rite of Severing, 2026
Ink, acrylic, oil pastels, screeded linen cut outs on canvas
3 x 4ft
_____________
In these works, figures move through a world in quiet transformation, each figure carrying her own rhythm of sowing, protecting, risking, and harvesting.
The greens around them are the pulse of change itself, at once tender and relentless.
The scenes echo stories told by ancestors, where the passage from one season to the next is both a trial and a promise.
There is no certainty in the turning of days, yet the act of tending, venturing and of trusting the unseen, carries its own reward. These beings inhabit that threshold, negotiating the tension between fear and growth also between restraint and joy.
This collection focuses more on journey than arrival: the almost invisible labor of becoming, the quiet courage in choices that shift a life’s course and the moments when change ripens into beauty.
There is also a quiet pull towards folklore as an underlying intention where transformation is often tied to simple, repeated acts. In this context, happiness is not an outcome, and so the story is not of arrival but of passage, something that appears within the cycle itself.
A kind of happiness lives there.
I’ve been thinking about how stories are carried, lost, and reshaped over time, and how I might contribute to that continuity. These pieces feel like small offerings toward creating new visual languages that still echo something inherited that can be received and reinterpreted by a newer generation.
_________________
#ayanfeolarinde #collageart #contemporaryart #scribble #jagaism
The Rite of Severing, 2026
Ink, acrylic, oil pastels, screeded linen cut outs on canvas
3 x 4ft
_____________
In these works, figures move through a world in quiet transformation, each figure carrying her own rhythm of sowing, protecting, risking, and harvesting.
The greens around them are the pulse of change itself, at once tender and relentless.
The scenes echo stories told by ancestors, where the passage from one season to the next is both a trial and a promise.
There is no certainty in the turning of days, yet the act of tending, venturing and of trusting the unseen, carries its own reward. These beings inhabit that threshold, negotiating the tension between fear and growth also between restraint and joy.
This collection focuses more on journey than arrival: the almost invisible labor of becoming, the quiet courage in choices that shift a life’s course and the moments when change ripens into beauty.
There is also a quiet pull towards folklore as an underlying intention where transformation is often tied to simple, repeated acts. In this context, happiness is not an outcome, and so the story is not of arrival but of passage, something that appears within the cycle itself.
A kind of happiness lives there.
I’ve been thinking about how stories are carried, lost, and reshaped over time, and how I might contribute to that continuity. These pieces feel like small offerings toward creating new visual languages that still echo something inherited that can be received and reinterpreted by a newer generation.
_________________
#ayanfeolarinde #collageart #contemporaryart #scribble #jagaism
The Rite of Severing, 2026
Ink, acrylic, oil pastels, screeded linen cut outs on canvas
3 x 4ft
_____________
In these works, figures move through a world in quiet transformation, each figure carrying her own rhythm of sowing, protecting, risking, and harvesting.
The greens around them are the pulse of change itself, at once tender and relentless.
The scenes echo stories told by ancestors, where the passage from one season to the next is both a trial and a promise.
There is no certainty in the turning of days, yet the act of tending, venturing and of trusting the unseen, carries its own reward. These beings inhabit that threshold, negotiating the tension between fear and growth also between restraint and joy.
This collection focuses more on journey than arrival: the almost invisible labor of becoming, the quiet courage in choices that shift a life’s course and the moments when change ripens into beauty.
There is also a quiet pull towards folklore as an underlying intention where transformation is often tied to simple, repeated acts. In this context, happiness is not an outcome, and so the story is not of arrival but of passage, something that appears within the cycle itself.
A kind of happiness lives there.
I’ve been thinking about how stories are carried, lost, and reshaped over time, and how I might contribute to that continuity. These pieces feel like small offerings toward creating new visual languages that still echo something inherited that can be received and reinterpreted by a newer generation.
_________________
#ayanfeolarinde #collageart #contemporaryart #scribble #jagaism
The Rite of Severing, 2026
Ink, acrylic, oil pastels, screeded linen cut outs on canvas
3 x 4ft
_____________
In these works, figures move through a world in quiet transformation, each figure carrying her own rhythm of sowing, protecting, risking, and harvesting.
The greens around them are the pulse of change itself, at once tender and relentless.
The scenes echo stories told by ancestors, where the passage from one season to the next is both a trial and a promise.
There is no certainty in the turning of days, yet the act of tending, venturing and of trusting the unseen, carries its own reward. These beings inhabit that threshold, negotiating the tension between fear and growth also between restraint and joy.
This collection focuses more on journey than arrival: the almost invisible labor of becoming, the quiet courage in choices that shift a life’s course and the moments when change ripens into beauty.
There is also a quiet pull towards folklore as an underlying intention where transformation is often tied to simple, repeated acts. In this context, happiness is not an outcome, and so the story is not of arrival but of passage, something that appears within the cycle itself.
A kind of happiness lives there.
I’ve been thinking about how stories are carried, lost, and reshaped over time, and how I might contribute to that continuity. These pieces feel like small offerings toward creating new visual languages that still echo something inherited that can be received and reinterpreted by a newer generation.
_________________
#ayanfeolarinde #collageart #contemporaryart #scribble #jagaism
The Rite of Severing, 2026
Ink, acrylic, oil pastels, screeded linen cut outs on canvas
3 x 4ft
_____________
In these works, figures move through a world in quiet transformation, each figure carrying her own rhythm of sowing, protecting, risking, and harvesting.
The greens around them are the pulse of change itself, at once tender and relentless.
The scenes echo stories told by ancestors, where the passage from one season to the next is both a trial and a promise.
There is no certainty in the turning of days, yet the act of tending, venturing and of trusting the unseen, carries its own reward. These beings inhabit that threshold, negotiating the tension between fear and growth also between restraint and joy.
This collection focuses more on journey than arrival: the almost invisible labor of becoming, the quiet courage in choices that shift a life’s course and the moments when change ripens into beauty.
There is also a quiet pull towards folklore as an underlying intention where transformation is often tied to simple, repeated acts. In this context, happiness is not an outcome, and so the story is not of arrival but of passage, something that appears within the cycle itself.
A kind of happiness lives there.
I’ve been thinking about how stories are carried, lost, and reshaped over time, and how I might contribute to that continuity. These pieces feel like small offerings toward creating new visual languages that still echo something inherited that can be received and reinterpreted by a newer generation.
_________________
#ayanfeolarinde #collageart #contemporaryart #scribble #jagaism
Feels like a breath of fresh air
“Another day” by @thee_sehb 🎶
#ayanfeolarinde #contemporaryart #jagaism #reel #collageart
👩🏿🎨🎨👨🏿🎨 | Lagos nights. getting our hands dirty. me and my twin - @ayanfee__ at her studio
The Seedkeeper, 2026
Ink, acrylic, oil pastels, screeded linen cut outs, painted canvas on linen
4 x 5ft
_______________
In these works, figures move through a world in quiet transformation, each figure carrying her own rhythm of sowing, protecting, risking, and harvesting.
The greens around them are the pulse of change itself, at once tender and relentless.
The scenes echo stories told by ancestors, where the passage from one season to the next is both a trial and a promise.
There is no certainty in the turning of days, yet the act of tending, venturing and of trusting the unseen, carries its own reward. These beings inhabit that threshold, negotiating the tension between fear and growth also between restraint and joy.
This collection focuses more on journey than arrival: the almost invisible labor of becoming, the quiet courage in choices that shift a life’s course and the moments when change ripens into beauty.
There is also a quiet pull towards folklore as an underlying intention where transformation is often tied to simple, repeated acts. In this context, happiness is not an outcome, and so the story is not of arrival but of passage, something that appears within the cycle itself.
A kind of happiness lives there.
I’ve been thinking about how stories are carried, lost, and reshaped over time, and how I might contribute to that continuity. These pieces feel like small offerings toward creating new visual languages that still echo something inherited that can be received and reinterpreted by a newer generation.
_________________
Currently on view @o.da_art
Exhibition closes 25th of April
#ayanfeolarinde #contemporaryartwork #collage #scribble #contemporaryart
The Seedkeeper, 2026
Ink, acrylic, oil pastels, screeded linen cut outs, painted canvas on linen
4 x 5ft
_______________
In these works, figures move through a world in quiet transformation, each figure carrying her own rhythm of sowing, protecting, risking, and harvesting.
The greens around them are the pulse of change itself, at once tender and relentless.
The scenes echo stories told by ancestors, where the passage from one season to the next is both a trial and a promise.
There is no certainty in the turning of days, yet the act of tending, venturing and of trusting the unseen, carries its own reward. These beings inhabit that threshold, negotiating the tension between fear and growth also between restraint and joy.
This collection focuses more on journey than arrival: the almost invisible labor of becoming, the quiet courage in choices that shift a life’s course and the moments when change ripens into beauty.
There is also a quiet pull towards folklore as an underlying intention where transformation is often tied to simple, repeated acts. In this context, happiness is not an outcome, and so the story is not of arrival but of passage, something that appears within the cycle itself.
A kind of happiness lives there.
I’ve been thinking about how stories are carried, lost, and reshaped over time, and how I might contribute to that continuity. These pieces feel like small offerings toward creating new visual languages that still echo something inherited that can be received and reinterpreted by a newer generation.
_________________
Currently on view @o.da_art
Exhibition closes 25th of April
#ayanfeolarinde #contemporaryartwork #collage #scribble #contemporaryart
The Seedkeeper, 2026
Ink, acrylic, oil pastels, screeded linen cut outs, painted canvas on linen
4 x 5ft
_______________
In these works, figures move through a world in quiet transformation, each figure carrying her own rhythm of sowing, protecting, risking, and harvesting.
The greens around them are the pulse of change itself, at once tender and relentless.
The scenes echo stories told by ancestors, where the passage from one season to the next is both a trial and a promise.
There is no certainty in the turning of days, yet the act of tending, venturing and of trusting the unseen, carries its own reward. These beings inhabit that threshold, negotiating the tension between fear and growth also between restraint and joy.
This collection focuses more on journey than arrival: the almost invisible labor of becoming, the quiet courage in choices that shift a life’s course and the moments when change ripens into beauty.
There is also a quiet pull towards folklore as an underlying intention where transformation is often tied to simple, repeated acts. In this context, happiness is not an outcome, and so the story is not of arrival but of passage, something that appears within the cycle itself.
