Chairman: Yinka Ilori Brings a Decade of Stories Home to Islington

Yinka Ilori’s work has a habit of turning up in unexpected places. Around 2020/21, it was gaining attention on LinkedIn, hardly the usual platform for discovering an artist, yet something about it lingered with those who encountered it there. Since then, his evolving practice has shown what happens when an artist builds a language entirely their own and keeps pushing it into new spaces. Now, years later, that work can be experienced in person through CHAIRMAN, and the timing and location make this exhibition feel particularly special.

From October 14–16, during Frieze Week and UK Black History Month, Yinka Ilori brought his debut monograph, CHAIRMAN, to life through his first-ever chair exhibition at the Walter Sickert Community Centre in Islington, a short distance from the estate where he grew up.

Yinka Ilori, Chairman. Image credit: Yinka Ilori.

A decade in the making, the exhibition brings together his chair practice, exploring memory, heritage, migration, storytelling and community. But perhaps what makes it most compelling is not simply the work itself, but its return to the neighbourhood that helped shape it.

You grew up in Islington, and now you’re bringing a decade of work back to the neighbourhood that shaped you. When you walk through Islington today, what do you see that you couldn’t see when you were growing up there?

Yinka Ilori: Growing up there, there was a huge sense of community on the estate. There were people from Nigeria, Ghana, Senegal, Turkey, Zimbabwe, Poland. It was such a diverse community, and I remember feeling a huge sense of gratitude and joy being raised there.

I was also exposed to people’s stories, their journeys, their experiences of migrating from one place to another. Everyone in that community had a dream. Some wanted to send their children to the best schools and give them the best education. Others had come to London to start a family. Everyone had a dream, and I think being around people who were dreaming was really inspiring. There was this collective sense of shared dreams that was very special.

Going back now as an adult, after all these years, everyone I grew up with has moved on, and there’s a new generation living there. It’s also become quite an affluent place, partly because of the cost of living and house prices. But when I go back, I still feel a sense of community. It’s not quite like before, but there’s something in the air that I can still breathe in when I’m there.

You mentioned migration and dreams. Is there a connection between those stories and the chairs in Chairman?

There is. I always refer to the chairs as people. The stories behind the chairs in Chairman are about immigrants who have travelled from one country to another and found a home in the UK. Those stories are embedded in the chairs. But there’s also something interesting about how chairs themselves travel.

What is your own dream when thinking about your own practice?

My dream has always been to make design a global language. I want every community, every family and every child to have access to a place where they can play freely. My dream is to have a playground for everyone, in every country. Wherever there are children who don’t have somewhere to play, I want to see a playground there.

Yinka Ilori, If Chairs Could Talk. Image credit: Andy Stagg.

A chair is such an ordinary object, something we encounter in our homes, schools, churches and public spaces. What drew you to the chair as a way of telling extraordinary stories?

Chairs are such humble objects. They’ve been part of our lives for decades before me, and they’ll still be here long after me. We’ve seen chairs in all kinds of spaces, from parliament and government buildings to schools and churches. They’ve played a significant role in our lives and in society.

For me, the chair has always been an easy way to start a conversation. It’s something people can find comfort and connection in. There’s also so much power in embedding stories into chairs. That was why I started designing them ten years ago. I realised I could hide stories inside objects, and the chair became the medium through which I could do that.

You’ve said that the chairs helped shape your career. Looking back, what did making them allow you to understand about yourself that you hadn’t understood before?

Yinka Ilori: I don’t want to say the chairs saved me, but in a way, they did. They really gave birth to my career. I always say that without the chairs, there would be no Yinka Ilori.

They allowed me to express myself. Growing up, there were things I didn’t understand about faith, identity and sexuality within my community. Working with the chairs, having that dialogue through storytelling, embedding stories into objects, adding things, taking things away and putting the work into public spaces, helped me understand myself, my community, people and culture.

I also learned so much from the way people engaged with the work. Their responses gave me answers I might not otherwise have found, and I’m really grateful for that.

Do you remember the first chair that meant something to you, not one you designed yourself, but one you remember from growing up?

In the Chairman book, we talk about the monobloc plastic chair. For me, it would be the one we had in my parents’ house in London. It was the chair we sat on the most and used throughout the home.

