What is a safe space? That is a question Ojo Agi has spent her entire life answering.

The visual artist says a safe space is where people are fully seen for themselves. It is a place of belonging. It is both physical and conceptual, having several iterations. As a Nigerian Canadian woman, Agi has been in many spaces where she did not belong, so being proactive in creating safe spaces through art is important to her.

Agi’s safe space is the paper––brown paper––on which she crafts places of belonging that don’t yet exist. Agi does much of that creating in her home, another haven. The intimacy found there simply mirrors the essence of her work, which is not only drawn but displayed within the walls she inhabits.

Toned spoke with Agi about her journey as a Black artist and how she continues to define and create safe spaces for herself and others.

Sydnee Walcott: What inspired you to get into drawing?

Ojo Agi: I’ve been drawing since I was a child. I loved creating new things, so I tried a wide variety of arts and crafts––from sewing to knitting to painting. But I always return to drawing because it feels like writing, and that’s something I’ve always enjoyed, too. I would draw and write together in my journals, creating characters and stories simultaneously. I’m inspired by how impactful images can be for communicating emotions and building empathy.

SW: When you first started as an artist, what type of pieces did you focus on putting together?

OA: When I first started as an artist, I mostly created character design, fashion sketches and comic panels. Although I occasionally practised drawing objects, I mostly focused on representing the figure.

When I was younger––like in high school and the early years of university––most of my characters were white, or maybe mixed race or light-skinned. I think that was me trying to represent what I saw and believing that only certain people could be the main characters and that certain people could have stories shared about them.

I had a real shift when I started minoring in gender studies while getting my undergraduate degree. By taking those courses, I learned the language to talk about identity and understand all of the isms that shaped my experiences. I really felt like, “Wow, I can finally speak to my experience, and therefore, I can finally represent people that look like me.” Before 2012, you would see more white and racially ambiguous women in my drawings. I was trying to represent all women equally. But then I really thought there’s not enough space for Black women as it is, so I felt that was a more pressing gap for me to fill. It’s been great because it means I’m able to use my friends and family as models. I don’t have to reach too far anymore to look for source images. I can even use an image of myself.

SW: What tools do you use to draw?

OA: I use pens, markers, coloured pencils and chalk to create my drawings. I draw on brown paper to help represent the various tones of Black skin.

SW: What usually goes through your mind when piecing everything together in your art?

OA: Drawing is quite meditative for me. I really enjoy the sensation of putting pen to paper and letting my hand flow. Even the sound is relaxing. When I’m drawing, I take the opportunity to process my thoughts and emotions. I could be thinking about or feeling anything, and the drawing process allows me to just sit with it.

SW: What are some of the messages that you like to portray through your drawings?

OA: I like to share messages that are uplifting and empowering. My drawings affirm Black identity by representing features that are unique to the African diaspora. For example, I spend a lot of time drawing box braids with kinky curly hairlines, or round noses, or big lips. The message here is that these features are beautiful, and these characters are the centre of their own worlds.

I also like to think about how affirming images can support our well-being. When studying health sciences in university, I learned of so many studies that demonstrated how racism negatively impacts Black people’s physical health, but I learned very little about the emotional impact, even though the two are connected. However, I felt it personally, and it’s that lived experience that motivates me to create images that inspire healing. I’m thinking about care through a Black feminist lens. How can we achieve liberation without caring for our physical, psychological and spiritual well-being? And what role can art serve in this work?

SW: What would you say is your safe space, and why?

OA: It’s the paper.

Drawing is thousands of years old. Just knowing that drawing is the kind of technology that has persisted for millennia––and then knowing that there's this innate human nature to mark your presence, to say, “I was here,” to document it in some way––I find that I'm continuing that tradition. It's an expression of agency, this ability to create.

I find that there are very few spaces where I can have a really deep, meaningful impact. And I can, but I’ve learned that it takes a lot of coordination, community organizing, strength in numbers, strategy and politics; there's a lot to do in these institutional spaces. But being able to draw on a sheet of paper takes almost no resources. And I get to feel that sense of presence, of achievement, of belonging. I get to experiment and play.

My art is kind of like an escapist fantasy where I can belong and create a safe space, even if that doesn't match my reality. That's actually why I use brown paper. I'm creating this environment, this space on the paper where it's already evident that Black people belong.

SW: Where do you like to create your drawings?

OA: I tend to create at home. Usually at my desk or dining table. Sometimes on the floor if the work is larger.