A kind of happiness lives there.
I’ve been thinking about how stories are carried, lost, and reshaped over time, and how I might contribute to that continuity. These pieces feel like small offerings toward creating new visual languages that still echo something inherited that can be received and reinterpreted by a newer generation.
_________________
Currently on view @o.da_art
Exhibition closes 25th of April
#ayanfeolarinde #contemporaryartwork #collage #scribble #contemporaryart
The Seedkeeper, 2026
Ink, acrylic, oil pastels, screeded linen cut outs, painted canvas on linen
4 x 5ft
_______________
In these works, figures move through a world in quiet transformation, each figure carrying her own rhythm of sowing, protecting, risking, and harvesting.
The greens around them are the pulse of change itself, at once tender and relentless.
The scenes echo stories told by ancestors, where the passage from one season to the next is both a trial and a promise.
There is no certainty in the turning of days, yet the act of tending, venturing and of trusting the unseen, carries its own reward. These beings inhabit that threshold, negotiating the tension between fear and growth also between restraint and joy.
This collection focuses more on journey than arrival: the almost invisible labor of becoming, the quiet courage in choices that shift a life’s course and the moments when change ripens into beauty.
There is also a quiet pull towards folklore as an underlying intention where transformation is often tied to simple, repeated acts. In this context, happiness is not an outcome, and so the story is not of arrival but of passage, something that appears within the cycle itself.
A kind of happiness lives there.
I’ve been thinking about how stories are carried, lost, and reshaped over time, and how I might contribute to that continuity. These pieces feel like small offerings toward creating new visual languages that still echo something inherited that can be received and reinterpreted by a newer generation.
_________________
Currently on view @o.da_art
Exhibition closes 25th of April
#ayanfeolarinde #contemporaryartwork #collage #scribble #contemporaryart
The Seedkeeper, 2026
Ink, acrylic, oil pastels, screeded linen cut outs, painted canvas on linen
4 x 5ft
_______________
In these works, figures move through a world in quiet transformation, each figure carrying her own rhythm of sowing, protecting, risking, and harvesting.
The greens around them are the pulse of change itself, at once tender and relentless.
The scenes echo stories told by ancestors, where the passage from one season to the next is both a trial and a promise.
There is no certainty in the turning of days, yet the act of tending, venturing and of trusting the unseen, carries its own reward. These beings inhabit that threshold, negotiating the tension between fear and growth also between restraint and joy.
This collection focuses more on journey than arrival: the almost invisible labor of becoming, the quiet courage in choices that shift a life’s course and the moments when change ripens into beauty.
There is also a quiet pull towards folklore as an underlying intention where transformation is often tied to simple, repeated acts. In this context, happiness is not an outcome, and so the story is not of arrival but of passage, something that appears within the cycle itself.
A kind of happiness lives there.
I’ve been thinking about how stories are carried, lost, and reshaped over time, and how I might contribute to that continuity. These pieces feel like small offerings toward creating new visual languages that still echo something inherited that can be received and reinterpreted by a newer generation.
_________________
Currently on view @o.da_art
Exhibition closes 25th of April
#ayanfeolarinde #contemporaryartwork #collage #scribble #contemporaryart
The Seedkeeper, 2026
Ink, acrylic, oil pastels, screeded linen cut outs, painted canvas on linen
4 x 5ft
_______________
In these works, figures move through a world in quiet transformation, each figure carrying her own rhythm of sowing, protecting, risking, and harvesting.
The greens around them are the pulse of change itself, at once tender and relentless.
The scenes echo stories told by ancestors, where the passage from one season to the next is both a trial and a promise.
There is no certainty in the turning of days, yet the act of tending, venturing and of trusting the unseen, carries its own reward. These beings inhabit that threshold, negotiating the tension between fear and growth also between restraint and joy.
This collection focuses more on journey than arrival: the almost invisible labor of becoming, the quiet courage in choices that shift a life’s course and the moments when change ripens into beauty.
There is also a quiet pull towards folklore as an underlying intention where transformation is often tied to simple, repeated acts. In this context, happiness is not an outcome, and so the story is not of arrival but of passage, something that appears within the cycle itself.
A kind of happiness lives there.
I’ve been thinking about how stories are carried, lost, and reshaped over time, and how I might contribute to that continuity. These pieces feel like small offerings toward creating new visual languages that still echo something inherited that can be received and reinterpreted by a newer generation.
_________________
Currently on view @o.da_art
Exhibition closes 25th of April
#ayanfeolarinde #contemporaryartwork #collage #scribble #contemporaryart
The Seedkeeper, 2026
Ink, acrylic, oil pastels, screeded linen cut outs, painted canvas on linen
4 x 5ft
_______________
In these works, figures move through a world in quiet transformation, each figure carrying her own rhythm of sowing, protecting, risking, and harvesting.
The greens around them are the pulse of change itself, at once tender and relentless.
The scenes echo stories told by ancestors, where the passage from one season to the next is both a trial and a promise.
There is no certainty in the turning of days, yet the act of tending, venturing and of trusting the unseen, carries its own reward. These beings inhabit that threshold, negotiating the tension between fear and growth also between restraint and joy.
This collection focuses more on journey than arrival: the almost invisible labor of becoming, the quiet courage in choices that shift a life’s course and the moments when change ripens into beauty.
There is also a quiet pull towards folklore as an underlying intention where transformation is often tied to simple, repeated acts. In this context, happiness is not an outcome, and so the story is not of arrival but of passage, something that appears within the cycle itself.
A kind of happiness lives there.
I’ve been thinking about how stories are carried, lost, and reshaped over time, and how I might contribute to that continuity. These pieces feel like small offerings toward creating new visual languages that still echo something inherited that can be received and reinterpreted by a newer generation.
_________________
Currently on view @o.da_art
Exhibition closes 25th of April
#ayanfeolarinde #contemporaryartwork #collage #scribble #contemporaryart
The Seedkeeper, 2026
Ink, acrylic, oil pastels, screeded linen cut outs, painted canvas on linen
4 x 5ft
_______________
In these works, figures move through a world in quiet transformation, each figure carrying her own rhythm of sowing, protecting, risking, and harvesting.
The greens around them are the pulse of change itself, at once tender and relentless.
The scenes echo stories told by ancestors, where the passage from one season to the next is both a trial and a promise.
There is no certainty in the turning of days, yet the act of tending, venturing and of trusting the unseen, carries its own reward. These beings inhabit that threshold, negotiating the tension between fear and growth also between restraint and joy.
This collection focuses more on journey than arrival: the almost invisible labor of becoming, the quiet courage in choices that shift a life’s course and the moments when change ripens into beauty.
There is also a quiet pull towards folklore as an underlying intention where transformation is often tied to simple, repeated acts. In this context, happiness is not an outcome, and so the story is not of arrival but of passage, something that appears within the cycle itself.
A kind of happiness lives there.
I’ve been thinking about how stories are carried, lost, and reshaped over time, and how I might contribute to that continuity. These pieces feel like small offerings toward creating new visual languages that still echo something inherited that can be received and reinterpreted by a newer generation.
_________________
Currently on view @o.da_art
Exhibition closes 25th of April
#ayanfeolarinde #contemporaryartwork #collage #scribble #contemporaryart
The Seedkeeper, 2026
Ink, acrylic, oil pastels, screeded linen cut outs, painted canvas on linen
4 x 5ft
_______________
In these works, figures move through a world in quiet transformation, each figure carrying her own rhythm of sowing, protecting, risking, and harvesting.
The greens around them are the pulse of change itself, at once tender and relentless.
The scenes echo stories told by ancestors, where the passage from one season to the next is both a trial and a promise.
There is no certainty in the turning of days, yet the act of tending, venturing and of trusting the unseen, carries its own reward. These beings inhabit that threshold, negotiating the tension between fear and growth also between restraint and joy.
This collection focuses more on journey than arrival: the almost invisible labor of becoming, the quiet courage in choices that shift a life’s course and the moments when change ripens into beauty.
There is also a quiet pull towards folklore as an underlying intention where transformation is often tied to simple, repeated acts. In this context, happiness is not an outcome, and so the story is not of arrival but of passage, something that appears within the cycle itself.
A kind of happiness lives there.
I’ve been thinking about how stories are carried, lost, and reshaped over time, and how I might contribute to that continuity. These pieces feel like small offerings toward creating new visual languages that still echo something inherited that can be received and reinterpreted by a newer generation.
_________________
Currently on view @o.da_art
Exhibition closes 25th of April
#ayanfeolarinde #contemporaryartwork #collage #scribble #contemporaryart
Ayanfe Olarinde is intuitive and clear about what is authentic to her. Olarinde depicts change as uncomfortable but promises happiness on the other side.
Happiness, in this context, is approached from the perspective of growth and transformation: joy is not immediately evident but is implied as the necessary aftermath.
Happy continues.
The exhibition remains on view through April 25th.
Tuesdays – Saturdays | 11am – 6pm
You can also explore the works via the link in our bio.
#exhibitions #contemporaryafricanart #odaart #happy
The Vigil (Metamorphosis)
Ink, acrylic, oil pastels, screeded linen cut outs on canvas
3 x 4ft
2026
_____________
In these works, figures move through a world in quiet transformation, each figure carrying her own rhythm of sowing, protecting, risking, and harvesting.
The greens around them are the pulse of change itself, at once tender and relentless.
The scenes echo stories told by ancestors, where the passage from one season to the next is both a trial and a promise.
There is no certainty in the turning of days, yet the act of tending, venturing and of trusting the unseen, carries its own reward. These beings inhabit that threshold, negotiating the tension between fear and growth also between restraint and joy.
This collection focuses more on journey than arrival: the almost invisible labor of becoming, the quiet courage in choices that shift a life’s course and the moments when change ripens into beauty.
There is also a quiet pull towards folklore as an underlying intention where transformation is often tied to simple, repeated acts. In this context, happiness is not an outcome, and so the story is not of arrival but of passage, something that appears within the cycle itself.
A kind of happiness lives there.
I’ve been thinking about how stories are carried, lost, and reshaped over time, and how I might contribute to that continuity. These pieces feel like small offerings toward creating new visual languages that still echo something inherited that can be received and reinterpreted by a newer generation.
