For the first Ibeji Journal conversation, we speak with Idris Olabode Opeyemi, the ceramicist behind Clay of Lagos and a collaborator on Ibeji’s first vessel.
From an unexpected introduction to clay to the influence of Yoruba culture, spirituality and life in Lagos, Idris’s practice has been shaped as much by patience and failure as by technique. We spoke about the ideas behind his work, the discipline of letting go of control and what drew him to Ibeji.
Do you remember your first encounter with clay? What was it about the material that made you stay?
My first real encounter with clay was in college, during my final year. As a child there was something vaguely familiar about the material. I only began to truly pay attention to this familiarity when I got to school and we were required to study it as part of a general art programme. We learned how to mould and create with our hands.
What made me stay wasn't a moment of beauty, it was failure. I had a carryover in a clay-related course, and that cost me an extra year. Before that, my dream had always been to be a painter. That was the plan but ife had something else in mind, and the failure of that course pushed me into sitting with clay for an entire year with nowhere else to go.
That year changed everything. I paid full attention for the first time. I felt a connection I hadn't expected, not just emotional, not just physical, but something I can only describe as spiritual. I felt like I had a message to tell the world through this material. That is why I chose clay over painting, not because it was easy, but because it chose me first.
How would you describe your artistic voice today?
My voice is rooted in the body and the soul. When I say body, I mean the African body, specifically the Yoruba body. The traditions that shape me aren't always written down. They live in the scarification patterns of my elders, in the vessels Yoruba women shaped long before ceramics ever became a subject taught in school. That inheritance is in my hands whether I name it or not.
I found the philosophical part of my voice through poetry, not by studying it academically but through the practice of doing it. Thoughts came to me while writing, and I had the ability to sit with them, to see the philosophy behind things. That became the engine of my artistic voice, truth told through objects.
I have never apprenticed under a master. I learned by failing, solving problems, buying books, reaching out to potters and finding answers wherever they lived. Following this path made the work entirely mine.
What does a typical day in the studio look like for you?
I am not the kind of artist who sits down with sketches before beginning. Everything I need is already within me, instinct, ideas I want to express, a story I want to follow. I let it flow, because that is the whole meditative nature of the work.
I may throw a few cylinders or mugs first, just to warm up, just to arrive. When I actually want to create, I never begin with a fixed image. I work on an idea, a storyline, and I keep moving.
When I am in the studio, what I love most is listening to the Quran. Sometimes I listen to meditative instrumentals or Fuji music, but most often it is the Quran. The combination of the recitation and the rhythm of the wheel is where the meditation lives for me.
I also believe deeply in rest as preparation. I can throw today and not return to the studio for several days. I intentionally keep myself a little bored, because when I come back, I am giving it everything.
What is something most people take for granted about working with clay?
Patience. That's it. That's the answer. I tell my students, even if you leave this craft without a single skill, you will leave with one thing, and that is patience.
You wait for the clay to dry before you can trim. You can wait days for a piece to dry and harden before the next step. The kiln fires for twelve hours. Then you wait another day or two for it to cool before you can open it. Even then, you can be packaging a finished piece and it slips and breaks, and you begin again from the start.
That’s what people don’t see when they hold a finished piece. They do not see the hours of waiting or the surrendering of control. Clay teaches you that you can do everything right and still not control the outcome. Once you understand that, you become more patient, not because you have mastered patience, but because clay simply does not move on your timeline.
Clay has a way of revealing imperfections. Has working with it changed the way you think about mistakes and control?
Yes, and I think the answer is woven through everything I have already said, because clay and life are the same lesson repeated in different forms.
Perfection is an illusion. I say this clearly now, but it took years of working with clay to understand it. Perfection is you trying to control a situation so that it matches what is in your mind, but your mind’s version of best is only a thought. It is not the truth.
I teach my students this on the wheel. When you are centring, as long as the clay is balanced enough to open, open it. As long as you have opened enough to pull, pull. As long as you have pulled enough to shape, start shaping. Do not wait for the perfect centre or the perfect pull. Every stage can be good enough to move to the next one.
What clay has given me is the courage to move, to make a decision and live with it. Imperfection is not failure. It is evidence that something real was made. Everything pottery teaches, life confirms. Just start, keep moving and let the work become what it is.
How has living and creating in Lagos shaped your perspective as an artist?
Lagos has shown me difficulty and chaos, the kind of pressure that either breaks you or builds you. I believe the challenges are what make you grow. If everything is easy, I do not know what kind of artist you become.
Lagos taught me one thing above everything. If you do what is right, if you are honest about your path and your intentions are good, it will reward you. Give it time, and people will celebrate you. That is not a cliché when you have lived it. Lagos rewards honesty and hard work. You see it everywhere in people who kept going, stayed true, refused to compromise and eventually found their place.
That is the belief Lagos put in me. Not arrogance or certainty, but a deep faith that the right path, walked honestly, leads somewhere worth reaching. This faith lives in everything I make.
What do you hope the vessel brings to the experience of Ibeji in someone’s home?
I want it to bring a sense of balance within difference. Fingers are not all the same length, yet that is exactly what allows the hand to work. If every finger stood at the same level, the hand would be useless. The difference is part of the function.
Life is much the same. We all experience joy and challenge, though not in the same form or at the same time. We come to these things differently, but we all come to them.
That is the idea I want the vessel to carry. Things do not have to be the same to be equal. When someone lights the candle, I want the vessel to help make an ordinary moment feel worth marking.