'The more I create, the more questions I have': Nifemi Marcus-Bello on craft and creativity

Nifemi Marcus-Bello is a breath of fresh air on the contemporary design scene. Operating his studio out of Lagos, the city in which he was born and raised, he challenges Western-centric narratives and champions a locally rooted, community-driven approach. Navigating the intersection of function, material politics, and social infrastructure, he engages with overlooked production networks and everyday making cultures in Nigeria. Since founding his eponymous studio in 2017, Marcus-Bello has gained international recognition for his research-led, human-centred designs, from public seating systems to limited-edition pieces that interrogate material histories.

His latest exhibition, 'Oríkì (Act III): Whispers of a Trail', marks his third presentation at Los Angeles gallery Marta and continues his exploration of storytelling through functional sculpture. The series delves into the politics of copper extraction, refinement, and procurement, questioning the economic and social frameworks surrounding its production.

As with his previous Oríkì works, Marcus-Bello balances material experimentation with a deep engagement in historical and contemporary narratives, connecting Lagos’s vibrant making culture to broader global conversations.

In this uplifting interview, he discusses the evolution of the Oríkì series, the distinct design language of Lagos, and the shifting landscape for young African designers on the international stage.

Wallpaper*: Congratulations on your third show at Marta! Can you tell us about the pieces presented at 'Oríkì (Act III): Whispers of a Trail', and how the tension between local scarcity and global demand manifest in their design language?

Nifemi Marcus-Bello: From a procurement perspective, copper has been the most challenging material to source due to its high cost and global demand. In many cases, raw copper extracted from the continent is refined abroad only to be sold back to us on the continent as products. This cycle is common with resources like crude oil, cobalt, cocoa and many more. Given these challenges, I ultimately turned to recycled copper, recovered from old products and decommissioned structures. This approach not only made sourcing feasible but also highlighted the material’s journey and lifecycle.

Sourcing raw copper proved to be particularly difficult. After numerous setbacks and roadblocks, I decided to work with scrap copper, which I procured in various markets across Lagos. Due to the scale of this project and editions of pieces produced, I have used over a ton of recycled copper, which in itself serves as a manifesto for sustainable material use.

Having never worked with copper before, I was unfamiliar with its temperament and encountered challenges with welding, finishes, and scaling. As a result, the final objects are crafted from a copper alloy – a blend of copper and bronze – which allows for easier welding while maintaining copper’s prominence in the materiality.

The design of these pieces was inspired by objects that reflect Africa’s nomadic cultures. The form of the daybed, for example, draws from the Agadez bed used by the people of Niger, while other elements reference the multifunctional headrests used by farmers for rest in the field while keeping their head above ground. This nomadic essence also resonates with the journey of the copper itself – from extraction to procurement, and ultimately, to transformation.

W*: This exhibition marks your third presentation of functional sculptures at Marta. What has the experience been like for you, and do you see the Oríkì series continuing beyond this chapter?

NMB: Honestly, it all started with a lot of questions – questions about why certain materials are so prominent in my region, how they’ve evolved over time, and what they really mean to us beyond their practical use. I wanted to dig deeper into their significance, not just from a design perspective but in terms of culture, economy, and identity. That curiosity pushed me to start this series as a way to explore and document those ideas.

The pieces I create are like a visual and functional archive of that investigation. They’re not just objects – they’re a record of the lessons I’ve learned, the challenges I’ve faced, and the emotions I’ve experienced while working with these materials. It’s been such a whirlwind, trying to understand how they behave, how they respond to different processes, and, most importantly, how they shape and reflect the societies that use them.

Like many designers, I’m driven by questions – those things that keep you up at night, the ideas you can’t shake. And the more I create, the more questions I have. I don’t think I’ll ever run out of them! That’s what keeps the work exciting because you never know which unanswered question is just around the corner, waiting to push you in a new direction.

W*: Your designs often carry narratives beyond their function, whether it’s material politics, community-driven processes, or personal memory. Have you always seen design as a tool for storytelling, or was there a moment when you realised it could be a vehicle for deeper messages?

NMB: It’s funny you ask that because, as I reach this third chapter, I find myself reflecting on the same question. I believe context is everything – it should never be left behind in the communication of a design. Objects are more than their function; they carry histories, relationships, and meanings that shape how we interact with them.