_________________
Currently on view @o.da_art
#ayanfeolarinde #contemporaryartwork #collage #scribble #jagaism
The Vigil (Metamorphosis)
Ink, acrylic, oil pastels, screeded linen cut outs on canvas
3 x 4ft
2026
_____________
In these works, figures move through a world in quiet transformation, each figure carrying her own rhythm of sowing, protecting, risking, and harvesting.
The greens around them are the pulse of change itself, at once tender and relentless.
The scenes echo stories told by ancestors, where the passage from one season to the next is both a trial and a promise.
There is no certainty in the turning of days, yet the act of tending, venturing and of trusting the unseen, carries its own reward. These beings inhabit that threshold, negotiating the tension between fear and growth also between restraint and joy.
This collection focuses more on journey than arrival: the almost invisible labor of becoming, the quiet courage in choices that shift a life’s course and the moments when change ripens into beauty.
There is also a quiet pull towards folklore as an underlying intention where transformation is often tied to simple, repeated acts. In this context, happiness is not an outcome, and so the story is not of arrival but of passage, something that appears within the cycle itself.
A kind of happiness lives there.
I’ve been thinking about how stories are carried, lost, and reshaped over time, and how I might contribute to that continuity. These pieces feel like small offerings toward creating new visual languages that still echo something inherited that can be received and reinterpreted by a newer generation.
_________________
Currently on view @o.da_art
#ayanfeolarinde #contemporaryartwork #collage #scribble #jagaism
The Vigil (Metamorphosis)
Ink, acrylic, oil pastels, screeded linen cut outs on canvas
3 x 4ft
2026
_____________
In these works, figures move through a world in quiet transformation, each figure carrying her own rhythm of sowing, protecting, risking, and harvesting.
The greens around them are the pulse of change itself, at once tender and relentless.
The scenes echo stories told by ancestors, where the passage from one season to the next is both a trial and a promise.
There is no certainty in the turning of days, yet the act of tending, venturing and of trusting the unseen, carries its own reward. These beings inhabit that threshold, negotiating the tension between fear and growth also between restraint and joy.
This collection focuses more on journey than arrival: the almost invisible labor of becoming, the quiet courage in choices that shift a life’s course and the moments when change ripens into beauty.
There is also a quiet pull towards folklore as an underlying intention where transformation is often tied to simple, repeated acts. In this context, happiness is not an outcome, and so the story is not of arrival but of passage, something that appears within the cycle itself.
A kind of happiness lives there.
I’ve been thinking about how stories are carried, lost, and reshaped over time, and how I might contribute to that continuity. These pieces feel like small offerings toward creating new visual languages that still echo something inherited that can be received and reinterpreted by a newer generation.
_________________
Currently on view @o.da_art
#ayanfeolarinde #contemporaryartwork #collage #scribble #jagaism
The Vigil (Metamorphosis)
Ink, acrylic, oil pastels, screeded linen cut outs on canvas
3 x 4ft
2026
_____________
In these works, figures move through a world in quiet transformation, each figure carrying her own rhythm of sowing, protecting, risking, and harvesting.
The greens around them are the pulse of change itself, at once tender and relentless.
The scenes echo stories told by ancestors, where the passage from one season to the next is both a trial and a promise.
There is no certainty in the turning of days, yet the act of tending, venturing and of trusting the unseen, carries its own reward. These beings inhabit that threshold, negotiating the tension between fear and growth also between restraint and joy.
This collection focuses more on journey than arrival: the almost invisible labor of becoming, the quiet courage in choices that shift a life’s course and the moments when change ripens into beauty.
There is also a quiet pull towards folklore as an underlying intention where transformation is often tied to simple, repeated acts. In this context, happiness is not an outcome, and so the story is not of arrival but of passage, something that appears within the cycle itself.
A kind of happiness lives there.
I’ve been thinking about how stories are carried, lost, and reshaped over time, and how I might contribute to that continuity. These pieces feel like small offerings toward creating new visual languages that still echo something inherited that can be received and reinterpreted by a newer generation.
_________________
Currently on view @o.da_art
#ayanfeolarinde #contemporaryartwork #collage #scribble #jagaism
The Vigil (Metamorphosis)
Ink, acrylic, oil pastels, screeded linen cut outs on canvas
3 x 4ft
2026
_____________
In these works, figures move through a world in quiet transformation, each figure carrying her own rhythm of sowing, protecting, risking, and harvesting.
The greens around them are the pulse of change itself, at once tender and relentless.
The scenes echo stories told by ancestors, where the passage from one season to the next is both a trial and a promise.
There is no certainty in the turning of days, yet the act of tending, venturing and of trusting the unseen, carries its own reward. These beings inhabit that threshold, negotiating the tension between fear and growth also between restraint and joy.
This collection focuses more on journey than arrival: the almost invisible labor of becoming, the quiet courage in choices that shift a life’s course and the moments when change ripens into beauty.
There is also a quiet pull towards folklore as an underlying intention where transformation is often tied to simple, repeated acts. In this context, happiness is not an outcome, and so the story is not of arrival but of passage, something that appears within the cycle itself.
A kind of happiness lives there.
I’ve been thinking about how stories are carried, lost, and reshaped over time, and how I might contribute to that continuity. These pieces feel like small offerings toward creating new visual languages that still echo something inherited that can be received and reinterpreted by a newer generation.
_________________
Currently on view @o.da_art
#ayanfeolarinde #contemporaryartwork #collage #scribble #jagaism
The Vigil (Metamorphosis)
Ink, acrylic, oil pastels, screeded linen cut outs on canvas
3 x 4ft
2026
_____________
In these works, figures move through a world in quiet transformation, each figure carrying her own rhythm of sowing, protecting, risking, and harvesting.
The greens around them are the pulse of change itself, at once tender and relentless.
The scenes echo stories told by ancestors, where the passage from one season to the next is both a trial and a promise.
There is no certainty in the turning of days, yet the act of tending, venturing and of trusting the unseen, carries its own reward. These beings inhabit that threshold, negotiating the tension between fear and growth also between restraint and joy.
This collection focuses more on journey than arrival: the almost invisible labor of becoming, the quiet courage in choices that shift a life’s course and the moments when change ripens into beauty.
There is also a quiet pull towards folklore as an underlying intention where transformation is often tied to simple, repeated acts. In this context, happiness is not an outcome, and so the story is not of arrival but of passage, something that appears within the cycle itself.
A kind of happiness lives there.
I’ve been thinking about how stories are carried, lost, and reshaped over time, and how I might contribute to that continuity. These pieces feel like small offerings toward creating new visual languages that still echo something inherited that can be received and reinterpreted by a newer generation.
_________________
Currently on view @o.da_art
#ayanfeolarinde #contemporaryartwork #collage #scribble #jagaism
The Vigil (Metamorphosis)
Ink, acrylic, oil pastels, screeded linen cut outs on canvas
3 x 4ft
2026
_____________
In these works, figures move through a world in quiet transformation, each figure carrying her own rhythm of sowing, protecting, risking, and harvesting.
The greens around them are the pulse of change itself, at once tender and relentless.
The scenes echo stories told by ancestors, where the passage from one season to the next is both a trial and a promise.
There is no certainty in the turning of days, yet the act of tending, venturing and of trusting the unseen, carries its own reward. These beings inhabit that threshold, negotiating the tension between fear and growth also between restraint and joy.
This collection focuses more on journey than arrival: the almost invisible labor of becoming, the quiet courage in choices that shift a life’s course and the moments when change ripens into beauty.
There is also a quiet pull towards folklore as an underlying intention where transformation is often tied to simple, repeated acts. In this context, happiness is not an outcome, and so the story is not of arrival but of passage, something that appears within the cycle itself.
A kind of happiness lives there.
I’ve been thinking about how stories are carried, lost, and reshaped over time, and how I might contribute to that continuity. These pieces feel like small offerings toward creating new visual languages that still echo something inherited that can be received and reinterpreted by a newer generation.
_________________
Currently on view @o.da_art
#ayanfeolarinde #contemporaryartwork #collage #scribble #jagaism
The Vigil (Metamorphosis)
Ink, acrylic, oil pastels, screeded linen cut outs on canvas
3 x 4ft
2026
_____________
In these works, figures move through a world in quiet transformation, each figure carrying her own rhythm of sowing, protecting, risking, and harvesting.
The greens around them are the pulse of change itself, at once tender and relentless.
The scenes echo stories told by ancestors, where the passage from one season to the next is both a trial and a promise.
There is no certainty in the turning of days, yet the act of tending, venturing and of trusting the unseen, carries its own reward. These beings inhabit that threshold, negotiating the tension between fear and growth also between restraint and joy.
This collection focuses more on journey than arrival: the almost invisible labor of becoming, the quiet courage in choices that shift a life’s course and the moments when change ripens into beauty.
There is also a quiet pull towards folklore as an underlying intention where transformation is often tied to simple, repeated acts. In this context, happiness is not an outcome, and so the story is not of arrival but of passage, something that appears within the cycle itself.
A kind of happiness lives there.
I’ve been thinking about how stories are carried, lost, and reshaped over time, and how I might contribute to that continuity. These pieces feel like small offerings toward creating new visual languages that still echo something inherited that can be received and reinterpreted by a newer generation.
_________________
Currently on view @o.da_art
#ayanfeolarinde #contemporaryartwork #collage #scribble #jagaism
The Vigil (Metamorphosis)
Ink, acrylic, oil pastels, screeded linen cut outs on canvas
3 x 4ft
2026
_____________
In these works, figures move through a world in quiet transformation, each figure carrying her own rhythm of sowing, protecting, risking, and harvesting.
The greens around them are the pulse of change itself, at once tender and relentless.
The scenes echo stories told by ancestors, where the passage from one season to the next is both a trial and a promise.
There is no certainty in the turning of days, yet the act of tending, venturing and of trusting the unseen, carries its own reward. These beings inhabit that threshold, negotiating the tension between fear and growth also between restraint and joy.
This collection focuses more on journey than arrival: the almost invisible labor of becoming, the quiet courage in choices that shift a life’s course and the moments when change ripens into beauty.