I tried getting a studio outside of the house before. And I felt that, with the commute and with the open layout, it was a more professional environment, which was great, but it was not the right energy flow for me at the time.

SW: What about home makes you comfortable to draw there?

OA: I think it has to do with the intimate nature of the work. The work is informed by my personal life, my emotions and my need to express myself. There's a sense of urgency around creating, so I don't have a really great separation of work. My artwork is in my home, in my living room. I pull it when I need to, so there's this immediacy of being able to create at home. It's close, and it's accesible to me.

SW: Do you take any inspiration from your home and use that toward putting together drawings?

OA: Not exactly. But my home space is influenced by my drawings. I worked very hard to create an environment that is relaxing and welcoming. It’s cosy and warm, decorated with neutral tones and browns.

SW: Out of all of the pieces you created, which would you say is your most powerful?

OA: I think my most powerful drawings have come from Daughters of Diaspora (2014-2018).

I had mostly referenced a lot of strangers for that series. There are about 30 works, showing a diversity of African women’s features, but there’s one that referenced my friend Somto. I met her in my chemistry class––she had immigrated from Nigeria to do her degree here––and we’re still friends today.

I photographed and drew her, and that drawing goes viral all of the time. I have an Instagram highlight called “Homages” that showcases artists who have recreated their own versions of my drawings. The most frequently copied drawing is Somto (2015). I’ve gotten a lot of positive feedback about that drawing. People will say, “That looks like my sister. That looks like me. That looks like my friend.” They really identify with that portrait.

As for my own favourites, there’s an animated work I have of my friend Victoria, and she's shaking her head "no." I really love that one. It’s titled There will always be one more thing.

The title is an excerpt from a Toni Morrison speech in the ’70s. In it, she says, "Racism is a distraction.” It's how they keep us always focused on trying to defend ourselves and over-explain ourselves. It keeps you from your purpose and work. “There will always be one more thing."

So that work is two framed images. I've exhibited it a few times. The woman is in profile in the first one, then she turns her head away in the second one. When I animate them, it looks like she's shaking her head. I really love that piece. Once I get it out there more, I think that will be one of the more impactful ones.

SW: As a Canadian artist, do you feel as if Canada, or specifically Toronto, is a safe space for Black artists?

OA: Canada is a really big place, so I’ll focus on Toronto and Ottawa. Those are the two places I've lived the longest.

From my experience, it’s quite difficult to be a professional artist. There are many streams of income artists can obtain, but a lot of them are entrepreneurial and involve being able to manage your own business, which is something different. Then, in terms of the art market pipeline or trajectory, you go to art school, you get representation, you go to exhibits, people buy your work via a gallery, and you do museum collections. That's a very specific track, which I tried to enter.

And I just think that, for the amount of work it takes, the outcome is not sustainable. We do not talk about enough the financial aspects of being an artist. I don't know an artist that doesn't have to work other jobs. And I don't know if that's unique to Black artists. I don't know if it's all artists. I don’t know if that’s just a condition of the art market in Canada.

When I went to Johannesburg, I was instantly able to connect with the art scene there. Or the U.S.––their Black populations are already bigger than Canada's entire population, so there are so many channels and networks to support Black artists.

So I think the challenges in Canada, beyond race, are our size, our infrastructure, the way we allocate the funds and the hoops we make artists jump through to get access. For example, when applying for grants, you need to demonstrate a certain level of “professionalism,” which involves exhibiting at reputable institutions, having a certain amount of press and having a CV that substantively shows where you got your formal training.

So what if you're self-taught like me? What if you can't get into the market because you can't get a gallerist to value Black figurative drawings and understand that that's important for our community? Then, I have to share my work on Instagram. And while it’s great for connecting with people and building community beyond walls, it doesn’t count as a metric. So some of that, I think, is connected to race. Some of that, I think, is just generally our size, our population. Some of it I haven't categorized yet; I don't know, but it's really, really challenging.

SW: Where do you hope to see your artistry take you?

OA: I would love to have a place to create more and connect with more people. I like to just keep growing in my technical skills and creative approaches to drawing. Recently, I have been playing with animating my drawings, and I’m thinking of other ways to incorporate technology to enhance my work. I think moving beyond what people expect from a drawing can have a really big impact.

I have so many ideas I want to execute, and I just don't have the time or the resources right now. So more time and resources to be able to draw more images, tell more stories and have a bigger impact. That’s really where I'm at.

This interview has been edited and condensed.

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