Looking back, storytelling through design feels inevitable for me. I started as a maker, then studied art history with the intention of becoming a full-time artist before shifting to product design at a technical university. That intersection of craft, history, and function has always been central to my approach.

Beyond formal education, my upbringing played a huge role in shaping my perspective. In my home, every object held significance. A mat, a plate, a stool – each had a story, a place of origin, and a purpose that extended beyond utility. Conversations about where things came from and the care they deserved were part of daily life. That awareness became second nature, and now, it’s embedded in how I design.

So yes, I’ve always seen design as a tool for storytelling, even before I had the language to articulate it. It’s not just about creating objects; it’s about honouring the narratives they carry and the connections they foster.

W*: You’ve said in the past that Lagos has its own design language (and a strong culture of making), even if it isn’t always recognised in a Western sense. How would you describe that language, and what do you think Western design audiences misunderstand about design in Nigeria?

NMB: Lagos has a design language that is raw, adaptive, and deeply intuitive. It’s not always bound by formal structures or Western academic frameworks, but it is undeniably rich, resourceful, and innovative. The city itself is an ecosystem of making – design here isn’t just about aesthetics; it’s about necessity, resilience, and responding to ever-changing conditions.

One of the biggest misconceptions Western design audiences have is the idea that design must be polished, institutionalised, or validated by certain standards to be considered legitimate. In Lagos, design is fluid and dynamic. It exists in the way artisans repurposed materials, how traders adapt to supply chain disruptions, or how entire informal economies function with remarkable efficiency.

W*: What can they learn from this?

NMB: The importance of adaptability, of working with constraints rather than against them. There’s a lot of discussion globally about sustainable design, circular economies, and local production, but Lagos has been practicing these ideas long before they became industry buzzwords. The city teaches you to be resourceful, to think on your feet, and to see beauty in function.

More than anything, I think there’s a lesson in rethinking the hierarchy of design. Innovation doesn’t only happen in studios, galleries, or institutions – it happens in the markets, in the workshops, on the streets. Lagos is a city of makers, and its design language is alive in the hands of the people who shape it every day.

W*: Your approach to design often involves deep engagement with local communities and production networks. What have been some of the most revealing or surprising insights from working with artisans and traders in Lagos, particularly in sourcing and repurposing materials?

NMB: I suppose I don't see myself as an outsider – I engage with Lagos every day, experiencing both its challenges and its beauty. I was born and raised here, spending most of my life in middle-class neighbourhoods - Mende, Ikeja, Ilupeju, Gbagada and later in Ikoyi. Working on the ACTs reinforced my understanding that I’m not just observing this ecosystem; I am part of it.

My connection to Lagos’ maker culture began early, at 13 or 14, long before I had the privilege of studying abroad. To exclude myself from this system would be both naive and dismissive. The city is an extension of who I am – it shapes me as much as I contribute to it. I love Lagos, and in its own way, it loves me back. Every day, I continue to learn from that relationship.

W*: You’ve spoken in the past about not seeing Black designers represented when you were younger and wondering how you’d fit into the field. Now, with your international recognition, do you think the landscape is shifting for young Black African designers? Have you noticed changes in how they see their own possibilities in design?

NMB: I will always be a student of design – it’s how I love to practice. That mindset has shaped my journey, pushing me to constantly seek knowledge, both from within the continent and beyond. Over the years, I’ve realised that if I wanted to understand design in a meaningful way, I had to take responsibility for educating myself, actively searching for information, and immersing myself in the histories and practices that weren’t always readily available. That drive is what fueled my obsession with archives – not just accessing them, but creating them as a way to document and preserve knowledge for future generations.

Now, more than ever, I see a shift happening. The African design landscape – particularly in furniture and object-making — is growing, becoming more visible and interconnected. Young designers are embracing their own narratives, drawing from local materials, traditions, and techniques while pushing boundaries with contemporary approaches. There’s a stronger sense of ownership and pride in our design identity, and with the rise of digital platforms and global conversations, the work coming from the continent is reaching wider audiences.

I see a new generation stepping into the field with confidence, knowing they belong. The ecosystem is expanding, not just in terms of recognition but in how we connect, collaborate, and sustain our practices. It’s an exciting time, and I’m grateful to be part of this moment of growth and transformation.

W*: What else does 2025 hold for you?

NMB: Refinement.

'Oríkì (Act III): Whispers of a Trail' runs until 5 April at Marta, 3021 Rowena Ave, Los Angeles.

marta.la
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