There is also a quiet pull towards folklore as an underlying intention where transformation is often tied to simple, repeated acts. In this context, happiness is not an outcome, and so the story is not of arrival but of passage, something that appears within the cycle itself.
A kind of happiness lives there.
I’ve been thinking about how stories are carried, lost, and reshaped over time, and how I might contribute to that continuity. These pieces feel like small offerings toward creating new visual languages that still echo something inherited that can be received and reinterpreted by a newer generation.
_________________
Currently on view @o.da_art
#ayanfeolarinde #contemporaryartwork #collage #scribble #jagaism
Some things I made at the Harmattan Workshop
Theworkshop earlier this year came at a time when I really needed to be around process again.
Making, playing with materials and figuring things out without overthinking it. It was less about producing perfect works and more about staying open, asking questions, and letting things develop naturally. The environment itself made that easier for me. It felt very grounding and calm. Being close to nature helped my mind in a way I hadn’t felt in a while, and I found myself more present with the work and with everything around me.
What made the experience more meaningful was the presence of our facilitator @chris.klay
He met us with a kind of patience that’s rare. There was no hierarchy in the way he taught cause he saw us as equals (students), he listened deeply, and gave direction without ever imposing. He created space for us to find our own voices, while still guiding us with intention and care. You could feel that he genuinely wanted us to grow, as ceramists.
I left the workshop feeling both full and empty. I was full from everything I had taken in and empty in a way that made space for something new. It shifted how I approach making, and reminded me of the value of slowing down and really listening.
Some things I made at the Harmattan Workshop
Theworkshop earlier this year came at a time when I really needed to be around process again.
Making, playing with materials and figuring things out without overthinking it. It was less about producing perfect works and more about staying open, asking questions, and letting things develop naturally. The environment itself made that easier for me. It felt very grounding and calm. Being close to nature helped my mind in a way I hadn’t felt in a while, and I found myself more present with the work and with everything around me.
What made the experience more meaningful was the presence of our facilitator @chris.klay
He met us with a kind of patience that’s rare. There was no hierarchy in the way he taught cause he saw us as equals (students), he listened deeply, and gave direction without ever imposing. He created space for us to find our own voices, while still guiding us with intention and care. You could feel that he genuinely wanted us to grow, as ceramists.
I left the workshop feeling both full and empty. I was full from everything I had taken in and empty in a way that made space for something new. It shifted how I approach making, and reminded me of the value of slowing down and really listening.
Some things I made at the Harmattan Workshop
Theworkshop earlier this year came at a time when I really needed to be around process again.
Making, playing with materials and figuring things out without overthinking it. It was less about producing perfect works and more about staying open, asking questions, and letting things develop naturally. The environment itself made that easier for me. It felt very grounding and calm. Being close to nature helped my mind in a way I hadn’t felt in a while, and I found myself more present with the work and with everything around me.
What made the experience more meaningful was the presence of our facilitator @chris.klay
He met us with a kind of patience that’s rare. There was no hierarchy in the way he taught cause he saw us as equals (students), he listened deeply, and gave direction without ever imposing. He created space for us to find our own voices, while still guiding us with intention and care. You could feel that he genuinely wanted us to grow, as ceramists.
I left the workshop feeling both full and empty. I was full from everything I had taken in and empty in a way that made space for something new. It shifted how I approach making, and reminded me of the value of slowing down and really listening.
Some things I made at the Harmattan Workshop
Theworkshop earlier this year came at a time when I really needed to be around process again.
Making, playing with materials and figuring things out without overthinking it. It was less about producing perfect works and more about staying open, asking questions, and letting things develop naturally. The environment itself made that easier for me. It felt very grounding and calm. Being close to nature helped my mind in a way I hadn’t felt in a while, and I found myself more present with the work and with everything around me.
What made the experience more meaningful was the presence of our facilitator @chris.klay
He met us with a kind of patience that’s rare. There was no hierarchy in the way he taught cause he saw us as equals (students), he listened deeply, and gave direction without ever imposing. He created space for us to find our own voices, while still guiding us with intention and care. You could feel that he genuinely wanted us to grow, as ceramists.
I left the workshop feeling both full and empty. I was full from everything I had taken in and empty in a way that made space for something new. It shifted how I approach making, and reminded me of the value of slowing down and really listening.
Some things I made at the Harmattan Workshop
Theworkshop earlier this year came at a time when I really needed to be around process again.
Making, playing with materials and figuring things out without overthinking it. It was less about producing perfect works and more about staying open, asking questions, and letting things develop naturally. The environment itself made that easier for me. It felt very grounding and calm. Being close to nature helped my mind in a way I hadn’t felt in a while, and I found myself more present with the work and with everything around me.
What made the experience more meaningful was the presence of our facilitator @chris.klay
He met us with a kind of patience that’s rare. There was no hierarchy in the way he taught cause he saw us as equals (students), he listened deeply, and gave direction without ever imposing. He created space for us to find our own voices, while still guiding us with intention and care. You could feel that he genuinely wanted us to grow, as ceramists.
I left the workshop feeling both full and empty. I was full from everything I had taken in and empty in a way that made space for something new. It shifted how I approach making, and reminded me of the value of slowing down and really listening.
Some things I made at the Harmattan Workshop
Theworkshop earlier this year came at a time when I really needed to be around process again.
Making, playing with materials and figuring things out without overthinking it. It was less about producing perfect works and more about staying open, asking questions, and letting things develop naturally. The environment itself made that easier for me. It felt very grounding and calm. Being close to nature helped my mind in a way I hadn’t felt in a while, and I found myself more present with the work and with everything around me.
What made the experience more meaningful was the presence of our facilitator @chris.klay
He met us with a kind of patience that’s rare. There was no hierarchy in the way he taught cause he saw us as equals (students), he listened deeply, and gave direction without ever imposing. He created space for us to find our own voices, while still guiding us with intention and care. You could feel that he genuinely wanted us to grow, as ceramists.
I left the workshop feeling both full and empty. I was full from everything I had taken in and empty in a way that made space for something new. It shifted how I approach making, and reminded me of the value of slowing down and really listening.
Some things I made at the Harmattan Workshop
Theworkshop earlier this year came at a time when I really needed to be around process again.
Making, playing with materials and figuring things out without overthinking it. It was less about producing perfect works and more about staying open, asking questions, and letting things develop naturally. The environment itself made that easier for me. It felt very grounding and calm. Being close to nature helped my mind in a way I hadn’t felt in a while, and I found myself more present with the work and with everything around me.
What made the experience more meaningful was the presence of our facilitator @chris.klay
He met us with a kind of patience that’s rare. There was no hierarchy in the way he taught cause he saw us as equals (students), he listened deeply, and gave direction without ever imposing. He created space for us to find our own voices, while still guiding us with intention and care. You could feel that he genuinely wanted us to grow, as ceramists.
I left the workshop feeling both full and empty. I was full from everything I had taken in and empty in a way that made space for something new. It shifted how I approach making, and reminded me of the value of slowing down and really listening.
Some things I made at the Harmattan Workshop
Theworkshop earlier this year came at a time when I really needed to be around process again.
Making, playing with materials and figuring things out without overthinking it. It was less about producing perfect works and more about staying open, asking questions, and letting things develop naturally. The environment itself made that easier for me. It felt very grounding and calm. Being close to nature helped my mind in a way I hadn’t felt in a while, and I found myself more present with the work and with everything around me.
What made the experience more meaningful was the presence of our facilitator @chris.klay
He met us with a kind of patience that’s rare. There was no hierarchy in the way he taught cause he saw us as equals (students), he listened deeply, and gave direction without ever imposing. He created space for us to find our own voices, while still guiding us with intention and care. You could feel that he genuinely wanted us to grow, as ceramists.
I left the workshop feeling both full and empty. I was full from everything I had taken in and empty in a way that made space for something new. It shifted how I approach making, and reminded me of the value of slowing down and really listening.
Some things I made at the Harmattan Workshop
Theworkshop earlier this year came at a time when I really needed to be around process again.
Making, playing with materials and figuring things out without overthinking it. It was less about producing perfect works and more about staying open, asking questions, and letting things develop naturally. The environment itself made that easier for me. It felt very grounding and calm. Being close to nature helped my mind in a way I hadn’t felt in a while, and I found myself more present with the work and with everything around me.
What made the experience more meaningful was the presence of our facilitator @chris.klay
He met us with a kind of patience that’s rare. There was no hierarchy in the way he taught cause he saw us as equals (students), he listened deeply, and gave direction without ever imposing. He created space for us to find our own voices, while still guiding us with intention and care. You could feel that he genuinely wanted us to grow, as ceramists.
I left the workshop feeling both full and empty. I was full from everything I had taken in and empty in a way that made space for something new. It shifted how I approach making, and reminded me of the value of slowing down and really listening.
Some things I made at the Harmattan Workshop
Theworkshop earlier this year came at a time when I really needed to be around process again.
Making, playing with materials and figuring things out without overthinking it. It was less about producing perfect works and more about staying open, asking questions, and letting things develop naturally. The environment itself made that easier for me. It felt very grounding and calm. Being close to nature helped my mind in a way I hadn’t felt in a while, and I found myself more present with the work and with everything around me.
What made the experience more meaningful was the presence of our facilitator @chris.klay
He met us with a kind of patience that’s rare. There was no hierarchy in the way he taught cause he saw us as equals (students), he listened deeply, and gave direction without ever imposing. He created space for us to find our own voices, while still guiding us with intention and care. You could feel that he genuinely wanted us to grow, as ceramists.
I left the workshop feeling both full and empty. I was full from everything I had taken in and empty in a way that made space for something new. It shifted how I approach making, and reminded me of the value of slowing down and really listening.
Some things I made at the Harmattan Workshop
Theworkshop earlier this year came at a time when I really needed to be around process again.
Making, playing with materials and figuring things out without overthinking it. It was less about producing perfect works and more about staying open, asking questions, and letting things develop naturally. The environment itself made that easier for me. It felt very grounding and calm. Being close to nature helped my mind in a way I hadn’t felt in a while, and I found myself more present with the work and with everything around me.
What made the experience more meaningful was the presence of our facilitator @chris.klay
He met us with a kind of patience that’s rare. There was no hierarchy in the way he taught cause he saw us as equals (students), he listened deeply, and gave direction without ever imposing. He created space for us to find our own voices, while still guiding us with intention and care. You could feel that he genuinely wanted us to grow, as ceramists.
