It started in 2022. Life wasn’t easy then. No regular job. No connections. No “right look” for Instagram, either. I was staying with a relative, sharing space, barely managing meals. The only thing I had was my old sketchpad, a set of secondhand brushes, and leftover acrylics from a school project I never finished.
One evening, I painted something out of frustration. It was a face — faceless, actually. Just shadows, with deep color in the eyes. It meant something to me, so I took a photo of it. Not with any plan. Just instinct. I uploaded it to a blank page I created online. No name. No bio. Just the painting.
I didn’t even tag anyone. I just posted and left it there.
Three days later, I saw it had been shared. Someone said it looked “like grief and peace at the same time.” I was surprised. And quiet about it. I still didn’t show my face. I didn’t want anyone to know it was me. I just posted more. Some raw sketches. Some unfinished work. Pieces that were personal.
That’s how it started.
By early 2023, someone messaged the page:
"Do you sell these?"
I paused. Sell? I didn’t even know how to price anything. I said, “Yes.” They asked for a custom version. I made it, packed it, and delivered it without a signature — just a small note: “For your space. Thank you for seeing something in it.”
₦7,000.
That was my first sale.It wasn’t a breakthrough, but it was more than anything else I had earned that month. And it kept happening. Slowly. Someone asked for a birthday gift. Another person said they wanted art for their Airbnb space. I didn’t have a name. Still no face. Just the art.
In 2024, I was charging ₦15,000.
By mid-2025, I had earned ₦20,000 for a single piece. Not because I had followers or a big brand. Just because people saw something in what I painted.
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What made it different was that I never attached my identity. I never stood in front of the canvas for a reel. I didn’t post process videos. I didn’t smile for the camera. I only showed the edges of the frame, the textures, the strokes.
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There were times I wondered if I was hiding. But then I realised I was creating safety — a space where the art could breathe, where I could build something without pressure. I didn’t want to be a personality. I just wanted to paint.
One of my pieces even made it to a reseller’s platform. I didn’t know until someone sent me a screenshot. They’d bought my original, framed it, and re-sold it for nearly double. I wasn’t angry. I was proud. That meant there was value in what I made — real value.I don’t even know how many paintings I’ve done now. Some days I get overwhelmed, but when I sit with a brush, it still feels the same. Peaceful. Wordless. Like finally being heard without having to speak.
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People assume going viral means dancing, shouting, or doing something dramatic. But sometimes, the most viral thing is silence. Sometimes, the work alone is loud enough.
I still live simply. I don’t do big shows. I haven’t opened a gallery. I don’t plan to. But the work is steady. My table is full. And for someone who once couldn’t afford two meals a day, that’s everything.
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