To Have and to Hold: Roli Scott

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

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

My relationship with art began in primary school, maybe even before that. I remember drawing as far back as the second grade that my first academic award ever received being for art. My mom played a big role in this, as she would always encourage me to draw what I saw wherever I was, and especially over long car rides. You see, I grew up in Lagos, and there was definitely always something beautiful or inspiring worth noticing. She’d encourage me to draw the buses, the people, the traffic, and the events around me. Although I remember my drawings being terrible, she never stopped encouraging me, and neither did my father. It wasn’t until I transferred schools and made a new friend who showed me my drawings could be better. My family was the first to make me realise that creating was something I was meant to do and that I was good at it, because my ideas were never shut down and there were always ears ready to listen to what my art had to say. 

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

Lean on me mirrors the exhibitions interest in women’s labour as a sustaining infrastructure. Solidarity as a quiet and uncelebrated archive. Black Oyibo translates hair in the way the exhibition turns to ingredients: as a historical medium, but one now reshaped by class, and the pressure of assimilation in the same way migration alters how an ingredient is used (There’s nothing wrong with change, its just the loss of identity in that change). Little women explores what a generation hands down, and whether the next generation is equipped to hold it. 

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

The body of work I’m exhibiting is titled “Our Society”, and it grew out of my observation and interpretation of the things happening around me at the time. The body of work explores stories of child marriages and domestic labour, solidarity amongst women, the “bussdown-ification” (classist markers surrounding particular hair extensions at the time) of our traditional hairstyles, our deliberate choice to ignore it and how they are now negative social markers. I hope people connect with the characters and understand, on some level, what each piece is about.

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

My process is fun and never one-size-fits-all. Often I see something I find inspiring and take photos of them or even something I’d just like to put my spin on. I’d see it and save for later. Other times I have a colour palette I’m itching to use, so I skip the sketching and go straight to the canvas. What might surprise people is that I don’t always have my full story down before I start creating. Sometimes, it comes to me before I start, sometimes during, and other times after. 

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

What I feel is most at risk is our individuality, especially the meaning and creativity of our traditional hairstyles. They carry history, identity and community, but they’re being flattened into trends, or judged as unprofessional and unrefined. When a style loses its context, the knowledge behind it goes quiet too. Most of these hairstyles and the recent rise of wigs and installs now serve as social markers and entry pass determinants. Painting these styles with care and dignity is my way of holding on to them. I’m also asking viewers/audience to look again at what they’ve been taught to dismiss. 

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

This, honestly means so much to me as it comes as a full circle moment from the last time I was here (2024). Since the last show, I’ve been telling myself I’d exhibit at the next event, and I worked toward it so it really means a lot to me. I grew up in a very positive and encouraging household, where I’ve never once been made to feel like I couldn’t do anything. I was always supported by my parents, my siblings, and other family members. My community also is absolutely wonderful; they continue to push me and cheer me on whenever I’m in low spirits and that’s so amazing to me cause I’m really just a total stranger. 

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

I’m really excited about the collection I’m currently working on titled “The Human Condition”, and I hope that people carry a new love/dimension for the colour “red” from my pieces. I also hope that people understand the power, importance of community (good and bad) and why we need to be there for one another. I also hope people are more observant, especially about the way we treat each other and the simple things we turn into classist markers.