I left the workshop feeling both full and empty. I was full from everything I had taken in and empty in a way that made space for something new. It shifted how I approach making, and reminded me of the value of slowing down and really listening.
Some things I made at the Harmattan Workshop
Theworkshop earlier this year came at a time when I really needed to be around process again.
Making, playing with materials and figuring things out without overthinking it. It was less about producing perfect works and more about staying open, asking questions, and letting things develop naturally. The environment itself made that easier for me. It felt very grounding and calm. Being close to nature helped my mind in a way I hadn’t felt in a while, and I found myself more present with the work and with everything around me.
What made the experience more meaningful was the presence of our facilitator @chris.klay
He met us with a kind of patience that’s rare. There was no hierarchy in the way he taught cause he saw us as equals (students), he listened deeply, and gave direction without ever imposing. He created space for us to find our own voices, while still guiding us with intention and care. You could feel that he genuinely wanted us to grow, as ceramists.
I left the workshop feeling both full and empty. I was full from everything I had taken in and empty in a way that made space for something new. It shifted how I approach making, and reminded me of the value of slowing down and really listening.
Some things I made at the Harmattan Workshop
Theworkshop earlier this year came at a time when I really needed to be around process again.
Making, playing with materials and figuring things out without overthinking it. It was less about producing perfect works and more about staying open, asking questions, and letting things develop naturally. The environment itself made that easier for me. It felt very grounding and calm. Being close to nature helped my mind in a way I hadn’t felt in a while, and I found myself more present with the work and with everything around me.
What made the experience more meaningful was the presence of our facilitator @chris.klay
He met us with a kind of patience that’s rare. There was no hierarchy in the way he taught cause he saw us as equals (students), he listened deeply, and gave direction without ever imposing. He created space for us to find our own voices, while still guiding us with intention and care. You could feel that he genuinely wanted us to grow, as ceramists.
I left the workshop feeling both full and empty. I was full from everything I had taken in and empty in a way that made space for something new. It shifted how I approach making, and reminded me of the value of slowing down and really listening.
Some things I made at the Harmattan Workshop
Theworkshop earlier this year came at a time when I really needed to be around process again.
Making, playing with materials and figuring things out without overthinking it. It was less about producing perfect works and more about staying open, asking questions, and letting things develop naturally. The environment itself made that easier for me. It felt very grounding and calm. Being close to nature helped my mind in a way I hadn’t felt in a while, and I found myself more present with the work and with everything around me.
What made the experience more meaningful was the presence of our facilitator @chris.klay
He met us with a kind of patience that’s rare. There was no hierarchy in the way he taught cause he saw us as equals (students), he listened deeply, and gave direction without ever imposing. He created space for us to find our own voices, while still guiding us with intention and care. You could feel that he genuinely wanted us to grow, as ceramists.
I left the workshop feeling both full and empty. I was full from everything I had taken in and empty in a way that made space for something new. It shifted how I approach making, and reminded me of the value of slowing down and really listening.
Some things I made at the Harmattan Workshop
Theworkshop earlier this year came at a time when I really needed to be around process again.
Making, playing with materials and figuring things out without overthinking it. It was less about producing perfect works and more about staying open, asking questions, and letting things develop naturally. The environment itself made that easier for me. It felt very grounding and calm. Being close to nature helped my mind in a way I hadn’t felt in a while, and I found myself more present with the work and with everything around me.
What made the experience more meaningful was the presence of our facilitator @chris.klay
He met us with a kind of patience that’s rare. There was no hierarchy in the way he taught cause he saw us as equals (students), he listened deeply, and gave direction without ever imposing. He created space for us to find our own voices, while still guiding us with intention and care. You could feel that he genuinely wanted us to grow, as ceramists.
I left the workshop feeling both full and empty. I was full from everything I had taken in and empty in a way that made space for something new. It shifted how I approach making, and reminded me of the value of slowing down and really listening.
Some things I made at the Harmattan Workshop
Theworkshop earlier this year came at a time when I really needed to be around process again.
Making, playing with materials and figuring things out without overthinking it. It was less about producing perfect works and more about staying open, asking questions, and letting things develop naturally. The environment itself made that easier for me. It felt very grounding and calm. Being close to nature helped my mind in a way I hadn’t felt in a while, and I found myself more present with the work and with everything around me.
What made the experience more meaningful was the presence of our facilitator @chris.klay
He met us with a kind of patience that’s rare. There was no hierarchy in the way he taught cause he saw us as equals (students), he listened deeply, and gave direction without ever imposing. He created space for us to find our own voices, while still guiding us with intention and care. You could feel that he genuinely wanted us to grow, as ceramists.
I left the workshop feeling both full and empty. I was full from everything I had taken in and empty in a way that made space for something new. It shifted how I approach making, and reminded me of the value of slowing down and really listening.
Some things I made at the Harmattan Workshop
Theworkshop earlier this year came at a time when I really needed to be around process again.
Making, playing with materials and figuring things out without overthinking it. It was less about producing perfect works and more about staying open, asking questions, and letting things develop naturally. The environment itself made that easier for me. It felt very grounding and calm. Being close to nature helped my mind in a way I hadn’t felt in a while, and I found myself more present with the work and with everything around me.
What made the experience more meaningful was the presence of our facilitator @chris.klay
He met us with a kind of patience that’s rare. There was no hierarchy in the way he taught cause he saw us as equals (students), he listened deeply, and gave direction without ever imposing. He created space for us to find our own voices, while still guiding us with intention and care. You could feel that he genuinely wanted us to grow, as ceramists.
I left the workshop feeling both full and empty. I was full from everything I had taken in and empty in a way that made space for something new. It shifted how I approach making, and reminded me of the value of slowing down and really listening.
Some things I made at the Harmattan Workshop
Theworkshop earlier this year came at a time when I really needed to be around process again.
Making, playing with materials and figuring things out without overthinking it. It was less about producing perfect works and more about staying open, asking questions, and letting things develop naturally. The environment itself made that easier for me. It felt very grounding and calm. Being close to nature helped my mind in a way I hadn’t felt in a while, and I found myself more present with the work and with everything around me.
What made the experience more meaningful was the presence of our facilitator @chris.klay
He met us with a kind of patience that’s rare. There was no hierarchy in the way he taught cause he saw us as equals (students), he listened deeply, and gave direction without ever imposing. He created space for us to find our own voices, while still guiding us with intention and care. You could feel that he genuinely wanted us to grow, as ceramists.
I left the workshop feeling both full and empty. I was full from everything I had taken in and empty in a way that made space for something new. It shifted how I approach making, and reminded me of the value of slowing down and really listening.
Some things I made at the Harmattan Workshop
Theworkshop earlier this year came at a time when I really needed to be around process again.
Making, playing with materials and figuring things out without overthinking it. It was less about producing perfect works and more about staying open, asking questions, and letting things develop naturally. The environment itself made that easier for me. It felt very grounding and calm. Being close to nature helped my mind in a way I hadn’t felt in a while, and I found myself more present with the work and with everything around me.
What made the experience more meaningful was the presence of our facilitator @chris.klay
He met us with a kind of patience that’s rare. There was no hierarchy in the way he taught cause he saw us as equals (students), he listened deeply, and gave direction without ever imposing. He created space for us to find our own voices, while still guiding us with intention and care. You could feel that he genuinely wanted us to grow, as ceramists.
I left the workshop feeling both full and empty. I was full from everything I had taken in and empty in a way that made space for something new. It shifted how I approach making, and reminded me of the value of slowing down and really listening.
Some things I made at the Harmattan Workshop
Theworkshop earlier this year came at a time when I really needed to be around process again.
Making, playing with materials and figuring things out without overthinking it. It was less about producing perfect works and more about staying open, asking questions, and letting things develop naturally. The environment itself made that easier for me. It felt very grounding and calm. Being close to nature helped my mind in a way I hadn’t felt in a while, and I found myself more present with the work and with everything around me.
What made the experience more meaningful was the presence of our facilitator @chris.klay
He met us with a kind of patience that’s rare. There was no hierarchy in the way he taught cause he saw us as equals (students), he listened deeply, and gave direction without ever imposing. He created space for us to find our own voices, while still guiding us with intention and care. You could feel that he genuinely wanted us to grow, as ceramists.
I left the workshop feeling both full and empty. I was full from everything I had taken in and empty in a way that made space for something new. It shifted how I approach making, and reminded me of the value of slowing down and really listening.
HAPPY - Ayanfe Olarinde
Ayanfe Olarinde (1996) is a self-taught multidisciplinary visual artist whose practice spans drawing, painting, sculpture, photography, collage, sound, and digital media. A graduate of the University of Lagos with a BSc BSc in Microbiology (2018), Olarinde built an artistic language rooted in lived experience, improvisation, and the expressive force of instinct.
Her journey into art began with scribbling, raw, impulsive marks born from moments of restlessness, introspection, or emotional overflow. What began as a spontaneous childhood gesture evolved into a defining visual language: a physical release, a grounding ritual, and a method of processing the internal noise of a neurodivergent mind. For Olarinde, scribbling is a psychological and emotional practice, an intimate tool for navigating thoughts, isolating from overwhelming environments, and accessing deeper layers of selfhood.
Across mediums, her work is driven by an ongoing exploration of identity, self-image, mental landscapes, vulnerability, and the fluid nature of becoming. She approaches art as both mirror and map. An evolving documentation of an inner journey that resists linearity. Her pieces often sit in the tension between chaos and control, clarity and fragmentation, presence and dissociation, reflecting how she experiences, interprets, and processes the world…
———
Opening: Saturday, April 4th 2026 | 1:00 - 6:00 PM
Address: 10 Sir Samuel Manuwa Street, Victoria Island, Lagos.
#exhibitions #contemporaryafricanart #odaart #happy
HAPPY - Ayanfe Olarinde
Ayanfe Olarinde (1996) is a self-taught multidisciplinary visual artist whose practice spans drawing, painting, sculpture, photography, collage, sound, and digital media. A graduate of the University of Lagos with a BSc BSc in Microbiology (2018), Olarinde built an artistic language rooted in lived experience, improvisation, and the expressive force of instinct.