There’s something nostalgic about that chair. I’d see it at weddings, in churches and at birthday parties. It felt familiar and homely. But as a child, I also had something that wasn’t quite a chair. It was more like a tricycle, a yellow Thomas the Tank Engine ride-on. I loved its playfulness and humour. So those are the two things that come to mind.

Image from Yinka Ilori's 'Chairman'. Image credit: Yinka Ilori.

Your work carries so much joy and playfulness, even when the stories underneath it deal with memory, migration, family and belonging. Why are colour and playfulness so important to the way you communicate those stories?

For me, colour is a way of communicating stories. I’ve always been interested in how colour can be used as a form of memory and communication, particularly with these chairs, where the stories are so complex and dynamic. The colours add another layer of empathy, joy and storytelling. I’ve seen how important colour is through my family, whether at a colourful Nigerian wedding or a church service, where colour is often used to celebrate joy. I’ve also seen how colour is used to mark loss and death.

For me, colour has always been about joy. I use it as a catalyst to create something thought-provoking, something that triggers a memory or an emotion.

You’re British-Nigerian, and your work draws on Yoruba folklore, family and cultural memory. Has your understanding of your Nigerian heritage changed as you’ve grown up and built your career in Britain?

It hasn’t really changed for me. First and foremost, I’m British. I was born here, but my parents were very strict about making sure we understood our heritage. I’m Nigerian, and I speak Yoruba fluently. Growing up, understanding Yoruba was mandatory in our home. We ate the food, wore the clothes, went to church and were immersed in the culture. So when I go to Nigeria, I’m not surprised by the culture, the language or the folklore. Both cultures play a huge part in my life.

My parents, particularly my dad, would tell us òwe, Yoruba proverbs and stories about being good, not being greedy and not being envious. Those lessons shaped me as a creative person. I have my parents to thank for that. They made sure we knew our roots.

There’s a difference between making work about a community and making work that a community can actually experience and feel part of. How do you navigate that difference, particularly when working with brands and institutions?

It starts with the brands we work with and making sure accessibility is at the forefront from the beginning. That can happen through spatial design, public spaces or other kinds of projects. One of the things I love most is engaging new audiences, particularly people who might not be able to afford the products of a particular brand. What can we do outside of that to make them feel included? It might be designing a keyring or a bottle holder, for example.

I believe I’ve challenged the collectible design furniture industry because I’ve always believed good design should be for everyone. That has been my mission since early in my career.

I’ve seen my mum and dad have expensive tastes but not always be able to afford the things they wanted. Watching them find ways to attain those things was inspiring. Now, I feel it’s my responsibility to allow people who grew up like me to experience design that is beautiful, well-made and capable of changing how we feel and see the world. That’s a conversation we have with brands from the very beginning.

Image from Yinka Ilori's 'Chairman'. Image credit: Yinka Ilori.

Your work has become recognisable. People can often identify a Yinka Ilori piece through its colour, saturation and visual language. Do you ever worry that having such a recognisable style might limit where you can go creatively?

Yinka Ilori: Not at all. I love the fact that people can identify my work. It’s a language I’ve built over the years, and I get artists asking me all the time how to find their own language or style. It’s something I’ve developed over time, and I’m happy that people can recognise my work through its colours, saturation and visual language.

You’re bringing Chairman back to the neighbourhood that helped shape you. Does returning to Islington change how you understand the work, or make it feel more complete?

I don’t know if it makes the work more complete, but it makes it more important than having it in an institution that doesn’t necessarily speak to my community, or to communities in Islington, Hackney, Haringey and other places.

These big institutions don’t always know how to engage those communities, and perhaps they don’t always see their importance. For me, this is bigger than me, and it’s bigger than the institutions. It’s about allowing audiences and communities into my world, so they can feel part of those stories and engage with art.

It’s also happening during Frieze Week, when collectors, curators and people who love art and design are coming to London. We’re bringing them to a place they might never have visited before, a place that holds so much culture and identity. For me, that’s already a big win.

Finally, what do you hope Chairman preserves that memory alone cannot?

That people are important, stories are important, and legacy is important.