See you soon, Chudi!
- Jason Liu
- Oct 28
- 6 min read
Updated: Nov 19
In life, it’s rare to meet someone who changes you forever.
It was a routine October evening when my then-girlfriend took me to the Torpedo Factory Art Center in Alexandria for the first time. They’re open late to the public every 2nd Friday, but as we browsed, nearly all of the gallery doors were closed, lights dimmed. Chudi’s studio was the only one open on the 3rd floor. I stumbled in and fell into his world.
For the past 2 years, I’ve assisted and worked alongside Chudi on weekends, squeezing in trips to his studio whenever I could. Sometimes it would take up to an hour to get there, but I pushed myself to go because I’d always absorb something new when I was around him, whether it was a pearl of wisdom he’d drop on a visitor or an interesting form in a finished piece.
Chukwudinma Anthony Nsofor grew up in rural Nigeria and found his artistic voice through exploring Ulism, a traditional art form by the Igbo people. Originally named for the uli plants used to produce dyes, Ulism is defined by rich colors, free-flowing figurations and abstract motifs painted on female bodies for special occasions such as weddings as well as the routines of everyday wear. As a classically trained painter with over 40 years of experience, he wields the human form like a conductor’s baton, orchestrating visual symphonies that tell stories ranging from intimate character studies of Old Town passersby to sweeping narratives of the Columbian Exchange.
Chudi saw me enter and invited me to sit with him as he painted. The other artists I met were pretty guarded, so I pulled up a stool, pleasantly surprised at his openness. As he darted from spot to spot on his canvas, forming curves with broad strokes of paint, we talked about what it felt like to freely create without expecting perfection, something I had learned from my art directors when making design iterations. I instantly connected with his style. In graphic design, any strong visual brand forms a narrative through varying levels of abstraction. Though I had yet to understand who he was and what he was painting, I saw a unique blend of depth, scale, and allusions in his compositions.
We related about how disorienting it felt to live in a foreign country, far away from home. It was his 3rd year in the US, having spent his entire life in Nigeria. I grew up as a TCK (third-culture kid), having split my childhood between Shanghai and metro Detroit. College in LA, Covid in Michigan, and adulthood in DC continued my cycle of moving every 3-4 years, and I’ve always felt like it was hard to belong anywhere.
Every artist works from a set of core truths, often sourced from their identity and built through years of practice and play. As I spent more time with Chudi, I started to understand the significance of him creating vivid scenes of family, friends, and traditions from his memories. Furthermore, his abstracted bodies formed narratives that went beyond his own life, as Chudi examined what it meant to be a citizen of the world, and the social realities we all share.
Chudi’s art also embodied his colorful, welcoming personality, and his communal, open-door policy. Curious onlookers would be greeted by the widest smile and friendly gesture to come in. He’d engage anyone—wide-eyed kids, couples on first dates, wayward tourists—in impassioned conversations about the creative process, searching for their core truths and our shared humanity, listening as he worked on a piece. I’d often walk into Chudi hosting 2-3 separate groups at once. Every Studio 324 painting is imbued with the collective encounters of thousands of people—friends, family, fellow artists, locals, and travelers from every corner of the world.
It was getting late. As we turned to leave, I asked Chudi if he could give me art lessons (paid, of course). He said yes. I visited every weekend, and he taught me the fundamentals—shading techniques, figure drawing—skills I had nearly lost to time. However, Chudi wouldn’t just be teaching me how to draw and paint again. As I sketched, he pushed me to find my style and voice, as he insisted that he would not impose his own on me. It was hard work. Whenever I doubted myself, I’d look up and observe Chudi embodying his own convictions. “You need to have audacity,” he’d implore.
I fell in love with architecture and the built environment at a young age, when my parents first moved us to Shanghai in 2005. It was the heyday of China’s economic miracle, and I witnessed the city transform seemingly overnight. In grade school, I learned drawing fundamentals and classical painting techniques through various tutors and classes. After completing portraits and still-lifes, I’d find myself sketching buildings and cityscapes on scratch paper. It’s been a habit of mine since. In college, I was scared off by the brutal reality of practicing architecture and disillusioned by the messy local politics of city planning. I really just loved the urban form. After school, I moved to DC, a walkable city with great transit, got a job in graphic design, and decided it was a fine middle ground.
After I completed his six week refresher course, Chudi invited me back to work alongside him to develop my own style. I reflexively turned to the bold shapes and sleek lines of postmodern architecture for inspiration, and began to play. Chudi’s studio became a safe haven for me to realize my core truths, and I gradually built up the courage to own my voice and explore my own messages.
Chudi’s had a defining creative influence on my life. He’s profoundly articulate, possessing a unique ability to explain complicated visual ideas in a way even a child could understand. It’s like watching someone create from scratch and solve a 1,000 piece puzzle while talking you through it. His canvases would stretch up to 5 feet high, enveloping me and my handheld frames in a kaleidoscope of figurations as I worked. Chudi laid out all the pieces for me to become an artist, and gave me the audacity to keep solving them again and again, one finished artwork at a time.
I believe that people are meant to be in your life for seasons. This year’s been defined by cruel, seismic change, upending the lives of millions, especially here in the DMV. It’s affected me too, and I’ve had to question my own role in my community and my own decisions that have kept me in DC for the past 4 years. Despite all this, nothing could’ve prepared me for the shock when Chudi announced that he was closing the studio and leaving the United States altogether. In hindsight, it all made sense. He was feeling confined, both physically and artistically, in his small windowless studio, and with the federal government targeting immigrants like him for deportation, Chudi was living on borrowed time. The walls were closing in.
On the flip side, he’d been offered an arts residency in Ghana and has been buying land with plans to build an expansive communal studio in Nigeria. Chudi’s work had begun to feel repetitive, and he wanted to travel—to see the world and build a fuller understanding of humanity for the stories he had yet to tell. The pace of American capitalism was overwhelming, depriving him of precious time to think and space to reflect. So he was leaving on his own terms, and I was glad Chudi wasn’t just escaping the US. He was looking forward to a new adventure.
I guess this was also a sign for me to leave the nest and spread my own wings. The final days in the studio were hectic, as he balanced his desire to paint up until the very last day with the increasing need to organize and pack up five years worth of art to be shipped halfway around the world. I visited the studio many times to help him, and showed him the latest evolution of my work, a puzzle I’m still figuring out. Chudi was beloved by many at the Torpedo Factory, and the artists association threw him a sweet farewell party. We were his adopted family in America.
But eventually, all good things must come to an end. I thought I had time for a trip during the week to see him again before his flight, but life got in the way. So this is it.
Chudi,
Thank you for your generosity, your patience, and your belief in me. I’m not sure how I’ll ever be able to repay you for everything you’ve taught me. You’ve set my life on a trajectory that I’m only starting to discover.
I’ll miss you, but this isn’t goodbye. I’ll see you soon! I’m already planning a trip to Ghana and Nigeria. Our creative paths will cross again.
Jason
Follow Chudi: https://www.instagram.com/anthonynsofor/
Follow Jason’s work: https://www.instagram.com/byjasonliu