Her journey into art began with scribbling, raw, impulsive marks born from moments of restlessness, introspection, or emotional overflow. What began as a spontaneous childhood gesture evolved into a defining visual language: a physical release, a grounding ritual, and a method of processing the internal noise of a neurodivergent mind. For Olarinde, scribbling is a psychological and emotional practice, an intimate tool for navigating thoughts, isolating from overwhelming environments, and accessing deeper layers of selfhood.
Across mediums, her work is driven by an ongoing exploration of identity, self-image, mental landscapes, vulnerability, and the fluid nature of becoming. She approaches art as both mirror and map. An evolving documentation of an inner journey that resists linearity. Her pieces often sit in the tension between chaos and control, clarity and fragmentation, presence and dissociation, reflecting how she experiences, interprets, and processes the world…
———
Opening: Saturday, April 4th 2026 | 1:00 - 6:00 PM
Address: 10 Sir Samuel Manuwa Street, Victoria Island, Lagos.
#exhibitions #contemporaryafricanart #odaart #happy
HAPPY - Ayanfe Olarinde
Ayanfe Olarinde (1996) is a self-taught multidisciplinary visual artist whose practice spans drawing, painting, sculpture, photography, collage, sound, and digital media. A graduate of the University of Lagos with a BSc BSc in Microbiology (2018), Olarinde built an artistic language rooted in lived experience, improvisation, and the expressive force of instinct.
Her journey into art began with scribbling, raw, impulsive marks born from moments of restlessness, introspection, or emotional overflow. What began as a spontaneous childhood gesture evolved into a defining visual language: a physical release, a grounding ritual, and a method of processing the internal noise of a neurodivergent mind. For Olarinde, scribbling is a psychological and emotional practice, an intimate tool for navigating thoughts, isolating from overwhelming environments, and accessing deeper layers of selfhood.
Across mediums, her work is driven by an ongoing exploration of identity, self-image, mental landscapes, vulnerability, and the fluid nature of becoming. She approaches art as both mirror and map. An evolving documentation of an inner journey that resists linearity. Her pieces often sit in the tension between chaos and control, clarity and fragmentation, presence and dissociation, reflecting how she experiences, interprets, and processes the world…
———
Opening: Saturday, April 4th 2026 | 1:00 - 6:00 PM
Address: 10 Sir Samuel Manuwa Street, Victoria Island, Lagos.
#exhibitions #contemporaryafricanart #odaart #happy
HAPPY - Ayanfe Olarinde
Ayanfe Olarinde (1996) is a self-taught multidisciplinary visual artist whose practice spans drawing, painting, sculpture, photography, collage, sound, and digital media. A graduate of the University of Lagos with a BSc BSc in Microbiology (2018), Olarinde built an artistic language rooted in lived experience, improvisation, and the expressive force of instinct.
Her journey into art began with scribbling, raw, impulsive marks born from moments of restlessness, introspection, or emotional overflow. What began as a spontaneous childhood gesture evolved into a defining visual language: a physical release, a grounding ritual, and a method of processing the internal noise of a neurodivergent mind. For Olarinde, scribbling is a psychological and emotional practice, an intimate tool for navigating thoughts, isolating from overwhelming environments, and accessing deeper layers of selfhood.
Across mediums, her work is driven by an ongoing exploration of identity, self-image, mental landscapes, vulnerability, and the fluid nature of becoming. She approaches art as both mirror and map. An evolving documentation of an inner journey that resists linearity. Her pieces often sit in the tension between chaos and control, clarity and fragmentation, presence and dissociation, reflecting how she experiences, interprets, and processes the world…
———
Opening: Saturday, April 4th 2026 | 1:00 - 6:00 PM
Address: 10 Sir Samuel Manuwa Street, Victoria Island, Lagos.
#exhibitions #contemporaryafricanart #odaart #happy
HAPPY - Ayanfe Olarinde
Ayanfe Olarinde (1996) is a self-taught multidisciplinary visual artist whose practice spans drawing, painting, sculpture, photography, collage, sound, and digital media. A graduate of the University of Lagos with a BSc BSc in Microbiology (2018), Olarinde built an artistic language rooted in lived experience, improvisation, and the expressive force of instinct.
Her journey into art began with scribbling, raw, impulsive marks born from moments of restlessness, introspection, or emotional overflow. What began as a spontaneous childhood gesture evolved into a defining visual language: a physical release, a grounding ritual, and a method of processing the internal noise of a neurodivergent mind. For Olarinde, scribbling is a psychological and emotional practice, an intimate tool for navigating thoughts, isolating from overwhelming environments, and accessing deeper layers of selfhood.
Across mediums, her work is driven by an ongoing exploration of identity, self-image, mental landscapes, vulnerability, and the fluid nature of becoming. She approaches art as both mirror and map. An evolving documentation of an inner journey that resists linearity. Her pieces often sit in the tension between chaos and control, clarity and fragmentation, presence and dissociation, reflecting how she experiences, interprets, and processes the world…
———
Opening: Saturday, April 4th 2026 | 1:00 - 6:00 PM
Address: 10 Sir Samuel Manuwa Street, Victoria Island, Lagos.
#exhibitions #contemporaryafricanart #odaart #happy
Throwback to seeing “Aeroplani Odabo I & II” from my Yoruba Folklore series “In The Beginning And So It Goes…” on the walls of Musée Rath, Geneva, Switzerland 🇨🇭
Presented with the @cbh_artcollection at @mahgeneve through @jdmalatgallery
An honor to have been hung alongside such iconic artists.
Exhibition opened October 16- Nov 2025 with the space transformed and photographed by the renowned @pierre.yovanovitch
Throwback to seeing “Aeroplani Odabo I & II” from my Yoruba Folklore series “In The Beginning And So It Goes…” on the walls of Musée Rath, Geneva, Switzerland 🇨🇭
Presented with the @cbh_artcollection at @mahgeneve through @jdmalatgallery
An honor to have been hung alongside such iconic artists.
Exhibition opened October 16- Nov 2025 with the space transformed and photographed by the renowned @pierre.yovanovitch
Throwback to seeing “Aeroplani Odabo I & II” from my Yoruba Folklore series “In The Beginning And So It Goes…” on the walls of Musée Rath, Geneva, Switzerland 🇨🇭
Presented with the @cbh_artcollection at @mahgeneve through @jdmalatgallery
An honor to have been hung alongside such iconic artists.
Exhibition opened October 16- Nov 2025 with the space transformed and photographed by the renowned @pierre.yovanovitch
Throwback to seeing “Aeroplani Odabo I & II” from my Yoruba Folklore series “In The Beginning And So It Goes…” on the walls of Musée Rath, Geneva, Switzerland 🇨🇭
Presented with the @cbh_artcollection at @mahgeneve through @jdmalatgallery
An honor to have been hung alongside such iconic artists.
Exhibition opened October 16- Nov 2025 with the space transformed and photographed by the renowned @pierre.yovanovitch
Day 4 at the Harmattan Workshop, Delta state, and I’ve been sitting with memories from my time here last year and even 6 years ago, thinking about how much this place has shaped me.
Last year was when I leaned into pottery and ceramics. Clay is honest to a fault, it doesn’t hide your hesitation or impatience. One wrong move, too much pressure, not enough attention, and it collapses, cracks, warps or blasts. It’s humbling in that way. You’re forced to slow down, to listen and accept that control is only an illusion.
This workshop has been a training for my hands and mind. And being around people with wildly different talents and approaches has stretched me in ways I didn’t expect. It also reminds me that there isn’t one way to make only honest ways.
We made so many mistakes last year. Some pieces broke in the kiln, some survived. At the time it felt very frustrating but now I see those moments as part of the education & cost of learning a skill that refuses shortcuts.
I’m back this year to build on that foundation with more patience, curiosity, and a deeper respect for the process. I can’t wait to see what emerges from this round.
I made amazing pieces in 2025 that I’m yet to put out.
I’ll be sharing updates from this journey this time. I hoarded so much last year.
Day 4 at the Harmattan Workshop, Delta state, and I’ve been sitting with memories from my time here last year and even 6 years ago, thinking about how much this place has shaped me.
Last year was when I leaned into pottery and ceramics. Clay is honest to a fault, it doesn’t hide your hesitation or impatience. One wrong move, too much pressure, not enough attention, and it collapses, cracks, warps or blasts. It’s humbling in that way. You’re forced to slow down, to listen and accept that control is only an illusion.
This workshop has been a training for my hands and mind. And being around people with wildly different talents and approaches has stretched me in ways I didn’t expect. It also reminds me that there isn’t one way to make only honest ways.
We made so many mistakes last year. Some pieces broke in the kiln, some survived. At the time it felt very frustrating but now I see those moments as part of the education & cost of learning a skill that refuses shortcuts.
I’m back this year to build on that foundation with more patience, curiosity, and a deeper respect for the process. I can’t wait to see what emerges from this round.
I made amazing pieces in 2025 that I’m yet to put out.
I’ll be sharing updates from this journey this time. I hoarded so much last year.
Day 4 at the Harmattan Workshop, Delta state, and I’ve been sitting with memories from my time here last year and even 6 years ago, thinking about how much this place has shaped me.
Last year was when I leaned into pottery and ceramics. Clay is honest to a fault, it doesn’t hide your hesitation or impatience. One wrong move, too much pressure, not enough attention, and it collapses, cracks, warps or blasts. It’s humbling in that way. You’re forced to slow down, to listen and accept that control is only an illusion.
This workshop has been a training for my hands and mind. And being around people with wildly different talents and approaches has stretched me in ways I didn’t expect. It also reminds me that there isn’t one way to make only honest ways.
We made so many mistakes last year. Some pieces broke in the kiln, some survived. At the time it felt very frustrating but now I see those moments as part of the education & cost of learning a skill that refuses shortcuts.
I’m back this year to build on that foundation with more patience, curiosity, and a deeper respect for the process. I can’t wait to see what emerges from this round.
I made amazing pieces in 2025 that I’m yet to put out.
I’ll be sharing updates from this journey this time. I hoarded so much last year.
Day 4 at the Harmattan Workshop, Delta state, and I’ve been sitting with memories from my time here last year and even 6 years ago, thinking about how much this place has shaped me.
Last year was when I leaned into pottery and ceramics. Clay is honest to a fault, it doesn’t hide your hesitation or impatience. One wrong move, too much pressure, not enough attention, and it collapses, cracks, warps or blasts. It’s humbling in that way. You’re forced to slow down, to listen and accept that control is only an illusion.
This workshop has been a training for my hands and mind. And being around people with wildly different talents and approaches has stretched me in ways I didn’t expect. It also reminds me that there isn’t one way to make only honest ways.
We made so many mistakes last year. Some pieces broke in the kiln, some survived. At the time it felt very frustrating but now I see those moments as part of the education & cost of learning a skill that refuses shortcuts.
I’m back this year to build on that foundation with more patience, curiosity, and a deeper respect for the process. I can’t wait to see what emerges from this round.
I made amazing pieces in 2025 that I’m yet to put out.
I’ll be sharing updates from this journey this time. I hoarded so much last year.
Day 4 at the Harmattan Workshop, Delta state, and I’ve been sitting with memories from my time here last year and even 6 years ago, thinking about how much this place has shaped me.
Last year was when I leaned into pottery and ceramics. Clay is honest to a fault, it doesn’t hide your hesitation or impatience. One wrong move, too much pressure, not enough attention, and it collapses, cracks, warps or blasts. It’s humbling in that way. You’re forced to slow down, to listen and accept that control is only an illusion.
This workshop has been a training for my hands and mind. And being around people with wildly different talents and approaches has stretched me in ways I didn’t expect. It also reminds me that there isn’t one way to make only honest ways.
We made so many mistakes last year. Some pieces broke in the kiln, some survived. At the time it felt very frustrating but now I see those moments as part of the education & cost of learning a skill that refuses shortcuts.
I’m back this year to build on that foundation with more patience, curiosity, and a deeper respect for the process. I can’t wait to see what emerges from this round.
I made amazing pieces in 2025 that I’m yet to put out.
I’ll be sharing updates from this journey this time. I hoarded so much last year.
Day 4 at the Harmattan Workshop, Delta state, and I’ve been sitting with memories from my time here last year and even 6 years ago, thinking about how much this place has shaped me.
Last year was when I leaned into pottery and ceramics. Clay is honest to a fault, it doesn’t hide your hesitation or impatience. One wrong move, too much pressure, not enough attention, and it collapses, cracks, warps or blasts. It’s humbling in that way. You’re forced to slow down, to listen and accept that control is only an illusion.
This workshop has been a training for my hands and mind. And being around people with wildly different talents and approaches has stretched me in ways I didn’t expect. It also reminds me that there isn’t one way to make only honest ways.
We made so many mistakes last year. Some pieces broke in the kiln, some survived. At the time it felt very frustrating but now I see those moments as part of the education & cost of learning a skill that refuses shortcuts.
I’m back this year to build on that foundation with more patience, curiosity, and a deeper respect for the process. I can’t wait to see what emerges from this round.
I made amazing pieces in 2025 that I’m yet to put out.
I’ll be sharing updates from this journey this time. I hoarded so much last year.
Day 4 at the Harmattan Workshop, Delta state, and I’ve been sitting with memories from my time here last year and even 6 years ago, thinking about how much this place has shaped me.
Last year was when I leaned into pottery and ceramics. Clay is honest to a fault, it doesn’t hide your hesitation or impatience. One wrong move, too much pressure, not enough attention, and it collapses, cracks, warps or blasts. It’s humbling in that way. You’re forced to slow down, to listen and accept that control is only an illusion.
This workshop has been a training for my hands and mind. And being around people with wildly different talents and approaches has stretched me in ways I didn’t expect. It also reminds me that there isn’t one way to make only honest ways.
We made so many mistakes last year. Some pieces broke in the kiln, some survived. At the time it felt very frustrating but now I see those moments as part of the education & cost of learning a skill that refuses shortcuts.
I’m back this year to build on that foundation with more patience, curiosity, and a deeper respect for the process. I can’t wait to see what emerges from this round.
I made amazing pieces in 2025 that I’m yet to put out.
I’ll be sharing updates from this journey this time. I hoarded so much last year.
Day 4 at the Harmattan Workshop, Delta state, and I’ve been sitting with memories from my time here last year and even 6 years ago, thinking about how much this place has shaped me.
Last year was when I leaned into pottery and ceramics. Clay is honest to a fault, it doesn’t hide your hesitation or impatience. One wrong move, too much pressure, not enough attention, and it collapses, cracks, warps or blasts. It’s humbling in that way. You’re forced to slow down, to listen and accept that control is only an illusion.
This workshop has been a training for my hands and mind. And being around people with wildly different talents and approaches has stretched me in ways I didn’t expect. It also reminds me that there isn’t one way to make only honest ways.
We made so many mistakes last year. Some pieces broke in the kiln, some survived. At the time it felt very frustrating but now I see those moments as part of the education & cost of learning a skill that refuses shortcuts.
I’m back this year to build on that foundation with more patience, curiosity, and a deeper respect for the process. I can’t wait to see what emerges from this round.
I made amazing pieces in 2025 that I’m yet to put out.
I’ll be sharing updates from this journey this time. I hoarded so much last year.
Day 4 at the Harmattan Workshop, Delta state, and I’ve been sitting with memories from my time here last year and even 6 years ago, thinking about how much this place has shaped me.
Last year was when I leaned into pottery and ceramics. Clay is honest to a fault, it doesn’t hide your hesitation or impatience. One wrong move, too much pressure, not enough attention, and it collapses, cracks, warps or blasts. It’s humbling in that way. You’re forced to slow down, to listen and accept that control is only an illusion.
This workshop has been a training for my hands and mind. And being around people with wildly different talents and approaches has stretched me in ways I didn’t expect. It also reminds me that there isn’t one way to make only honest ways.
We made so many mistakes last year. Some pieces broke in the kiln, some survived. At the time it felt very frustrating but now I see those moments as part of the education & cost of learning a skill that refuses shortcuts.
I’m back this year to build on that foundation with more patience, curiosity, and a deeper respect for the process. I can’t wait to see what emerges from this round.
I made amazing pieces in 2025 that I’m yet to put out.
I’ll be sharing updates from this journey this time. I hoarded so much last year.
Day 4 at the Harmattan Workshop, Delta state, and I’ve been sitting with memories from my time here last year and even 6 years ago, thinking about how much this place has shaped me.
Last year was when I leaned into pottery and ceramics. Clay is honest to a fault, it doesn’t hide your hesitation or impatience. One wrong move, too much pressure, not enough attention, and it collapses, cracks, warps or blasts. It’s humbling in that way. You’re forced to slow down, to listen and accept that control is only an illusion.
This workshop has been a training for my hands and mind. And being around people with wildly different talents and approaches has stretched me in ways I didn’t expect. It also reminds me that there isn’t one way to make only honest ways.
We made so many mistakes last year. Some pieces broke in the kiln, some survived. At the time it felt very frustrating but now I see those moments as part of the education & cost of learning a skill that refuses shortcuts.
I’m back this year to build on that foundation with more patience, curiosity, and a deeper respect for the process. I can’t wait to see what emerges from this round.
I made amazing pieces in 2025 that I’m yet to put out.
I’ll be sharing updates from this journey this time. I hoarded so much last year.
Day 4 at the Harmattan Workshop, Delta state, and I’ve been sitting with memories from my time here last year and even 6 years ago, thinking about how much this place has shaped me.
Last year was when I leaned into pottery and ceramics. Clay is honest to a fault, it doesn’t hide your hesitation or impatience. One wrong move, too much pressure, not enough attention, and it collapses, cracks, warps or blasts. It’s humbling in that way. You’re forced to slow down, to listen and accept that control is only an illusion.
This workshop has been a training for my hands and mind. And being around people with wildly different talents and approaches has stretched me in ways I didn’t expect. It also reminds me that there isn’t one way to make only honest ways.
We made so many mistakes last year. Some pieces broke in the kiln, some survived. At the time it felt very frustrating but now I see those moments as part of the education & cost of learning a skill that refuses shortcuts.
I’m back this year to build on that foundation with more patience, curiosity, and a deeper respect for the process. I can’t wait to see what emerges from this round.
I made amazing pieces in 2025 that I’m yet to put out.
I’ll be sharing updates from this journey this time. I hoarded so much last year.
Day 4 at the Harmattan Workshop, Delta state, and I’ve been sitting with memories from my time here last year and even 6 years ago, thinking about how much this place has shaped me.
Last year was when I leaned into pottery and ceramics. Clay is honest to a fault, it doesn’t hide your hesitation or impatience. One wrong move, too much pressure, not enough attention, and it collapses, cracks, warps or blasts. It’s humbling in that way. You’re forced to slow down, to listen and accept that control is only an illusion.
This workshop has been a training for my hands and mind. And being around people with wildly different talents and approaches has stretched me in ways I didn’t expect. It also reminds me that there isn’t one way to make only honest ways.
We made so many mistakes last year. Some pieces broke in the kiln, some survived. At the time it felt very frustrating but now I see those moments as part of the education & cost of learning a skill that refuses shortcuts.
I’m back this year to build on that foundation with more patience, curiosity, and a deeper respect for the process. I can’t wait to see what emerges from this round.
I made amazing pieces in 2025 that I’m yet to put out.
I’ll be sharing updates from this journey this time. I hoarded so much last year.
Day 4 at the Harmattan Workshop, Delta state, and I’ve been sitting with memories from my time here last year and even 6 years ago, thinking about how much this place has shaped me.
Last year was when I leaned into pottery and ceramics. Clay is honest to a fault, it doesn’t hide your hesitation or impatience. One wrong move, too much pressure, not enough attention, and it collapses, cracks, warps or blasts. It’s humbling in that way. You’re forced to slow down, to listen and accept that control is only an illusion.
This workshop has been a training for my hands and mind. And being around people with wildly different talents and approaches has stretched me in ways I didn’t expect. It also reminds me that there isn’t one way to make only honest ways.
We made so many mistakes last year. Some pieces broke in the kiln, some survived. At the time it felt very frustrating but now I see those moments as part of the education & cost of learning a skill that refuses shortcuts.
I’m back this year to build on that foundation with more patience, curiosity, and a deeper respect for the process. I can’t wait to see what emerges from this round.
I made amazing pieces in 2025 that I’m yet to put out.
I’ll be sharing updates from this journey this time. I hoarded so much last year.
Day 4 at the Harmattan Workshop, Delta state, and I’ve been sitting with memories from my time here last year and even 6 years ago, thinking about how much this place has shaped me.
Last year was when I leaned into pottery and ceramics. Clay is honest to a fault, it doesn’t hide your hesitation or impatience. One wrong move, too much pressure, not enough attention, and it collapses, cracks, warps or blasts. It’s humbling in that way. You’re forced to slow down, to listen and accept that control is only an illusion.
This workshop has been a training for my hands and mind. And being around people with wildly different talents and approaches has stretched me in ways I didn’t expect. It also reminds me that there isn’t one way to make only honest ways.
We made so many mistakes last year. Some pieces broke in the kiln, some survived. At the time it felt very frustrating but now I see those moments as part of the education & cost of learning a skill that refuses shortcuts.
I’m back this year to build on that foundation with more patience, curiosity, and a deeper respect for the process. I can’t wait to see what emerges from this round.
I made amazing pieces in 2025 that I’m yet to put out.
I’ll be sharing updates from this journey this time. I hoarded so much last year.
Day 4 at the Harmattan Workshop, Delta state, and I’ve been sitting with memories from my time here last year and even 6 years ago, thinking about how much this place has shaped me.
Last year was when I leaned into pottery and ceramics. Clay is honest to a fault, it doesn’t hide your hesitation or impatience. One wrong move, too much pressure, not enough attention, and it collapses, cracks, warps or blasts. It’s humbling in that way. You’re forced to slow down, to listen and accept that control is only an illusion.
This workshop has been a training for my hands and mind. And being around people with wildly different talents and approaches has stretched me in ways I didn’t expect. It also reminds me that there isn’t one way to make only honest ways.
We made so many mistakes last year. Some pieces broke in the kiln, some survived. At the time it felt very frustrating but now I see those moments as part of the education & cost of learning a skill that refuses shortcuts.
I’m back this year to build on that foundation with more patience, curiosity, and a deeper respect for the process. I can’t wait to see what emerges from this round.
I made amazing pieces in 2025 that I’m yet to put out.
I’ll be sharing updates from this journey this time. I hoarded so much last year.
Day 4 at the Harmattan Workshop, Delta state, and I’ve been sitting with memories from my time here last year and even 6 years ago, thinking about how much this place has shaped me.
Last year was when I leaned into pottery and ceramics. Clay is honest to a fault, it doesn’t hide your hesitation or impatience. One wrong move, too much pressure, not enough attention, and it collapses, cracks, warps or blasts. It’s humbling in that way. You’re forced to slow down, to listen and accept that control is only an illusion.
This workshop has been a training for my hands and mind. And being around people with wildly different talents and approaches has stretched me in ways I didn’t expect. It also reminds me that there isn’t one way to make only honest ways.
We made so many mistakes last year. Some pieces broke in the kiln, some survived. At the time it felt very frustrating but now I see those moments as part of the education & cost of learning a skill that refuses shortcuts.
I’m back this year to build on that foundation with more patience, curiosity, and a deeper respect for the process. I can’t wait to see what emerges from this round.
I made amazing pieces in 2025 that I’m yet to put out.
I’ll be sharing updates from this journey this time. I hoarded so much last year.
Day 4 at the Harmattan Workshop, Delta state, and I’ve been sitting with memories from my time here last year and even 6 years ago, thinking about how much this place has shaped me.
Last year was when I leaned into pottery and ceramics. Clay is honest to a fault, it doesn’t hide your hesitation or impatience. One wrong move, too much pressure, not enough attention, and it collapses, cracks, warps or blasts. It’s humbling in that way. You’re forced to slow down, to listen and accept that control is only an illusion.
This workshop has been a training for my hands and mind. And being around people with wildly different talents and approaches has stretched me in ways I didn’t expect. It also reminds me that there isn’t one way to make only honest ways.
We made so many mistakes last year. Some pieces broke in the kiln, some survived. At the time it felt very frustrating but now I see those moments as part of the education & cost of learning a skill that refuses shortcuts.
I’m back this year to build on that foundation with more patience, curiosity, and a deeper respect for the process. I can’t wait to see what emerges from this round.
I made amazing pieces in 2025 that I’m yet to put out.
I’ll be sharing updates from this journey this time. I hoarded so much last year.
Day 4 at the Harmattan Workshop, Delta state, and I’ve been sitting with memories from my time here last year and even 6 years ago, thinking about how much this place has shaped me.
Last year was when I leaned into pottery and ceramics. Clay is honest to a fault, it doesn’t hide your hesitation or impatience. One wrong move, too much pressure, not enough attention, and it collapses, cracks, warps or blasts. It’s humbling in that way. You’re forced to slow down, to listen and accept that control is only an illusion.
This workshop has been a training for my hands and mind. And being around people with wildly different talents and approaches has stretched me in ways I didn’t expect. It also reminds me that there isn’t one way to make only honest ways.
We made so many mistakes last year. Some pieces broke in the kiln, some survived. At the time it felt very frustrating but now I see those moments as part of the education & cost of learning a skill that refuses shortcuts.
I’m back this year to build on that foundation with more patience, curiosity, and a deeper respect for the process. I can’t wait to see what emerges from this round.
I made amazing pieces in 2025 that I’m yet to put out.
I’ll be sharing updates from this journey this time. I hoarded so much last year.
Day 4 at the Harmattan Workshop, Delta state, and I’ve been sitting with memories from my time here last year and even 6 years ago, thinking about how much this place has shaped me.
Last year was when I leaned into pottery and ceramics. Clay is honest to a fault, it doesn’t hide your hesitation or impatience. One wrong move, too much pressure, not enough attention, and it collapses, cracks, warps or blasts. It’s humbling in that way. You’re forced to slow down, to listen and accept that control is only an illusion.
This workshop has been a training for my hands and mind. And being around people with wildly different talents and approaches has stretched me in ways I didn’t expect. It also reminds me that there isn’t one way to make only honest ways.
We made so many mistakes last year. Some pieces broke in the kiln, some survived. At the time it felt very frustrating but now I see those moments as part of the education & cost of learning a skill that refuses shortcuts.
I’m back this year to build on that foundation with more patience, curiosity, and a deeper respect for the process. I can’t wait to see what emerges from this round.
I made amazing pieces in 2025 that I’m yet to put out.
I’ll be sharing updates from this journey this time. I hoarded so much last year.
Day 4 at the Harmattan Workshop, Delta state, and I’ve been sitting with memories from my time here last year and even 6 years ago, thinking about how much this place has shaped me.
Last year was when I leaned into pottery and ceramics. Clay is honest to a fault, it doesn’t hide your hesitation or impatience. One wrong move, too much pressure, not enough attention, and it collapses, cracks, warps or blasts. It’s humbling in that way. You’re forced to slow down, to listen and accept that control is only an illusion.
This workshop has been a training for my hands and mind. And being around people with wildly different talents and approaches has stretched me in ways I didn’t expect. It also reminds me that there isn’t one way to make only honest ways.
We made so many mistakes last year. Some pieces broke in the kiln, some survived. At the time it felt very frustrating but now I see those moments as part of the education & cost of learning a skill that refuses shortcuts.
I’m back this year to build on that foundation with more patience, curiosity, and a deeper respect for the process. I can’t wait to see what emerges from this round.
I made amazing pieces in 2025 that I’m yet to put out.
I’ll be sharing updates from this journey this time. I hoarded so much last year.
View Instagram Stories in Secret
The Instagram Story Viewer is an easy tool that lets you secretly watch and save Instagram stories, videos, photos, or IGTV. With this service, you can download content and enjoy it offline whenever you like. If you find something interesting on Instagram that you’d like to check out later or want to view stories while staying anonymous, our Viewer is perfect for you. Anonstories offers an excellent solution for keeping your identity hidden. Instagram first launched the Stories feature in August 2023, which was quickly adopted by other platforms due to its engaging, time-sensitive format. Stories let users share quick updates, whether photos, videos, or selfies, enhanced with text, emojis, or filters, and are visible for only 24 hours. This limited time frame creates high engagement compared to regular posts. In today’s world, Stories are one of the most popular ways to connect and communicate on social media. However, when you view a Story, the creator can see your name in their viewer list, which may be a privacy concern. What if you wish to browse Stories without being noticed? Here’s where Anonstories becomes useful. It allows you to watch public Instagram content without revealing your identity. Simply enter the username of the profile you’re curious about, and the tool will display their latest Stories. Features of Anonstories Viewer: - Anonymous Browsing: Watch Stories without showing up on the viewer list. - No Account Needed: View public content without signing up for an Instagram account. - Content Download: Save any Stories content directly to your device for offline use. - View Highlights: Access Instagram Highlights, even beyond the 24-hour window. - Repost Monitoring: Track the reposts or engagement levels on Stories for personal profiles. Limitations: - This tool works only with public accounts; private accounts remain inaccessible. Benefits: - Privacy-Friendly: Watch any Instagram content without being noticed. - Simple and Easy: No app installation or registration required. - Exclusive Tools: Download and manage content in ways Instagram doesn’t offer.
Advantages of Anonstories
Explore IG Stories Privately
Keep track of Instagram updates discreetly while protecting your privacy and staying anonymous.
Private Instagram Viewer
View profiles and photos anonymously with ease using the Private Profile Viewer.
Story Viewer for Free
This free tool allows you to view Instagram Stories anonymously, ensuring your activity remains hidden from the story uploader.
Frequently asked questions
Anonymity
Anonstories lets users view Instagram stories without alerting the creator.
Device Compatibility
Works seamlessly on iOS, Android, Windows, macOS, and modern browsers like Chrome and Safari.
Safety and Privacy
Prioritizes secure, anonymous browsing without requiring login credentials.
No Registration
Users can view public stories by simply entering a username—no account needed.
Supported Formats
Downloads photos (JPEG) and videos (MP4) with ease.
Cost
The service is free to use.
Private Accounts
Content from private accounts can only be accessed by followers.
File Usage
Files are for personal or educational use only and must comply with copyright rules.
How It Works
Enter a public username to view or download stories. The service generates direct links for saving content locally.